Chapter 23
The front door slams.
“Honey, I’m home!” echoes through the first floor.
Keira rolls her eyes. “Kitchen!” she calls back.
Tucker appears a few seconds later. He’s dressed casually in a sweatshirt with Franklin Construction printed across the front and a backward baseball cap. “Oh, hey. Am I interrupting ladies’ night?” he asks, scanning the table that’s covered with drinks and food.
“I guess you could call it that,” Keira says. “We’re drinking wine and wedding planning.”
“I thought the wedding was already planned,” Tucker says, grabbing a sports drink out of the fridge. He drains most of it in one gulp.
“It is. Mostly. There are still details to decide.”
“Do you need, uh, help?”
Keira’s expression is wry as she glances at her fiancé. “No. You’re off the hook. You’ll be using whatever napkin color I decide on.”
“Never had strong opinions on napkins anyway.” Tucker kisses the top of Keira’s head, then reaches out for one of the slices of pizza on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”
“You just got here.”
“I know. But you’re busy, and Ryder asked to borrow some tools for a project at Reese’s. Figured I’d drive them over myself, help out a bit.”
“Okay,” Keira replies. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye. Later, ladies!”
“Who’s Reese?” Ophelia asks once Tucker walks out of the kitchen.
“She’s a friend of Tucker’s,” Keira responds.
“And Ryder’s?”
I glance at Ophelia. I thought her interest in Ryder had waned following the weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. Now, I’m not as sure. I’m not close enough to Ophelia to ask, and I’m too close to Keira to avoid her reading into it. Which she will, even though I haven’t shared the news that I’m single yet.
“Mmhmm. They all grew up together.” Keira’s attention is on her laptop screen. “What do we think about ‘Dancing Queen’?”
“A classic,” Ophelia says. “Definitely put it on the list.”
After taking a first pass at the seating chart and choosing pale pink for the napkins, we’re working on the reception playlist.
I glance out the window at the cute house next door. Keira lived in an apartment downtown when she first moved back to Fernwood, only buying this place six months ago. It’s a bungalow, one of the few more modest homes in the residential section of town. On the far fringes of the One zip code.
This is the first time I’ve been back in Fernwood since Ryder’s return. Part of me thought it would feel different. That the air would have changed. That I’d be able to sense his presence somehow.
It felt strange, not heading to the trailer park first. I’ve respected Nina’s wishes and stayed away since she called me.
I miss her. I mailed her more tea a couple of weeks ago. But I can’t call or visit without risking Ryder finding out about my trips to see his mom. And if we were in a friendly, cordial place, that might not be so bad. Instead, we’re in a place that has me hanging on for dear life.
Two hours later, we’ve finalized the playlist and migrated into the living room.
I head into the kitchen to use the bathroom that juts off it and top off my wine. A male voice sounds as I’m washing my hands. Tucker must be back, which is probably my cue to leave. I only stopped at my parents’ house briefly to drop off Scout, and I have been delaying heading back there ever since. I haven’t told them about the breakup with Prescott either. My mom will be disappointed because she wants to plan my wedding as soon as possible. My dad will be bummed about losing his golf buddy.
Footsteps sound as I’m adding another inch of rosé to my glass.
When I turn around, Ryder is standing in the doorway. My entire body reacts. My palms start sweating, and my heart starts sprinting, and my stomach starts flipping.
Will I ever be able to look at him and just feel … normal? All signs point to no.
We haven’t spoken since I called him the night Prescott broke up with me. And that conversation did not end on a civil note.
“I was at Reese’s,” he says before I can speak a word.
“Yeah. Tucker mentioned.”
“No. I mean—yes, I was there tonight. I also went over there last Friday. That’s where I was when you called.”
“Cool. Thanks for the update.”
I’ve sipped one glass of wine all night, knowing I’ll have to drive home. But with Ryder staring at me—offering explanations I didn’t ask for—I swallow most of what I just poured.
“Yeah. You’re welcome.” He says it sarcastically, and I’m relieved. Civility is gone between us, and it’s like a whiff of fresh air after straight smog.
Being around Ryder has always made me feel safe. But it’s never been easy or comfortable. It’s always the edge of a cliff. Pure anticipation of what will happen between us next. What he’ll say. What he’ll do. What I’ll say. What I’ll do. It’s never predictable.
I hold up the empty wine bottle. “Doubt you wanted any, but it’s gone.”
