Page 115 of Hellbent
“He told me it was a mistake. He’s acting like he wishes it had never happened.”
Wyatt looks out toward the rain, jaw set, thoughtful.
“I’ve known Ryder a long time,” he says. “Watched him walk away from a lot of things that could’ve meant something, just so he wouldn’t have to feel it.”
He pauses, like he’s weighing how much to say.
“Ryder doesn’t do anything halfway. Not when it matters. If he lets himself care—it’s not light. It’s not easy. It’s all the way down to the bone.”
He shrugs, and glances at me. “If he didn’t care, he’d be calm. Smooth. Same as always. But when he’s uptight as hell walkingaround like someone just kicked his dog?” A hint of a smile. “Yeah. That’s when you know it matters.”
The words catch me off guard. So simple, but they hit something deep. I stare out into the rain, letting it echo in the silence between us. Letting his words settle.
If he didn’t care...
My heart twists.
If Wyatt’s right—if Ryderdoescare—then that means what happened between us wasn’t one-sided. It wasn’t just a moment of weakness I misread.
That means the way he touched memeantsomething. That the way I felt with him—wanted and seen—was real.
It should feel like relief. But it doesn’t. Because underneath that flicker of hope is the weight of everything else.
Jake. Damian. The way I can’t look at them without guilt curling in my gut.
I care about them too. So deeply it aches. And now…I don’t know where I stand with any of them.
Maybe I never had a chance of keeping this whole thing from falling apart. Maybe I’m the one who pulled the thread that’s unraveling everything.
My chest tightens, the ache turning sharp.
“I think I broke something,” I whisper. “With all of them.”
“You didn’t,” he says gently. “Everything will turn out fine, you’ll see.”
He waits a second, then reaches out and covers my hand with his.
“You’re tougher than you think, kid,” he says. “You walked from God-knows-where, half-dead, through the night, just to get yourself here. Don’t underestimate yourself.”
He opens his arms, and I don’t hesitate.
I lean into him, wrapping my arms around him, and he pulls me in tight. His hug is warm and solid. No one else hugs me like this. He holds me like I’m worth holding.
We sit like that for a long time, the rain pummeling the roof above us, and the wreckage of everything else just a little easier to breathe through.
By the time Ryder calls everyone to eat, the smell of garlic and fire-grilled meat is practically making me salivate.
Ryder plates the food in the kitchen while the rest of us carry it out to the table. I slip into a seat beside Wyatt as everyone starts settling in. Damian takes the chair across from me, and Ryder claims the head of the table across from Wyatt. Jake drops into the seat beside me, too close, his thigh brushing mine for half a second before I shift just enough to break the contact.
Ryder reaches around the table, refilling glasses, and I try not to look at his broad, strong hand, covered by the wolf tattoo as he pours. Try not to remember that hand around my waist, around my ass, cupping my breast.
I keep my eyes down, because looking at him feels like lighting a match.
Damian—still wearing his hoodie, sleeves shoved back—reaches for the tongs and helps himself to steak, silent and sharp-edged, while Jake grabs two rolls like he’s stocking up for winter, and starts talking about how grilling in the rain is an underrated act of heroism.
“I’ve seen actual combat with less smoke,” he says to Damian. “That was carnage out there, man.”
“Don’t blame the fire,” Damian tosses back. “Blame the steak that wanted to die raw.”
