Chapter Thirty-Six - Ryder
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ryder
Present
Again? Why do I have to be conscious again?
I never imagined I’d wish to be subjected to active torture, but at this point, at least it’d be something.
Anything.
I’m so tired of nothing.
And there’s the doorknob. Cue the padding footsteps… and there they are.
As per my minimal habits, I open my mouth and wait for the cool water to come.
When it does, I gulp it down eagerly. It’s pulled away, and I open my mouth again, ready for the warm soup.
“Not today,” the voice says.
I know I’m not in a good situation, but the simple fact that something is different about today gives me a surge of hope. Different is better than nothing.
The pressure of the restraints leaves my wrists, just to be replaced a moment later by something cold. Handcuffs?
I let them guide me to stand—not like I have much choice—but we don’t walk the path to the bathroom. We take a turn, and when I stumble, I’m just glad to have finally located my feet. If only I could control them and get the hell out of here.
The pressure of a hand under both of my arms is all I have to rely on as I’m carted up a set of stairs, which I only know because of the grumbling of the asshole leading me.
This is humiliating.
When I get out of this, I’m planning the most elaborate death for this bastard.
The doorknob clicks, but this time, it’s right in front of me, and bright light hits my eyelids, though nothing is actually visible since they’re still closed.
I try to open them, but I’m fighting the darkness. Still, light seems to seep through something when I attempt to pry them open. I concentrate as best I can, waiting for something, anything, to hint at where I am and who has me.
Come on, eyes, I mentally chant.
With another turn, my feet falter, but the light hits my eyes again, and I can’t see anything.
A blindfold, I realize. My eyes haven’t been closed—just covered.
I’m relieved to have this bit of information but furious that I’m unable to glimpse anything that could help me out of this.
Another door opens, slamming shut with an echo that suggests the room is hard-surfaced.
A garage—I’m sure.
This is confirmed when a beep is followed by a click, and I’m shoved into the back of a vehicle. The shove is careless, and my head hits a hard surface, but it’s worth it because the blindfold shifts.
It’s not much, but it’s enough that I can finally blink my eyes clear of blurriness and get a good look at my captor.
What I see gives me a sense of complete and utter hopelessness.
I really thought this was real life, but it isn’t. This must be a dream. At least, that’s the only logical reason for what I see because I can’t—for the life of me—imagine what possible reason she has for being here.
I blink my eyes again, but her profile is clear as day. She catches my eye, giving me a remorseful look that I don’t believe for a second.
“You, of all people, know what lengths a parent will go to protect their child,” Meredith says as she slams the trunk shut.
Postpartum
I burst through the doors of the hospital, storming over to the front desk, where I already have the attention of every nurse.
“Rachel Lance,” I bark.
“Right this way,” one says without hesitation, leading me quickly down the hallways, though it still feels like way too long before we get to the door of the nicest suite the hospital has to offer.
I don’t even thank the nurse; I just throw the door open and freeze in place the second I step inside.
She’s beautiful.
So beautiful.
Wrapped in light pink cloth, held to the chest of the woman I love.
My daughter.
I barely notice that Alec sits on the bed beside Rachel, cooing over the infant. I can’t pull my eyes from the precious life.
“I need to make a call,” Alec states, and I don’t bother addressing him as he exits the room, leaving the three of us alone.
My family.
My family.
I force myself to look away from the little girl to her mother, the woman who has given me the most precious thing I could ever possess.
Her eyes have dark circles beneath them, and they’re red and puffy like she’s done a lot of crying since I last saw her, which isn’t surprising.
While the entire Moreno family was running around like headless chickens looking for Mason—who was assumed to be behind the power outage and security system failure—the real culprit was after my girls.
We didn’t know what was going on until Alec called from the ambulance he’d summoned for Rachel, after delivering my daughter himself.
Eventually, we located Mason, who was restrained in Nicholas Belford’s suite, and his plan to frame Mason for killing Rachel and our child fell into place from there.
I rest a hand on Rachel’s cheek, stroking the soft skin there.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” I tell her.
Not only was I unable to protect her, but I also missed the birth of our daughter.
She doesn’t say anything, but she’s had a long twenty-four hours, so I’m sure she’s just tired.
With one finger, I brush my daughter’s cheek, feeling the most profound sense of belonging as I do.
“May I?” I hold out my hands to take her, and without much of a reaction, Rachel gently hands her over.
“Support her head and cradle her to your chest,” she says, voice cracking with exhaustion.
I nod, refraining from reminding her that I’ve read every article and book on the market in my free time since learning about this pregnancy. I know exactly what I’m doing.
I take my daughter in my arms, and, for the first time in my life, I feel like my purpose is so much bigger than myself.
“She’s so beautiful,” I whisper. My smile feels like a permanent fixture, and I look up to share it with Rachel, but her face is blank, and her eyes are hollow. “Are you okay, Rebel? I know that must have been a nightmare. I’m so sorry you had to face that alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she states, eyes trained on the perfection in my arms. “Alec was there for me. He saved her life.”
“We owe him quite a bit,” I murmur, and I already know how he’ll be repaid.
When Rachel doesn’t answer again, I let the silence settle and relish the pure perfection of holding our daughter.
“Lyla Bates,” I say, needing to hear her name—to say it myself.
My daughter. This is my daughter.
Lyla—
“Lance.” Rachel practically breathes the word.
“Huh?”
She nods to our daughter. “It’s Lyla Lance.”
