Page 151 of Come Break My Heart Again

“I’m adventurous,” I reply, not sure what else to say.

This isn’t how I wanted to meet Ryder’s mom. I want her to like me, and I’m already certain she doesn’t.

Her lips purse. “What can I help you with?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. I’m a … friend of Ryder’s, and I just wanted to?—”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

The same thing everyone keeps telling me.He accepted a plea deal. He’s in prison. It’s over.

But giving up isn’t an option.

I swallow. “There must be something?—”

“Go home, Elle.”

I stare at Nina, belatedly realizing I never introduced myself.

“Go home,” she repeats a little more gently. “Ryder made his choices. You need to accept them. Move on.”

She makes it sound so simple. Two words—move on.

Forgive.

Forget.

Let go.

None of those are easy. They’re all hard.

But I have what I came here for, so I nod instead of pointing that out. “Nice to meet you.”

Nina appraises me with an inscrutable expression as I head toward the door and step back outside. Down the steps and toward my car.

Two hours later, I’m perched on a metal folding chair, my hands anxiously fiddling with each other. Trying not to jump at each buzz or every clang. Trying not to stare at anyone passing by. Trying not to draw attention to myself.

This is further than I made it last time, which gives me hope. The guard at the entrance nodded when I gave my name—Nina’s name—after checking a computer. Gave me a box to store my phone and a long list of forbidden items. I had to go through a metal detector and ended up here, in a small waiting room that smells like stale coffee and bleach.

“Nina James!”

It takes me a few seconds to react. To remember that’s the name I was waiting for, not Elodie Clarke.

I walk up to the window. My heart is pounding so loudly that I can’t hear anything else. This is illegal. This is dumb. This is … necessary.

Because I’m stubborn and loyal, and I’m in love with Ryder James. Ineedto see him. Need it like air. There are so many questions that only he can answer.

“Nina James?”

“Y-yes.” I steel my spine, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. I’m used to being catered to, as spoiled as that sounds. To teachers paying me extra attention and friends’ parents telling me what a great influence I am. Authority figures normally adore me. But I’m so far from my comfort zone I can’t see it, so I sound like a scared little kid.

“ID?”

Trembling fingers slide Nina’s driver’s license across the laminated counter. My heart ricochets against my rib cage.

A phone behind the plastic barrier begins to ring. The guard barely glances at Nina’s driver’s license before shoving it back toward me.

The door buzzes open a few seconds later.

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