He led me to you
I RETURN FROM MY POSTDINNER RUN TO FIND RYDER SITTING ON my couch. I
jolt in surprise, tugging my earbuds out. “Hey. What are you doing here?” He gets up. “Wanted to see you. Mya let me in before she headed out.
She said to tell you she’s meeting some Tinder guy for drinks in Hastings.”
As I get closer, I notice a red mark on his left cheekbone. Not quite a cut. Maybe a slight bruise.
“What happened here?” Despite myself, I reach out to touch his face. “Did you get hurt during one of your games this weekend?”
He shakes his head. “Nick Lattimore punched me.” “What? Why on earth would he do that?”
“He thought I invited his girlfriend over for sex.” “Do I even want to ask?”
Ryder shrugs. “Darby came over because I needed advice on how to make you not hate me.”
I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I do. His gruff, sheepish admission instantly warms me over. God, this man.
“And I think I figured it out.” Another shrug. “I was hoping we could talk. For real.”
Sweaty and sticky from my run, I unzip my hoodie and take a step toward my side of the suite. “Do you mind if I grab a shower first?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll wait.”
A moment later, I dunk my head under the hot water and let it wash down over me. I think about everything I want to say to him. Everything that’s been weighing on my mind these past few days.
Do I want us to keep going? Is there even a point?
Because I can’t be in a relationship with someone who shuts down.
Someone who doesn’t let me in.
Except then I think about how rewarding it is to get a smile out of him. How my heart flips when he laughs. The way that he listens to me and shows me no judgment, only acceptance.
I quickly dry off and throw on a pair of flannel pants and a hoodie. It’s the least sexy outfit ever, but the way he admires me when I walk out makes me feel so stupidly pretty.
I sit next to him, drawing my knees up and hugging them. “My father’s name is Luke.”
It’s not at all what I expected to hear. I furrow my brow at him. “It is?” “My mom named me after him.” “So you’re a junior?”
“Not exactly. I don’t have his last name. They weren’t married, so Ryder is my mother’s maiden name.” He looks sick. “I’m glad I don’t have both his names. Christ. Then there’d be no escape from it at all. At least I have Ryder.”
“Why do you need to escape it? You’re not close to your dad?” “He shot my mother in the head and killed her.”
Shock slams into me.
I’m given zero preparation and have no idea how to react.
I gawk at him, blinking. Until I realize he’s just shared something so deeply personal and harrowing, and I’m here staring at him like an idiot.
“W-what?” I stammer. Again, not the most coherent response. But at least my voice works now. “Your dad killed your mom?”
Ryder nods.
“How old were you when it happened? Did you…?” I trail off.
My brain can’t comprehend this. It literally cannot wrap itself around the fact that Ryder’s mother was murdered by his own father.
“I was six. And yes, I saw it happen.”
I reach for his hand and find it cold. I entwine our fingers, infusing his with warmth, urging him to continue.
His eyes grow strained. Features tight with pain.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I finally say.
That gets me a dry laugh. “Really? Because the whole reason I’m here, the whole reason you’re upset with me, has to do with me not sharing. So, what, now it’s okay not to share?”
“I just mean, you don’t have to give all the details. It’s enough that I know—”
“That my father’s a murderer?”
I feel horrible now. I barely spoke to him for four days because he refused to tell me why he doesn’t want to be called Luke. And now I know the answer and it’s fucking heart-wrenching. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him to talk.
“It’s fine,” he says, noting my dismay. “I’ll talk about it. It’s just… there’s no point. It’s in the past.”
“A past that affected you. Severely enough that you can’t even use your own name.”
Ryder’s answering exhale is unsteady. He’s quiet for so long I think he’s done talking. But then he speaks.
“He wasn’t a violent man. I know, it’s ironic to say that, considering what he did to her in the end. But he didn’t beat us. Never laid a hand on her, at least not in front of me. I never saw bruises or bloody noses. Sure, he could be an asshole when he drank, but it’s not like I lived in fear of him.”
“So he just snapped?”
