Page 82 of Daddy's Heart

Ryder turned a narrowed gaze on him.

“Samantha—”

“Not my concern.” He wiped his palms together. “Hey, I said you should go.” He jerked a thumb toward the door.

Ryder took one more look at the beaten-down, empty shell of Randall lying on the bed.

“He deserved worse,” Ryder said, reaching for the curtain.

“He did. But he’s family,” Randall’s uncle said with a shrug. Ryder gave a curt nod and exited the hospital room, sliding the glass door closed behind him. The nurses were still working at the station. No one seemed alarmed about the patient in room 47.

Ryder slid his hands into his jeans and made his way back to Samantha’s room. She’d be safe now. She would never have to worry about Randall again.

Chapter 29

“Let me help you.” Ryder hurried around the car to Samantha’s door. Every move ached. Deep breaths were the worst. But she had to get out of the car.

He bent forward and slid his arms beneath her armpits.

“Just take it easy. I’m going to help you out, okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. Gently, he eased her out onto her feet. She inhaled slow, taking only a small breath before the pain shot through her chest again.

“Easy does it.” He brushed a loose hair from her face. “We’ll be upstairs in a minute, then you can lay down and rest, okay? Do you want me to carry you? I should—”

“No.” She shook her head and took a small step toward the elevator. “It will hurt too much if you pick me up. Just…just give me a second.” She unwrapped her arms from around him and took another step away from the car. The door slammed shut behind her. She only made it four steps before his hand pressed against her back.

“I’m okay, Ryder,” she assured him as the elevator doors opened for them.

He jammed his finger into the call button. “No, you’re not. You have a broken rib and several bruised ribs. Your face looks like you doubled as a punching bag this afternoon. You are definitely not okay,” he said in a hard tone.

“I’ll be okay,” she corrected. Since leaving the hospital, his mood swung from angry to overprotective.

“I’m—” he stopped and cleared his throat. His hand fell away from her back. Silent pressure built in the small space of the elevator as it glided up to his floor. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back before they could betray her. Crying wouldn’t help the situation.

He followed behind her to his apartment and only slid in front of her to unlock the door. She brushed past him inside, stopping momentarily as another jolt of pain seized through her torso.

“C’mon, let’s get you into bed. I’ll get your medicine and some water, then you can sleep.” His keys dropped onto the front table, along with the paper bag from the pharmacy. If they gave her more of what she’d had at the hospital, she’d be asleep for days.

A welcomed deep sleep.

Samantha started to turn into her bedroom when Ryder’s hand wrapped around her arm.

“Where are you going?”

“To my room,” she said, tugging back gently. He released her, probably not wanting to hurt her.

His brow wrinkled, and his lips pressed firmly together while he stared quietly at her. She couldn’t read his expression. Was he angry with her, or disappointed in her, or just wanting her to get out of his apartment already?

“I didn’t realize it was Randall when I opened the door,” she stated, calling out the big fat elephant in the room. Obviously, she should have checked the peephole, but she hadn’t. And she had plenty of pain to remind her what an idiot she’d been.

Ryder’s brows lifted. “You think I’m mad at you?” The words came out soft, heavy with regret. “I’m mad at myself. You should be pissed as hell at me. I didn’t—” He cleared his throat again. “I didn’t protect you, and I should have. I shouldn’t have left you here alone until Kendrick’s guys had come over to secure the place. I should have asked George to take you to the interview instead of letting you go alone.”

“That’s not—no, of course I’m not mad at you. This isn’t your fault.” She waved a hand over her ribs. “This was Randall. And Anderson. I wasn’t thinking when the bell rang. I was lost in—” No, she couldn’t talk about the apartment listings yet. Maybe when she was better. Maybe when she was half packed. Not now. Talking hurt; crying would be so much worse.

“What? What were you lost in thought about?” More concern laced his tone.

Why was he being so nice? So cautious? Didn’t he understand the more he tended to her, the worse it felt knowing he wanted her gone? He was done with her.

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