Page 117 of Forgotten Pieces

Chapter Forty-One

Five Months Later

Tacoma

I haven’t let thoughts of Ryder Thompson ruin me for nearly five months.

I haven’t checked on him. Or asked others to.

I have learned to live without him.

But I will never forget what his presence feels like. The pull we had, no matter how close or far we were from each other in a room.

And that pull is what makes me stumble over a line in my song as I sing at the jazz club.

The lights on stage are too bright.

The crowd too large to see anything.

But I know he is here.

Or his ghost is here.

I make it through the rest of my set and exit through the back door, skipping over my typical whiskey glass after my performance.

* * *

I sing along to the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald in my headphones as I walk home with my bag of tacos in hand from Cantina Cantina. Charlie got me turned on to these tacos and I eat them more than I care to admit.

I turn the corner to my street and walk the half block to my shotgun house. I don’t look up until I am about to climb the steps. I freeze when I see the man standing by my door. The bag of tacos falling from my hand.

Ryder stands tall on my front porch. He’s in uniform and I fight the feelings I have seeing him in it. I don’t know how it’s possible, but he looks larger than he did a year ago, like all the pain from our split he put into the gym. His hair is cropped short again and the beard he was growing out long gone, just a five o’clock shadow in its place. He’s leaning on a cane and my heart breaks to know he was injured and I wasn’t there. It takes everything in me to finally look into his eyes.

I was expecting to see ghosts in those dark dusky eyes but all I see is hunger. A ravishing need for me burning deeply.

It pains me to not throw myself into his arms and forgive him for everything that happened last year.

But I have fought too hard to get over him.

Struggled to get over the loss and pain I felt nearly every day for the last year.

So I stare at him in silence.

And he stares right back, the hunger in his eyes growing.

“You sounded amazing tonight. I didn’t know you sang jazz.”

His nonchalance sends anger through me. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

He sighs and steps closer to the edge of the porch. “That’s not true, Tacoma.”

My name on his lips sends chills down my spine. I fight the urge once again to throw my arms around him. I grasp onto any bit of anger I can find and throw grit into my voice. “What are you doing here, Ryder?”

He takes another step closer to the edge of the porch. Close enough that I can smell his sandalwood and soap scent. My mind throwing memories at me left and right of us tied up in sheets, us dancing in the kitchen, us telling our secrets under the moonlight on a rock by a lake.

“I came for you, birdie.”

I clench my fist, grasping for any control I can find. “No.”

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