“I don’t know. I was six. I didn’t know the inner workings of their relationship. I know they argued a lot. I don’t think she was happy, but she would put on a brave face for me.” Ryder rakes a hand through his hair. “Hell, maybe he was beating her and she just hid it really well. Honestly, I don’t know. The night it happened, I remember waking up to shouts. I snuck out of my room, poked my head into their room, saw the suitcase. It was half-packed, so I think she was planning to leave him. And I guess, yeah, he snapped. When I came to the doorway, he’d already pulled the gun
on her. He was telling her that if she walked out the door, he was going to put a bullet in her brain.”
My heart starts pounding. I picture a six-year-old boy standing there, watching his father point a weapon at his mother, and it’s unimaginable.
“Neither of them saw me at first. But then he noticed me and shouted for me to go back to my room. But I was frozen in place, too scared to move. She tried to go to me, but he ordered her not to move. And then they started fighting again. She told him that pointing a gun at her only proved why she had to leave. That he was too jealous and possessive and unstable. She said she couldn’t do this anymore. He asked her if she still loved him, and she said no. That’s the part that’s etched into my brain. Like, why did she say no?”
He shakes his head in disbelief, then barks out a harsh laugh.
“Why didn’t she just lie? This guy’s pointing a fucking gun at her head. I get it, people aren’t always thinking clearly in scary situations, but…Christ. Tell the man with the gun you love him. But she didn’t, and it got her killed. The second she admitted she didn’t love him, he pulled the trigger. Just like that.” Ryder snaps his fingers, amazed. “It was so loud. I’ve never heard anything that loud. My ears were ringing. Mom’s body fell to the floor.”
My heart rate is dangerously high. I wasn’t even there, and I feel the fear, visceral in my bones. “Did he try to hurt you too?”
“Not at all. He just walked out of the bedroom, told me to follow him. We went to the living room, and he sat on the couch, gun on his knee. He asked me to come sit beside him.”
“Oh my God.”
“So I did. He picked up his glass of whiskey from the coffee table and just started sipping it. Someone must have heard the shot and called the police, because it wasn’t long before we heard the sirens. It was only about five minutes before they showed up and took him away.” Ryder uses air quotes to repeat himself. “‘Only’ five minutes. Longest five minutes of my life. Five minutes of sitting on the couch with him while Mom’s body was in the other room, bleeding all over the floor.”
I feel like throwing up. Gulping through the nausea, I wrap my other hand over his hand, trapping it between both my palms. “What happened after that?”
“He was arrested. Child services got involved.” Ryder offers a shrug. “Dad didn’t have any family, and the few family members on Mom’s side didn’t want to step up. So I got thrown into the system.”
“Did it go to trial?”
“No, he pled out. Life in prison with the possibility of parole. I had to give a witness statement to the police, though. They asked a million questions, and I didn’t really understand any of them because I was six years old. All I knew was that my mom was gone.”
His eyes become misty. Before I can stop myself, I reach up and stroke the underside of my thumb over the moisture there. He flinches, just slightly, but doesn’t push me away. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine as I wipe away the tears.
“Anyway, that’s it. That’s the story. I share a name with the man who took my mother away. And every time someone calls me that fucking name, I hear her screaming it that night. When I was in the doorway and Dad suddenly noticed I was there, he spun around and pointed the gun at me. Not as an intentional threat. Just instinct, I think. But Mom screamed, Luke, stop. And Christ, I still have nightmares about it. I hear her screaming my name. His name.”
I climb into his lap and lock my arms around his neck. Holding him. But I don’t know if it’s more for his sake or mine. This chilling glimpse into his childhood has shaken me.
“So that’s why I hate it, all right? I don’t want to think about him. I want to pretend it never happened.”
I pull back and meet his red-rimmed eyes. “You can’t, though. Because it did happen,” I say quietly. “I can’t even imagine how painful it was, how painful it still is when you think about it. But pretending it’s not there doesn’t help anything. Isn’t that what you always tell me? To just let myself feel things even if they’re not pleasant?”
Still, I get it now. The reason he put on that aloof front. This catastrophic event that shaped his childhood left him in self-preservation mode. Protect yourself at all costs. I don’t blame him one bit.
“Trust me, I felt it all,” Ryder says hoarsely. “I felt it all the time. And then I was done feeling it. It was time to move on. I decided to go to school on the East Coast and get the fuck away from Arizona. Put it all behind me
—my dad in jail, my mom dead, those godawful foster homes. All fucking behind me.” He gives a dark laugh. “The one thing I can’t put behind me, though, is my own name.”
