24. Adam
24
ADAM
I enter my living room, the day's tension still clinging to my shoulders. It has been a very long day and even longer week.
Although I feel better now that I’ve showered and changed into comfortable clothes—a T-shirt and sweatpants— and in the mood for a nice glass of whiskey. It’s one of the few indulgences I allow myself these days.
The crystal decanter catches my eye, promising a moment of respite. As I reach for it, my phone buzzes. I grunt in annoyance, not sure if I even want to bother looking.
I pour a generous helping and sit down on the sofa, trying to ignore my phone. Instead, I turn on the TV, skipping through the channels.
Not finding anything interesting, I turn it off again and discard the remote. Worthless subscriptions if nothing good is ever on.
I take a sip of whiskey and sigh with pleasure. It sure does taste amazing.
After a few moments of silence, curiosity wins out and I take my phone from my pocket.
A missed call from Destiny. Two hours ago.
"Shit," I mutter, immediately hitting redial, upset at myself for not checking earlier.
No answer. A tight and bitter knot settles in my stomach, ruining the taste of my whiskey. I set the glass down, frowning. Why didn’t she call again after missing me the first time?
Another buzz. A text from my lawyer.
"Did you see the news?"
My frown deepens and I type back: "No. What news?"
"I…I think it’s better if I just show you. I’m sorry, Adam."
What the hell is he talking about?
A link pops up almost instantly. I tap it, and my world stops.
The headline of the news article screams at me, narrowing my world to seven words.
"Breaking: Tech Mogul's Wife in Car Accident"
The words blur as I scan the article. Destiny. Car accident. Paparazzi chase. My heart pounds in my ears.
There are no relevant photos in the article, only a stock image of a wreckage. The car in the image is crumpled and destroyed, making my mind reel with possibilities of what happened to Destiny and my daughter.
"Fuck!" I slam my fist on the counter, the sound echoing through the empty house.
I dial Destiny again. Voicemail. Again.
"Destiny, it's me. Call me back immediately. I need to know you're okay."
My mind races. The airport photos. I thought she'd left the city. Was it all fake? A setup? Did the fucking paparazzi make shit up just to stir things?
Bloody idiots.
I grab my keys, already heading for the door. I need answers, and I need them now.
As I rush to my car, I realize that Destiny must have called after the accident. Fuck. Every fiber of my being is hoping that she and Avery are okay.
I dial Destiny's number again.
Straight to voicemail. "Goddammit!"
I pull up the article again, scanning for any details about the crash location. There. A stretch of highway about two hours outside the city. I quickly search for the nearest hospital and dial their number.
"St. Mary's Hospital, how may I direct your call?"
"I need information on a patient. Destiny Lewis. She was in a car accident?—"
"I'm sorry, sir, but we can't disclose patient information over the phone."
"Listen, I'm her husband. Our daughter was with her. I need to know if they're okay."
"Sir, I understand your concern, but?—"
I cut her off. "No, YOU don't understand. I'm Adam Ryder. I'll be there in an hour. Have someone ready to talk to me."
I hang up, pushing aside the fear slowly coiling around my heart. I will remain calm. As I always do.
My hand pauses on the door handle. I send a text to Thomas, asking him to get back to me immediately.
When I slide into my car, my phone buzzes. A text.
"What do you need, boss man?"
I type back quickly: "Find out which paps were chasing her. They're going down for this."
The engine roars to life, and I peel out of the driveway. The city lights blur as I push the speed limit, my mind fixated on one thought: Destiny and Avery better be okay.
I push my car to its limits, weaving through traffic like a man possessed. The highway stretches endlessly before me, every mile feeling like an eternity.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
Why is everyone driving so fucking slowly? Don’t they know there are other people with important business trying to drive here?
I push the accelerator harder, the car roaring in response. The speedometer creeps past 100 mph, but it's not enough. It's never enough when your child might be in danger.
I’ve never been more glad I bought this car; it’s quite capable when it comes to speed. And that’s exactly what I need right now.
A curve appears ahead, sharper than I anticipated. I jerk the wheel, tires squealing as they struggle for grip. For a moment, the car fishtails, and my heart leaps into my throat.
"Fuck!" I snarl, wrestling the steering wheel back under control.
The car straightens out, but my pulse is still racing. I ease off the gas, taking a deep breath. This isn't me. I'm always in control, always composed. But right now, I feel anything but.
Cars around me honk, and I resist the urge to yell at them to just fuck off.
"Get it together, for fuck's sake," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. I hate how my emotions are affecting me. I’ve been able to suppress my emotions for years, this is not the time to lose that control.
I glance at my phone, hoping for a call or text from Destiny. Nothing. The silence is deafening.
My foot itches to floor it again, but I resist. Avery needs me in one piece. I can't help her if I wrap myself around a tree like an idiot.
I settle into a more reasonable speed, still fast but no longer reckless. The highway continues to frustratingly continue before me, teasing me with how endless it seems. But I force myself to stay focused, to stay calm.
"Hold on, baby girl," I whisper, thinking of Avery's tiny face. "Daddy's coming."
The speedometer hovers just shy of reckless, but every fiber of my being screams to push harder, faster.
I've barely known Avery for a heartbeat, and now she might be... No. I shut that thought down hard. She's fine. She has to be.
A sign for a rest stop flashes by. For a split second, I consider pulling over, collecting myself. But the thought of Avery, tiny and helpless, possibly hurt...
"Fuck that," I growl, pressing the accelerator.
I've built an empire, crushed competitors, and navigated the cutthroat world of tech with iron-fisted control. But right now, I feel like I'm grasping at smoke, and it’s not a feeling I’m enjoying much.
My mind turns to Destiny, and an unfamiliar feeling of regret suddenly tickles at the back of my mind. Despite everything, the thought of her hurt twists something deep in my gut. We may be over, but she's still Avery's mother. My daughter needs her.
A semi lumbers in the right lane, and I zip past it, ignoring the blaring horn. The world outside is a blur, inconsequential compared to the thoughts racing through my mind.
I've never been one for what-ifs or regrets. You make a choice, you own it. But now, faced with the possibility of losing everything I didn't even know I wanted...
The sign for St. Mary's Hospital looms ahead. I take the exit at breakneck speed, tires squealing in protest. Whatever I find beyond those hospital doors, I'll face it head-on. Because that's what I do. I'm Adam fucking Ryder, and I don't lose.
Not now, not ever.
Finally, the hospital comes into view. I screech into the parking lot, barely remembering to lock the car as I sprint towards the entrance. The automatic doors can't open fast enough.
The antiseptic smell hits me as I burst into the lobby. My eyes scan frantically for the reception desk. There. I stride over, cutting in front of an elderly couple.
The older man mumbles something under his breath but I ignore him.
"Destiny Lewis," I demand, my voice rough. "She was brought in from a car accident. Where is she?"
The receptionist, a young woman with startled eyes, fumbles with her computer. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'll need you to?—"
"I don't have time for this," I growl, leaning over the desk. "I'm her husband. Tell me where she is. Now."
She swallows hard, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Let me check, Mr...?"
"Ryder. Adam Ryder."
Recognition flashes in her eyes. Good. Maybe now we'll get somewhere.
"Mr. Ryder, I-" She pauses, her brow furrowing as she reads something on her screen. My heart races, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.
The look on her face doesn’t give anything away, but everything in me is screaming to not hear bad news.
"What is it? Just tell me where she is."
The receptionist looks up at me, her expression shifting to one of sympathy. My stomach drops. That look is never a good sign.
"I'm sorry, sir," she says softly. "She's not here anymore."