Page 41 of Ryder

“That’s not all mine. Some of it is Kena’s.” A mundane topic, but just the kind of normality I needed in order to soak up my nervousness. Not from Ryder bandaging my wrist but from discovering what was going to happen in the next several minutes. Heck, hours, even weeks.

I watched as he carefully wrapped my wrist, cautious not to tighten the cloth too much for fear of hurting me, applying just the right amount of pressure for the bandage to effectively do its job.

His focus was laser sharp, and in any other situation, I would’ve found it rather comical. The narrowing of his brows. The way the tip of his tongue peeked out from behind his full lips. The twitch in his jaw when I flinched ever so slightly. Gone was the brooding, sometimes arrogant and infuriating man, replaced with someone who was concerned about the smallest injury, his carefulness not to injure me further mixed with regret and worry that I’d distance myself from him because of what happened. He never spoke those exact words, but he didn’t have to. He had very expressive eyes, and I hadn’t seen his tell until right then.

As he finished up, placing a piece of tape around the end of the bandage, he inspected his work before resting my hand back on my lap.

“There. That should hold for a bit. Just try not to use it too much.” His eyes found mine. “I’m really sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I told you I’m okay.”

“I thought you said you werefine.”

“I’m that too.” I smiled. I reached for his hand, lacing the fingers of my good hand with his before scooting closer. Our thighs touched and, although we were fully clothed—him more than me—an electric current coursed through my body. Without realizing, a moan escaped from me as I leaned into him, his mouth mere inches from my own when he interrupted the moment.

“I don’t think we should.”

“Why?” I hadn’t meant to come across as insensitive, knowing he was still dealing with a lot.

“Because my head is still all fucked up. I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t start remembering something soon.” He held my hand a bit tighter before hanging his head, inhaling deeply while a hush surrounded us.

I wanted to offer him some sort of escape by offering myself to him, but clearly he needed something else.

To remember.

And I’d do my best to help him.

Lifting his head, he slowly brought his eyes to mine, his stare locking me firmly in place. The fear behind his browns gutted me. “Did I say anything to you, ya know, before. . . .” He glanced down at my wrapped wrist.

“You were mumbling a lot of things. Something about how you couldn’t do it, and that someone stole everything from you.” I wasn’t making any sense, but then initially neither had he. Suddenly, I remembered something else. “You mentioned your mom.”

He frowned and I could see the wheels turning in his head, urgently trying to connect the dots. Before I knew it, it appeared as if a lightbulb went off. He pulled his hand from mine and shot off the bed, rushing halfway across the room before stopping.

“I remember standing over an old man. He was bleeding and pleading with me not to kill him.”

I couldn’t help it. I gasped, holding my hand in front of my mouth, which only added to Ryder’s anxiousness. I knew something bad had happened, and I knew there was a possibility he’d hurt someone, but I think I refused to believe he could’ve killed someone. Denial and ignorance worked in most cases, but apparently not when that shit slapped you in the face. But I couldn’t focus on that. I had to be there for him so he could try and remember and hopefully move past it. If at all possible. I’d worry about how I felt afterward.

Thankfully he ignored my reaction, raking his fingers through his hair, shaking his head before saying, “I told him to choose. I’d either kill him or his daughter.” Ryder still looked like he was piecing together a scattered puzzle. “He begged me not to touch her. He told me to kill him.” His expression froze, as if he’d finally remembered. “It was Richard. He was the man I went to see.”

“Richard? The man who . . . ?” I couldn’t even finish my question.

“Yeah, the man who killed my mother,” he finished, sadness and anger twirling together to create a whole other kind of emotion.

“Did you . . . ?” Again, I was at a loss for completion.

He was silent for a few moments, locking eyes with me but looking right through me. I knew he needed to work up to telling me the truth, probably running through all the different reactions I’d surely have if his response was what I thought it might be. Finally, he whispered his answer.

“No.”

My lungs deflated as a rush of relieved air pushed from my lips. I believed I would’ve understood if his answer had beenyes, but I was thankful it wasn’t. Without allowing one more second to pass, I deleted the small space between us and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head on his chest.

“No,” he repeated, holding on to me as if he feared I’d disappear. “I couldn’t do it. I hate myself for allowing him to live, but I just couldn’t do it.” Ryder was in pure confession mode, and I allowed him to unburden his soul by continuing to remain silent. “He said he was sorry, that he was a different man back then. That he hadn’t been in his right mind. I didn’t believe him, not until he chose his daughter over himself.”

His arms fell from me and he retreated until his back hit the wall with a small thud. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked down at the floor.

“Ryder.”

No response.

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