I’ve never seen Ryder drink wine. Or hard liquor. He’s a beer guy.
He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, not even glancing at the wine. His attention is all on me, and it’s thrilling and terrifying and … temporary. “You didn’t graduate from Fernwood High?”
My eyes dart around the kitchen. Looking for an escape route. Making sure there are no witnesses.
“And you got suspended senior year?”
My grip tightens on the glass stem and the wine bottle. Fucking Reese. I’m positive she told him.
The longer I stay silent, the more irritated Ryder appears. I don’t know how he thinks he has any right to be the vexed person standing in this kitchen.
“What the hell happened, Elle?”
“None of your business,” I snap.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
My molars grind. “I’m sure Reese already?—”
“I want to hear it from you.”
“Too bad we don’t always get what we want, isn’t it?” I taunt.
He shakes his head. Annoyance has departed, leaving anger behind. “Why the fuck would you?—”
“No.” I slam the wine bottle down and step closer. “No fucking way are we doing this, Ryder. I begged you to talk to me. I begged you for answers. No fucking way are you demanding any from me. You. Shut. Me. Out. My life—my decisions—is none of your damn business. You’ve heard that before? I’ll tell you a thousand more times. That’s all you’re getting from me.”
“Are the gifts you brought my mom none of my business too, Elle? The seven years of visits? You think Cormac didn’t tell me about the way you edited his college essays and helped him get the internship he’s so proud of?”
Crap, crap, crap.
Everything he wasn’t supposed to know is laid out right in front of me. And if he found out, he wasn’t supposed to care enough to ask me about any of it. To demand explanations like he has any right to them.
My shoulders square. “Yeah. That’s all none of your business too. I’m not going to apologize—for any of it.”
“I’m not asking you to apologize. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck happened after I left.”
“If you wanted updates, you should’ve let me visit,” I snap. “I would have explained it to you.”
“I was in prison, Elle! It wasn’t rehab or juvie or?—”
“I saw it, Ryder. I know what it looked like. Or are we pretending that never happened either?”
“I’m not pretending anything.” He rakes a hand through his hair angrily. “I just don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
Our voices are rising, echoing off the marble counters and high ceiling.
“Any of it! Why you switched schools for the rest of senior year. Why you visited my mom. Why you?—”
“You don’t want answers to those questions,” I tell him.
He shoves away from the doorway, stepping closer. Both of his hands go up, locking behind his head. “What are you talking about? I’m literally asking you?—”
“You don’t want to know that my parents shipped me off to boarding school so there was no record of my suspension. You don’t want to know I got grounded for a month after they found out I’d driven to a prison—a prison I had to lie my way into because it was the only way I could see you. You don’t want to know that the monthly visits with your mom started because I felt bad about stealing her ID so I could pretend to be someone you’d approved for visits. You don’t want to know that I started spending time with Cormac because he had shown up at my house over the holidays and asked that I give you another chance. That he’d go with me to visit you, if I was scared to show up at a prison alone. So, fuck you, Ryder James. Fuck you for not caring and fuck you for acting like I shouldn’t have either.”
Ryder’s arms drop, his hands forming fists at his sides. “Of course I fucking cared, Elle. Are you kidding me? I was in love with you!”
The past tense stings. Yet another reminder that I’ve held on to my feelings all these years like a fool and he let go a long time ago.
“Maybe you thought you were. But you weren’t. You don’t treat someone you love like you treated me.”
Some of his indignation disappears, sadness bleeding across his face. “I’m sorry, Elle. So sorry about all of it.”
“Stop fucking apologizing!” I shout. “All you do is apologize, and I don’t want it. Okay, Ryder? I don’t want it! And if you could stop judging the guys I date, that would be great too.”
“I wasn’t judging?—”
“Yeah, you were. Prescott broke up with me on the drive home from that bar, you know. Twenty fucking minutes around you, and he gave up. Decided I wasn’t worth fighting for because I never gave him any reason to. I hate you for that. I hate you for so much.”
Ryder clears his throat, then glances down at the floor. “I know. I know you do.”
I drain the rest of my wineglass and set it down on the counter. “I’m going to visit Nina on Thursday night before I leave for Martha’s Vineyard. She told me to stop coming because of you, but I want to see her. There’s only so much time left …” I swallow. “Don’t be home. Please.”
Ryder looks stricken. He might have known about my visits to his mom. He didn’t know I knew about her cancer. “She told you?”