The joy I’m feeling can’t be diminished, but there’s a deep betrayal that slices through my core. “What? I thought you said—”
“I know what I said,” Rachel says, reaching out and taking Lyla from my arms. “But this makes the most sense.”
“The most sense, how?”
“Doctor’s visits, school paperwork—it’ll just be a lot easier when our names match.”
I open my mouth to tell her their last names will match—if the ring in my pocket has any say in the matter—but she speaks first.
“Being a single parent is hard enough without the name complicating it.”
“What are you talking about? You aren’t a single parent, but it’s not a big deal. We can talk about it at home and make the change later.”
Rachel has had a long day, and I don’t want to stress her out when she needs rest.
“Ryder.”
Her features harden, and the way she says my name, like a declaration, twists my stomach into knots before the rest of her words are even spoken.
“I’m not changing Lyla’s name, and I’m not going home with you.”
I wait for her to explain. She doesn’t, and I’m hit with knee-buckling nausea.
“What are you talking about?” I hear myself ask, but I don’t want to hear the answer.
“The doctor wants me to stay through the night because of the nature of the birth, but as soon as I get the all-clear, Lyla and I are moving back to Sacramento.”
“The hell you are,” I grate. “You said you’d stay.”
“I shouldn’t have,” she says, dropping her eyes. “It was a rash decision on my part, and now that Lyla is here, I just can’t imagine staying.”
“Rash decision? You’ve been imagining it just fine for weeks.”
“And now I’m seeing clearly. I mean, come on, Ryder, you can’t really expect me and our infant to live in a mafia base that was just attacked. This isn’t right for her. She needs something safer than that, something more stable.”
“We’ll move off the base. We’ll get a house nearby,” I offer, but it sounds more like a plea.
“It’s still too close to what you do. You can’t look me in the eye and tell me that this is the safest place for her.”
“The safest place for you and Lyla is with me.”
“It wasn’t last night,” she says. “Ryder, I’m not changing my mind on this, so you can save your energy. I’ll be her primary caregiver, and you can visit anytime you want.”
She’s going to leave.
The woman I love, the woman I was going to ask to be my wife, the woman I saw forever with, is walking away from me and taking our child with her.
I do something that I’ve never done in my entire life.
I beg.
“Rachel, please, don’t do this.”
When her eyes finally meet mine, a single tear slides down her cheek. The sight breaks my heart even more—if that’s possible.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “We tried. Things didn’t work out, but that doesn’t mean we can’t co-parent. This is what’s best for us—for Lyla.”
I wholeheartedly disagree, but I keep that fact to myself. Pushing Rachel, snapping at her right now, won’t do us any good. I could find dozens of excuses and reasons to coax her into changing her mind, but quite frankly, I don’t want to.
I want her to stay because she wants to, not because I force her.
“I’ll do anything, Rachel, anything to keep you with me.”
She regards me carefully, with a hope buried deep under the sadness glossing over her gaze.
“Come with me,” she whispers. “Come with me to Sacramento. There’s a base there, right? Come with Lyla and me and work from there.”
She knows I can’t just up and leave. That’s not how this works. I swore my life to Moreno, and as long as he needs me here, I can’t leave.
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” I ask, and I can feel my defenses rise into place.
She must see it, too, because that small flicker of hope burns out like a candle in a hurricane.
Rachel shakes her head. “Just putting things into perspective. We live in different worlds, Ryder, and this one wasn’t made for Lyla and me.”
“Rachel, I’m in love with you,” I tell her, needing her to at least know this much.
“I know,” she says in a strangled whisper. “I wish that was enough.”
And that’s how the best day of my life became the worst.
The days—okay, weeks—following weren’t any better.
I withdraw from Moreno and the capos, and the quality of my work is laughable. I stop going to poker nights and the bar when the others go out. I even throw a punch when Donovan suggests I try getting over Rachel by getting someone else under me.
Because, even now, I know there is no getting over Rachel—and I’d rather live in this pain than attempt to.
I don’t move back into the base. I live in the cabin that still holds the smell of her vanilla shampoo—which both soothes and tortures me. We video chat daily so she can show me how Lyla is doing, but we don’t talk about anything real.
Every few weeks, I travel to Sacramento to visit, but they’re quiet trips. Rachel avoids me at all costs, and when she can’t avoid me, she’s silent.
Now and then, I get the urge to push for more because I know deep down she’d give in with the right persuasion. But, as much as I want her body, it’s her heart that’s shut me out and that isn’t so easily manipulated.
It’s just like the days before the pregnancy when we avoided all real conversations. At least then, we still spent time together and had physical intimacy.
Now, we have nothing, and I feel the weight of that loss every second of every day.
Several weeks after Rachel is gone, Moreno sits me in his office and tells me I’ll lose my position if I can’t get it together.
Without Rachel or Lyla, my title is all I have left.
So, I throw myself into my work.
I take on more responsibility, work longer hours, and fix hiccups in the system that have been long overlooked just because I have the time.
I elect Alec to step into Nicholas’s position, and the others agree after how he handled everything the night of the attack. He thanks me as if he didn’t earn this himself. If anything, I’m the one who needs to be thanking him.
I fall into a routine.
Work becomes my life. I visit the girls when I can and call every day. Eventually, I learn to expect Rachel’s silence—and though it’s painful as hell, after several months the sharp sting dulls to an ache.
Sometimes, I wonder if the pain will ever go away—but after all these years, it never has.
And there’s a twisted part of me that hopes it never will.