Page 152 of Come Break My Heart Again

I’m so shocked it’s opening—so stunned that it worked—that once again, it takes a few seconds for my muscles to unfreeze and move. I grab the ID and then rush inside.

The room I walk into reminds me of a cafeteria. It’s three times the size of the waiting area, filled with metal tables that have connected chairs. The floor is checkered linoleum, and the walls are a drab gray that might have originally been white.

I take a seat at an empty table, clasping my hands together in my lap. No one told me what this process would be like, and I was too nervous to draw attention to myself by asking any questions.

The prisoners in the room stand out—the orange jumpsuits they’re wearing obnoxious splashes of color against the neutral backdrop. I scan each face quickly, confirming Ryder isn’t in here.

None of the men look dangerous. Most of them look … defeated.

I unclasp my hands to rub my sweaty palms against my jeans.

Then, the far door opens, and I see him.

I freeze once again, my entire body going still. I knew seeing him here would be awful. But I wasn’t totally prepared. I don’t think I could have been.

Ryder’s scanning the room as he walks. A stern-looking guard follows a couple of feet behind, the gun attached to his belt in obvious view.

It takes Ryder about thirty seconds to spot me. When he does, he halts. I see the moment it registers that I’m really here, that he’s not imagining anything. Just like I catch the split second he considers turning and walking away.

And I know—I just know—that he’s going to make this difficult.

That the past three weeks of silence were a choice. Werehischoice.

The Ryder that walks toward me isn’t the guy who folded me a flower or licked icing off my leg. He’s … hard, his face all harsh lines and sharp angles. He looks older too.

“What are you doing here, Elle?” He takes the seat across from mine.

Unlike most of the men here, the air around him crackles with energy. With anger.

“I came to see you.” I leave theduhoff, but it comes through loud and clear.

“Why?”

I stare at him.Why?An hour and a half drive and a stolen driver’s license. Weeks of worry and tears. And all I get is,Why?

“Here’s a why for you.” I lean closer, the cold metal of the table digging into my stomach. “Why are you here, Ryder?”

His jawline tightens, already straight lines pulling taut. “You must know. I’m sure the whole town is talking about it.”

“You told me you didn’t deal drugs. That you weren’t involved with any of that.”

“Shit happened.”

“Shit happened,” I repeat. “Didshit happenwhen you attacked Archer too?”

“Attackedis a stretch. I punched him once.”

I haven’t seen Archer since that day in the hallway. But there was a recent picture of him in the paper from the football team’s senior night. The bruising and swelling on his face are gone, but he has a scar that will last forever.

Kinda impressive that Ryder did that with one swing.

“You promised me you wouldn’t.”

He says nothing, just stares at me.

He’s so cold. So distant. So different from the Ryder I know. From the boy I love.

I’m relieved when he breaks the silence. Horrified by what he says.

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