I pass him without answering, heading down the hallway. It’s not until my blurry vision registers the photo of me, Keira, and Juliet framed on the wall that I remember where I am. Recall the size of Keira’s house and the volume of our voices. Realize … everyone inside heard all of that.
Like the terrible friend that I am, I don’t stop in the living room. Forcing a smile or pretending like everything is okay isn’t something I’m capable of right now.
I grab my purse off the coatrack by the door and step out onto Keira’s front porch.
Halfway down the stairs, I hear, “Elle!”
It’s not Ryder’s voice, so I slow. Swipe at my cheeks and blink rapidly before spinning around to focus on Keira’s sympathetic expression.
“You … okay?” Her voice is soft.
One look at her face, and I know I was right about sound carrying inside.
“Not really,” I admit.
“I didn’t know … most of that.”
“I know.”
“If I had, I never would have … the weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. The bar. I thought you were okay with seeing him. Thought maybe it’d be good closure. You should have told me.”
I shake my head. “You’re getting married. You’re entering this whole new exciting chapter. I wasn’t going to … and selfishly, I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Getting married to his best friend.”
“It’s not your fault. Not Tucker’s either.”
“I wish you’d told me about Prescott.”
“Yeah, well …” I lift a shoulder, then let it drop. “I’m a mess, if that wasn’t obvious by now. I’ll be fine.”
I’m always fine. Nothing better, nothing less.
The door opens again. My heart tumbles, only settling when the features register.
It’s Tucker, not Ryder. He looks different without his usual smile.
“I should go,” I say. “I’m sure Scout has worn out his welcome at my parents’.”
Keira manages a smile. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon?”
I nod.
Tucker steps forward. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
I glance at it, parked fifteen feet away along the curb. “Uh, okay.”
Keira heads back inside. Tucker falls into step beside me. We head down the front walk silently.
“Phew. We made it.” I exhale a dramatic sigh of relief when we reach my convertible, digging my keys out of my purse.
Tucker doesn’t crack a smile, still uncharacteristically serious. He presses a hand against the driver’s door, preventing me from opening it.
“When I was fourteen, this guy moved into the trailer five down from mine. I was always aware of where I lived. Not embarrassed exactly, but I couldn’t forget about it. Most of the kids who lived around me were into stuff I wasn’t. They snuck beer, and they got into fights. And I felt like I didn’t fit in with them. Definitely didn’t fit in with the rich kids either. Then, this new kid arrived. He was just … cool. He didn’t smoke—often.” Tucker grins briefly. “Didn’t get into fights or care about any of the stuff the other kids did. But everyone just … paid attention when he was around. Never messed with him, like the way they made fun of me. They cared what he thought and what he did. And I felt like I’d won the lottery when he wanted to hang out with me.” Another smile, one lost in memories as he stares into space. Then, Tucker glances at me. “Ryder didn’t care about anything … except I kept catching him looking at this one girl. Every damn chance he got. Whenever I teased him about it, he’d act like he had no idea what I was talking about. But then I’d look over a minute later, and he’d be staring at her again.”
I swallow, my throat too thick.
“I don’t know the full story. Ryder keeps most shit to himself, and maybe I’m overstepping and making everything worse. Tell me if I am. But, Elle … I know Ryder. He’s like a brother to me. He’s a good man. And he loves you. He’s loved you for a long, long time. Whatever he’s done or said, however he’s hurt you, he thought he was doing the right thing. I promise you that.”
I’m an overflowing glass. Tucker’s pouring more in, and I have no place to hold it.
The rough edge of a key digs into my palm as I blink rapidly. “He didn’t let me visit him. For seven years, he shut me out.”
Tucker nods. “I know.”
“He told you?”
“I assumed.”
“Assumed?”
“You really thought he’d let you see him like that? Locked away with no life? Wearing a jumpsuit and getting an hour of sun a day?”
The key digs deeper. I’ve done a good job of avoiding thinking about what Ryder’s life in prison was like, and Tucker is painting too vivid of a picture.
“I thought he’d want to see me, yes.”
Tucker shakes his head. “Ryder would have rather never seen you again than have you step a foot in that place, Elle. He put your interests above his happiness. That’s love.” His hand falls away from my door. “Drive safe, okay?”
He walks away without saying anything else, which is good. I’m not sure my heart could have handled another word.
“So, this is where the dog disappeared to.”
I glance over my left shoulder at the house. My dad is walking toward the table on the patio where I’m sitting. It’s Saturday, and he’s wearing slacks and a button-down that lacks a single wrinkle. Some things never change, I guess.