“Yes. Your name,” I repeat and cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “Your name is what you make it. I’m sure there are many, many people out there who were named after a parent that was a monster. You just have to do something better with that name. Be better than the monster.”
Ryder’s gaze locks with mine. “I’m not like him.” “I didn’t think you were.”
“No, I mean that’s not the reason I avoid the name. I’m not worried I’m going to end up like him. I know I won’t.” He speaks with strong conviction. “I don’t think I’m going to snap and kill someone. I know myself and what I’m capable of. It’s the reminder, that’s all. The reminder of this shitty place I came from. This shitty person I’m forever tied to, at least genetically. I hear my name, and the past comes rushing back, when all I want is to leave it in my dust.”
“You can’t outrun your history. It doesn’t disappear just because you leave Arizona and move out east and go by the name Ryder. No matter what you do, it’s still there. That is where you come from.”
“I know.” He bites his lip.
“And whenever you’re reminded of it, instead of shutting down, burying it deep, pushing everyone away…all you have to do is this.” I stroke his jaw with both thumbs. “Just be open and honest with me, and I’ll do my best to help.”
“I’ll try,” he says roughly.
“And, honestly, if you truly hate the name, you could always change it. But we both know you’re not running from the name. You’re running from
shame.”
His eyes look wet again. I bend down and kiss him. Just a soft caress against his lips, which I feel trembling beneath mine.
“There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of,” I whisper. Ryder goes quiet for several long beats. “He’s up for parole.” I jolt in shock. “What!”
“That’s why I was in such a foul mood the other day. I’d just gotten off the phone with the prosecutor in Phoenix. I told you he pled out, right? Well, it was a sweet fucking deal. Eligible for parole after fifteen years— they didn’t think he was a danger to society. Just a crime of passion unlikely to be repeated.” Ryder laughs bitterly. “Until he gets into another relationship and decides to blow her brains out too.”
I flinch. “He can’t actually be released, right?”
“The DA says it’s unlikely. But he wants me to come speak at the hearing. Said my statement would help keep him behind bars.”
“Are you going?”
“No. I never want to see his face again.” I don’t blame him.
“Anyway.” This time he kisses me, another gentle touch of our lips. “I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day and shutting you out. Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for talking.”
There’s another long stretch of silence. Then Ryder throws me for another loop.
“I totally understand if you want to go and, ah, I don’t know, be with Case.”
I blink. “Where on earth did that come from?”
“I was just thinking about it. Colson’s a good guy. And I’m sure he doesn’t have this amount of baggage.”
“You know, a few months ago you would’ve swallowed glass before admitting he’s a good guy.”
“I know, but…he is. He’s a decent guy.” Ryder sighs. “Do you still want to be with him?”
I don’t hesitate. “No.” “Did you love him?”
“I did. But I’ve been thinking about it too. And the more I do, the more I realize I wasn’t devastated when he cheated on me.”
“Really, because it hasn’t sounded like you were too happy about it.” “Well, no, I wasn’t happy. And, yes, I was upset. I cried. A lot. But it
didn’t rip me apart, you know? I feel like it should have. I feel like if I truly loved him and wanted to be with him, get married, have kids, build a life… then that kind of betrayal would just destroy me. And it didn’t, which tells me maybe it wasn’t as right as either of us thought it was.” I rest my chin on Ryder’s shoulder, pensive. “Besides, if he hadn’t cheated, you and I wouldn’t be here right now. So in a way, he…”
He led me to you.
I can’t bring myself to say it because I’m terrified it’ll lead me into saying other things, and I’m not telling anyone I love them anymore. Last time I did, the guy freaked and ran.
“Why are you really bringing up Case?” I ask, lifting my head. “Are you feeling insecure?”
“No. I…I guess I just need to know you want me.” “I want you.”
Smiling, he tugs us backward and onto our sides so we’re lying on the couch facing each other. His fingers stroke my cheek. Toying with my hair. I love how he always needs to be touching me, even though he plays it off cool. Nonchalant.
My hand drifts up his chest and I can feel him trembling. I bring my palm to his left pec, press it against his heart, and instantly it starts beating faster.
“You feel this too, don’t you?” His eyes are on mine. Dark blue and bottomless.
“Yeah. I feel it.”
