Read Wildfire Hurricane (A Ryder Boys Novel Book 1) Online
Authors: Amelia James
Wildfire Hurricane (A Ryder Boys Novel Book 1) (21 page)
“Damn right.” Dash dropped the bag on the floor and scratched his head. “Wait. What? That’s not the point.” He snarled while Wyatt laughed. “You can’t function without a relationship, no matter how fucked up it is. Making it work is what gives life meaning.”
Is he serious?
Wyatt stomped out the door. “Just what was the meaning behind Michelle fucking her ex in our bed?” Just weeks before they were supposed to be married, Wyatt caught his ex-fiancée screwing her old boyfriend. He’d thrown them both out on their bare asses, and he hadn’t spoken to her since.
Dash helped him pull a rolled up backdrop from the truck bed. “You’re still hung up on that?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Wyatt heaved one end on his shoulder and led the way to his new studio.
“No.” Dash stumbled to keep up. “You can’t let that old anger drag you down.”
Mr. Irate Poet is giving advice now?
“It isn’t. I haven’t thought about her for some time.”
Why now?
His breakup with the wedding planner had been predictable and relatively painless, nothing that should’ve ripped open that old wound.
“Then what’s got you all riled up? Megan?”
“No.” He’d expected his most recent relationship to end. Just like everything good in his life. The fact that he’d kept his career and his luxurious lifestyle for so long surprised him. He often lay awake at night wondering when his seemingly perfect world would implode. “I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“Why?” Dash gave his brother a puzzled look as they propped the backdrop against the wall.
Wyatt ripped the processors off and flung them on his desk. Seething rage smothered the momentary silence that followed, filling his head with angry noise. “Because life crushes your dreams for no reason.” He signed with forceful movements and sharp gestures. “We still don’t know why I was born deaf. There’s no genetic history in our family, no complications while Mom was pregnant with me. Just ‘Hey, Wyatt can’t hear. That’s odd.’”
“But look how well you’ve done,” Dash signed back to him, equally expressive. “You own a penthouse and a beach house. You photograph gorgeous models and celebrities, and you’re a celebrity in your own right. You
can
hear when you wear these things.” He picked up the processors and shook them in Wyatt’s face.
Spencer dropped his ball and took a solid stance in front of his beloved master, hackles raised, head low, and ears back.
Dash handed the processors to his brother, stepped back, and showed his open palms. “And Spencer loves you.”
“That’s his job.” He patted his loyal companion’s head. The dog relaxed.
“His job is to hear for you. His…” Dash fumbled through a couple different signs. “Devotion, affection, is a bonus.”
Wyatt sighed and put his processors back on. After his mother, Dash knew ASL better than anyone else in their family, but he still struggled with it at times.
Dash spoke while he signed, his favorite technique to make sure his brother got the message. “You know I love you, right? Simone loves you like a brother. Mal is an asshole, but I’m pretty sure he loves you too. And you know Mom and Dad wouldn’t trade you for anything. You’re the favorite son.”
“The defective one is the favorite?” Yes, he knew his family loved him. But no woman who wasn’t related had ever loved him and his defects.
“Funny how that works.”
Wyatt aimed a backhand at Dash’s head, but he didn’t follow through. “Did we get everything out of the truck?”
“Your light kit is still in there. I need help carrying that.” Dash headed outside.
“How’d you load it?”
Dash grinned and grunted as they lifted the equipment from the truck. “Simone’s stronger than she looks.”
“She has to be to put up with your shit.”
“Damn right,” Dash grumbled and stumbled over the threshold. “Wait. I mean fuck you.”
Wyatt laughed as they shuffled down the hall. “Over here.” They set the light kit in a corner of the studio, groaning as they stood upright.
“Do you want me to help you set up?”
“Nah, I’ll do it later.” The box of books he’d set on the coffee table called to him. He strode out to the living room and ripped the tape off.
Dash dragged his arm across his forehead as he wandered into the kitchen. “I worked up a sweat.”
“Bottled water in the fridge.” The bookshelves at the beach house weren’t nearly as large as the penthouse library, so Wyatt had packed only his favorites:
Frankenstein
,
Dracula
, and
The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe
among them.
Spencer curled up in his bed while Dash strolled over with a bottle in his hand and poked through the open box. “Oh shit, where’d you get this?” He held up a copy of
The Corpse of My Heart
.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know who R.H. Daschle was?” Wyatt winked.
“Damn it.”
“It’s good stuff. Vicious, but good.” He grabbed the volume of poetry his brother had written and stuffed it between his Alexandre Dumas collection and
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
.
Dash wandered back to the kitchen and pulled the pantry door open. “I need food.” He searched through the cabinets, flipping the doors open and banging them shut. “You have no food.”
“I just moved in.” He kept the beach house kitchen stocked with the basics, but hadn’t stayed here since before Thanksgiving. No doubt his pantry needed replenishing. “I ordered take-out last night, but we ate it all.” He slipped the last book on the shelf and flattened the box.
Dash grabbed his keys. “Come on, Spencer. Let’s go get lunch.”
The enthusiastic dog bounded after him then skidded to a halt at the door and panted back at Wyatt.
He grabbed Spencer’s service dog vest. The retriever would need to wear it to be allowed into public places. “I’m coming.”
Oh God, I’m coming!
Megan’s chant echoed in his head as he locked the front door behind them. Had she faked it? Could he have misinterpreted the sensual signs? Maybe a hot and heavy, sex-only fling would erase his doubts. He’d always dated with a purpose before. Where would he find a woman who’d settle for meaningless fucking?
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Acknowledgements
A lot of work goes into producing a book. It’s a team effort, and I’m sure I’ll miss someone, but I need to say thank you to:
My readers. There are a lot of good books out there, and I’m grateful that mine made it to your bookshelf. Thank you for your support and encouragement and for sticking with me.
Dede Taylor for naming Belladonna’s Peak.
My Beta Readers, Lori Whitwam and Heather Cox, for being trustworthy and honest, especially when I’ve made huge mistakes. You saved me a lot of grief.
#TeamLimitless for believing in me and backing me up with their amazing editors, cover designers, and PR team. Special thanks to Savannah Blevins (blurb writer), Rosa Sophia (editor), Robin Harper from Wicked by Design (cover art), and Lori Whitwam (managing editor) for bringing this all together.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When I was in the third grade, my teacher wrote ‘tends to daydream’ on my report card. What did she expect from a girl raised on fairy tales? I’m convinced those fanciful stories led to the romance novel addiction I acquired in junior high. My mom caught me reading a particularly hot one and took it away from me. She couldn’t stop me from daydreaming though, and after I got married, I wrote some of my steamier daydreams down and sent them to
Playgirl
magazine. Two of them were published. I kept writing and eventually my short stories became romance novels.
I live in Colorado now, but I’ll always be a loyal Wisconsin Cheesehead. When I’m not lusting after my next bad boy hero, I’m looking for inspiration in sci-fi and action movies, football players, morally ambiguous lawyers, muscle cars, and kick-butt chicks. Characters—the ever-present voices in my head—bring my books to life. They’re my imaginary friends.
We all need to get away from reality for a little while. I prefer to escape with a sizzly, sexy, forever romance.