“You were obviously keeping a close eye on him,” I reply.
There was no sign of my parents when I got home from Keira’s, so I headed out into the backyard with Scout.
“Dogs need to roam,” he tells me, taking his usual seat at the head of the table.
“Which you know from all your years of pet ownership?”
My dad has always been too busy with work. And my mom holds too much affection for her white couch. She closes the drawing room off entirely every time I bring Scout over here.
“I did some research,” he tells me.
“Really?”
He hums, glancing at Scout sniffing around the hydrangea bushes. “There are only so many law articles one can read, as I’m sure you’ve realized.”
I blink at him. My dad jokes so rarely that I’m never sure if he is. “Yeah.”
I wait for him to ask how studying for the bar is going. Whether I’ve recently spoken to anyone at Gray Ellington, the firm that hired me.
But he doesn’t.
“Did you have a nice time at Keira’s?”
“Yeah.” It’s not entirely a lie. Until Ryder showed up, the evening was pretty pleasant.
“How is Prescott doing?”
I close my eyes for a few seconds. I could lie, but I’m too drained to. “We broke up, Dad.”
A pause.
“Oh. That’s too bad. What happened?”
I put my feet up on the arm of the chair next to mine. Wait for my dad to raise an eyebrow or make a comment about table manners. He doesn’t, surprising me once again.
“Ryder James was released from prison.”
A much longer pause follows.
Ryder is a touchy subject, one we haven’t discussed since my senior year of high school. I got suspended and switched schools, and my parents acted like private school had been the plan all along.
“Yes, I believe I saw something about that in the paper,” he finally says.
“People love to gossip,” I comment, watching Scout continue to explore my parents’ yard.
And judge.
“You didn’t answer my question,” my father says. “About Prescott.”
I look over, meeting his gaze straight on. “Yeah, I did.”
I watch that register on his face. My dad doesn’t miss much. Any bluntness I have, I inherited from him. He knows what I mean, what I’m really saying.
“He’s a criminal, Elodie.”
“He didn’t murder anyone. Good people make mistakes. There’s a lot more to Ryder than just … that.”
My father huffs what sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “He has moxie—I’ll give him that.”
I sit up straight. “What are you talking about?”
As far as I knew, my dad’s never met Ryder.
“He came here. The day before he got arrested. You were off at a brunch with your mother.”
“Ryder came here?”
“Yes.”
“To … why?”
“To see you, I believe he said. I was more focused on a stranger trespassing on my property.”
I roll my eyes. My dad can be so dramatic.
And intimidating. I can only imagine what he said to Ryder.
Yet, somehow, my dad left the encounter thinking Ryder had moxie.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“I just did.”
I huff a sigh. “You know what I mean. Then. Why didn’t you tell me then, Dad?”
“He was arrested the following day, Elodie. Hardly appropriate company for?—”
“You didn’t know he was going to get arrested the next day,” I interrupt.
My father studies me for longer than I’m used to. Really looks, like he’s not certain what he’s appraising.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shocking me. I’ve never heard my father say those two words before. “I should have.”
All I can manage in response is a jerky nod.
“Are you two … together?” He asks it so simply. As if reconciling with Ryder would be easy.
“No,” I answer.
My father hums in response, a sound that’s impossible to decipher. “Feel like shooting some hoops?”
I stare at him, totally taken aback. We haven’t played basketball together since I was in middle school. Since before Rose died.
“Um, sure.”
My dad nods, then stands, acting like this is a normal occurrence. I do, too, following him over toward the garage. The last time I played here was when I broke up with Archer, which is not a pleasant memory. But before that, all the times I played with my dad, those are.
That was back when it felt like he saw me as a daughter, not a legacy.
Scout comes over and sniffs at my leg as my dad disappears into the garage to get a ball out.
When he reappears, my dad’s expression is serious.
“I liked Prescott,” he tells me, giving the ball a few experimental bounces. “But I don’t think he was right for you.”
I lift both eyebrows. I thought Prescott was exactly who my dad—not to mention my mom—expected me to end up with. Right down to the Harvard Law degree and rich parents.
“Why’s that? He a bad golfer or something?”
“No. Because he had no idea you like to play basketball.”
He takes a layup.
And I stand there, slowly absorbing what he means.
This moment with my dad—the honesty, the hoop towering over me?
I have Ryder to thank for all of it.