Chapter 31 The Bridge Between Worlds （Ryder）
The fields stretched endlessly before me, rolling hills painted in green and gold, the sky alive with colors no earthly sunset could ever hold.
Purple bled into crimson, crimson into gold, and everything shimmered like a dream half-remembered.
I walked without knowing why or for how long.
Time didn't exist here, it just was. The air tasted sweet, like spring after rain, and somewhere ahead, water sang as it fell, calling me closer.
When I reached the edge of the waterfall, I sat down, the mist kissing my face. For the first time in forever, the ache inside me eased. It was quiet—too quiet—and yet, somehow, I felt... seen.
Then I heard some footsteps. Soft. Familiar. I turned and the world stopped.
"Mom?" My voice broke, fragile, unbelieving. "Dad?"
My mother's smile glowed brighter than the light around us. "Sweetheart," she breathed, her voice exactly as I remembered—gentle, safe, home. The sound of it shattered me. A sob tore from my chest as I stumbled forward. "Mom... oh my God—Dad..."
They opened their arms, and when I reached them, everything in me collapsed. Their embrace was warmth and forgiveness and everything I'd been chasing in the dark. My father's hand rested on my shoulder, solid, grounding, and my mother's fingers brushed through my hair like I was a boy again.
"We've been waiting for you," Dad said, his voice trembling with pride.
Mom pressed her forehead to mine, her whisper breaking through my tears. "We've missed you so much, sweetheart. You've carried so much pain, but your heart... it's still so pure. We're so proud of you."
The waterfall roared behind us, but all I could hear was their voices and the sound of love I thought I'd lost forever. I shook my head, clinging to them desperately. "I miss you both so much," I choked out. "Every single day. It never stopped hurting."
Mom cupped my face in her hands, her touch softer than air. "Oh, Ryder," she murmured, eyes glistening. "We know. We've seen every tear, every night you tried to be strong for everyone else."
Dad's arm wrapped around my shoulders, steady and sure. "You did good, son. You fought through things that would have broken most men. You never gave up, even when it felt like there was nothing left to hold onto."
I shook my head again, sobbing harder. "I tried, but I failed so many times. I hurt people, I made mistakes—"
"Shh," Mom hushed gently. "You were human. You lived and you loved—God, Ryder, you loved so deeply. That's what matters."
I buried my face in her shoulder, the scent of her hair just as I remembered, lavender and home. "I don't want to leave you again," I whispered.
Her arms tightened around me, trembling as if she could hold back eternity itself.
"My baby," she whispered, her voice breaking on the words.
"Oh, my beautiful boy... if love alone could keep you here, I would never let you go.
I would give anything—everything—to have more time with you.
To see you wake up in the mornings, to hear your laugh fill the house again, to watch you grow into the man you've become.
I'd trade every moment of my heaven just to have one more day with you. "
Her fingers brushed through my hair, the way she used to when nightmares woke me as a child. "But I can't go back," she said softly, sorrow and acceptance twined in every syllable. "And you... you can't stay, sweetheart. Not yet."
Tears blurred my vision. I clung to her like a drowning man, my heart tearing itself in two. "Please, Mom," I choked out. "I'm so tired. I don't know if I can do it anymore."
She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze glowing with warmth that no living light could ever match.
"You can, my love. You already have. You've walked through fire and came out still capable of love.
There's still light in you the world hasn't seen.
There's someone down there who needs you. "
I lifted my head, eyes blurred with tears. "December," I whispered.
Mom smiled through her tears. "Yes. The way you love her... it reaches even here."
The waterfall seemed to glow brighter, a pull in my chest like a heartbeat calling me home.
I whispered, my voice shaking. "It hurts so much. I need you too... I'm so tired of being alone."
Mom's eyes filled with infinite sorrow, but her smile stayed gentle.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, brushing her thumb across my cheek.
"You are not alone. You never were. We've been beside you every step, even when you couldn't feel us.
Our love for you doesn't end. It transcends everything, even death. "
I swallowed hard, tears burning down my face. "Then why can't I stay? Just for a little while longer?"
Dad's voice came softly, deep and steady. "Because you still have something beautiful waiting for you, son. Someone who needs you just as much as you need her. The world hasn't finished with you yet."
Mom's hand lingered on my chest, right over my heart. "You've already done the hardest part, my love. You survived. Now... you have to live."
The words trembled through me, carving both pain and peace into my soul.
Then her voice shifted, faint and ethereal, like a whisper carried by wind and light. "We will meet again, when it's truly time."
