Chapter 30
An unsmiling Cormac opens the door. He looks different. Serious. Older, like he’s aged a couple of years since I last saw him.
I know the feeling.
I stretch my mouth into a smile. “Hi, Cormac. Remember me?”
He nods. “You heard, right? Ryder isn’t here. He won’t be home for a long time.”
That last sentence makes me want to sink down and sob. It’s so simple. So final.
But it feels like all I’ve done is cry recently. I’m here so I can stop.
“I-I know,” I answer. “I wanted to talk to your mom. Is she home?”
“Yeah,” Cormac says dully. “Come in.”
I step inside the trailer, my chest squeezing painfully as I glance around the familiar kitchen, knowing I won’t see Ryder here. It’s still the closest I’ve felt to him in three weeks. He’s never been in my house. I go to a different school now. The places where we spent the most time together—they’re all his places. The auto garage and this trailer are all I have left of him.
“Mom’s back in her bedroom. I’ll grab her.”
Cormac leaves, providing me with the perfect opening for the real reason I’m here. I reach for the woman’s purse hanging off one of the kitchen chairs without hesitating, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a hair clip before finding a pink wallet. I slip the driver’s license out from behind the protective plastic and slide it into the back pocket of my jeans, my heartbeat a guilty thud in my ears as I quickly replace everything else in the purse.
When I went to the prison last week, they wouldn’t let me see Ryder. They told me I wasn’t an approved visitor. They’ll let family in though—I hope. I have no idea if this crazy, desperate plot I’ve hatched will work, but it’s all I have.
“You’re a long way from home.”
I spin to face Ryder’s mother. Her first name is Nina, according to her ID. Nina James.
She’s stunning. Long, dark hair. Delicate features. Willowy frame. She could pass for thirty—the only signs of her age are the raspy tone of a frequent smoker and the crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes.
“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. I need to 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.
I’m so shocked it’s opening—so stunned that it worked—that once again, it takes a few seconds for my muscles to unfreeze and move. I grab the ID and then rush inside.
The room I walk into reminds me of a cafeteria. It’s three times the size of the waiting area, filled with metal tables that have connected chairs. The floor is checkered linoleum, and the walls are a drab gray that might have originally been white.
I take a seat at an empty table, clasping my hands together in my lap. No one told me what this process would be like, and I was too nervous to draw attention to myself by asking any questions.
The prisoners in the room stand out—the orange jumpsuits they’re wearing obnoxious splashes of color against the neutral backdrop. I scan each face quickly, confirming Ryder isn’t in here.
None of the men look dangerous. Most of them look … defeated.
I unclasp my hands to rub my sweaty palms against my jeans.
Then, the far door opens, and I see him.
I freeze once again, my entire body going still. I knew seeing him here would be awful. But I wasn’t totally prepared. I don’t think I could have been.
Ryder’s scanning the room as he walks. A stern-looking guard follows a couple of feet behind, the gun attached to his belt in obvious view.
It takes Ryder about thirty seconds to spot me. When he does, he halts. I see the moment it registers that I’m really here, that he’s not imagining anything. Just like I catch the split second he considers turning and walking away.
And I know—I just know—that he’s going to make this difficult.
That the past three weeks of silence were a choice. Were his choice.
The Ryder that walks toward me isn’t the guy who folded me a flower or licked icing off my leg. He’s … hard, his face all harsh lines and sharp angles. He looks older too.
“What are you doing here, Elle?” He takes the seat across from mine.
Unlike most of the men here, the air around him crackles with energy. With anger.
“I came to see you.” I leave the duh off, but it comes through loud and clear.
“Why?”
I stare at him. Why? An hour and a half drive and a stolen driver’s license. Weeks of worry and tears. And all I get is, Why?
“Here’s a why for you.” I lean closer, the cold metal of the table digging into my stomach. “Why are you here, Ryder?”
His jawline tightens, already straight lines pulling taut. “You must know. I’m sure the whole town is talking about it.”
“You told me you didn’t deal drugs. That you weren’t involved with any of that.”
“Shit happened.”
“Shit happened,” I repeat. “Did shit happen when you attacked Archer too?”
“Attacked is a stretch. I punched him once.”
I haven’t seen Archer since that day in the hallway. But there was a recent picture of him in the paper from the football team’s senior night. The bruising and swelling on his face are gone, but he has a scar that will last forever.
Kinda impressive that Ryder did that with one swing.
“You promised me you wouldn’t.”
He says nothing, just stares at me.
He’s so cold. So distant. So different from the Ryder I know. From the boy I love.
I’m relieved when he breaks the silence. Horrified by what he says.
“Is that all?”
“All?” The frostiness radiating off Ryder is affecting me too. Chilling me. It feels like I’m five steps behind and I can’t catch up.
“Yeah. I’ve got a busy rest of the day.” His voice is mocking, a tone I’ve never heard him use before. Bitter and brutal.
I pull my hands from my lap and rest them on the table. My fingers are so pale, like they’re lacking any blood at all. I reach for Ryder, and he pulls away.
“No touching!” one of the guards barks.
I blink back tears. “You don’t belong here, Ry.”
“I was always going to end up stuck somewhere,” he tells me. “Just like you were always going to attend a prestigious college and marry a guy who’s nothing like me.”
“Don’t say that. You’re wrong.”
“I’m realistic, Elle. We were fun. We were never serious, and we sure as hell were never going to last. Everyone knew it.”
I shake my head. “No. We—you’re just saying that because you’re here. But you can appeal. I’ll ask my dad to?—”
Ryder rests his forearms on the table. The more upset I get, the calmer he appears. “I’m guilty. I had the shit. I took the deal. There’s nothing to be done.”
My hands are trembling again. “Eight years for possession is crazy. There’s no way that?—”
“How did you get in here?” he asks.
I swallow. “I used your mom’s name. Stole her ID. They-they wouldn’t let me see you otherwise.”
“You can’t take a hint, can you?”
I stare at him, taken aback. “What?”
“They let us see friends and family to try to keep us from reoffending. An incentive to stay in line, get out of here as soon as possible. I decide who can visit me, Elle. You weren’t supposed to get in here.”
“You … don’t want me to visit?”
I’m so confused. If I can’t see him here, I can’t see him at all. And not for weeks or months. For years.
“No.”
I search Ryder’s grave face for a sign he’s lying. Find none.
“You said you loved me,” I whisper.
“I got caught up in the moment,” he says quietly.
My eyes begin to burn, and I know I’m close to crying.
I refuse to do that here, to let Ryder see how deeply he’s cutting me.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. The flare of physical pain slices through the emotional agony, centering me. “I forgave you for breaking my heart once. I won’t do it again.”
Ryder nods, no trace of regret on his face. “I know.”
Then, he stands and walks away.
I keep waiting for him to look back, but he never does.
He disappears from sight, and my heart cracks in half.