They both pulled me into one last embrace. I tried to memorize everything—their warmth, their scent of sunlight and home, the steady rhythm of their hearts against mine. "Please don't leave me again," I begged, clutching at them.
Dad pressed a kiss to the top of my head. His voice cracked when he spoke. "We never left, Ryder. We never will. You carry us inside you. Every breath, every heartbeat—it's us too."
But even as he said it, their forms began to shimmer, fading like morning fog under sunlight.
"No..." I whispered, shaking my head, panic rising. "No, please!"
I reached out, but my hands passed through light.
"Mom!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "Mom, don't go! Please—please, Dad, I can't lose you again!"
I ran toward them, the fields stretching endlessly, their outlines dissolving the closer I came. My legs burned, my lungs screamed, but I kept running, chasing the shadows of the only people who'd ever felt like home.
"Wait!" I cried. "Just one more second! Please!"
But they were gone, just wind and color and light.
I fell to my knees, breathless, my screams swallowed by the roaring waterfall and the silence that followed.
For a moment, I thought the world would break with me.
But the sky bled into white, the ground gave way, and the fields dissolved around me.
I gasped awake, the world slamming into me all at once—the sterile scent of antiseptic, the soft hum of machines, the weight of wires and tubes pressing against my skin.
Pain surged like a slow tide, heavy and disorienting.
My heart raced, and for a moment I couldn't tell if I was still in the fields or if I'd been ripped from them.
But over the haze of panic, one thing remained clear: the echo of their words—Live, Ryder.
My eyes were open, blurred and stinging, and I felt utterly lost until a voice cut through the noise. Warm. Familiar. Divine.
"There they are," she whispered, relief spilling from her like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Those beautiful caramel eyes."
December.
I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, my tongue heavy. Nothing came out but a rasp. Panic shot through me—was I paralyzed? Was I dying? The beeping of the monitor picked up, mirroring my racing heartbeat.
"Shh," December murmured, leaning closer. She pressed her forehead against mine, her breath trembling. One of her hands stroked through my hair, the other clutching mine tightly. Her lips brushed my knuckles before she whispered, "You're okay. You're safe."
Her voice cracked. She was trying to be strong, but I felt her shake.
A team of nurses and a doctor flooded into the room, moving quickly but calmly, checking monitors, adjusting tubes. Their voices blurred into a low hum of medical jargon, blood loss, transfusions, vital signs, wound care but their presence steadied the panic clawing at my chest.
When I finally found my voice, it came out as a strained whisper. "Dec... what happened?"
She blinked, her lips trembling. "You don't remember?"
"No..." My throat ached.
"You got shot, baby," she said softly.
Fragments of memory struck me like glass shards—Mira's mother's face, the gun, December's scream and my pulse spiked, monitors echoing the chaos in my head. I started to calm down a bit.
The doctor stepped forward, his expression professional but kind. "Mr. Ryder, you've been through significant trauma. The bullet missed your major organs, but you suffered substantial blood loss and required emergency surgery. You're stable now, but the recovery process is critical."
The details blurred, the words stretching like static in my ears—wound management, antibiotics, physiotherapy, mobility restrictions. My head spun, but December was there, pulling a small leather notebook from her bag, flipping it open with shaking hands.
"Okay," she said, her voice steadier now, though tears still clung to her lashes. "Go ahead. I'm writing it all down."
I stared at her as the doctor continued with his long list—weeks of limited movement, transfusion schedules, follow-up appointments. The weight of it pressed hard on me. Weeks. Maybe longer. I'd be vulnerable, dependent.
My chest tightened, fear and shame coiling in my stomach—until I felt her hand covering mine again and her lips brushing my skin once more, grounding me.
"Don't look at the weeks," she whispered, as if reading my mind. "Look at me. I've got you."
The doctor offered her a tired but kind smile before going through everything—medications, physiotherapy, diet, follow-up appointments—each word careful, deliberate, as if afraid to break me. When he finally left, the door clicked softly behind him, and the room seemed to exhale.
December moved closer, her presence grounding me in a way no medicine could. She leaned in, her voice low and trembling but steady enough to hold me together. "You're okay, Ryder," she whispered. "You're safe. You're here with me."
For the first time since I opened my eyes, the room felt a little lighter.
The sterile walls didn't seem so cold, the air didn't feel so thin.
It almost felt... like home. Her words poured over me, soft and certain, wrapping around the frayed edges of my fear.
December's voice was the one sound that seemed to cut through the lingering fog of everything I'd seen, everything I'd lost. I closed my eyes, breathing her in, and in that moment, I felt the same peace I'd known in the fields with the echo of my parents' arms around me.
Only this time, that peace had a heartbeat, and it was hers.