Chapter 32 Faith #2
“I see someone who built a home for kids who needed one. Who fights for them every single day. Who loves so fiercely, it scares her.” His thumb traced my jaw. “I see strength that takes my breath away. Courage that humbles me.”
My throat tightened. Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I see you, Faith. The real you. And she’s magnificent.”
“You can’t mean that,” I whispered.
“Watch me.” His other hand came up, framing my face. “You can fire me if you want. Find another lawyer. But you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Because you’re that good?”
“Because no one—and I mean, no one—will fight for you the way I will.” His forehead touched mine. “Not just for your freedom. For you.”
“Why?” I asked again, needing to hear it.
“You know why,” he said softly.
And, God help me, I did. It was there in every look, every touch, every time he showed up when I needed him. Even when I didn’t know I needed him.
“That’s not … we can’t …” I tried to find the words to explain why this was impossible. Why falling for my lawyer while facing murder charges was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
“I know.” His hands stayed on my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “I know all the reasons this is complicated. Messy. Potentially disastrous.”
“Then why—”
“Because I can’t walk away from you.” The confession sounded like it was torn from him. “I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried to keep this professional. To maintain boundaries. But every time I try … I can’t stop myself from breaking all the rules.”
“Ryker …”
“I’m sorry I left when you were at your most vulnerable. But I’m not walking away from this case. Not from you.”
We stood there, too close, breathing the same air, the tension thick enough to cut.
Finally, I nodded. “Fine. You’re still my lawyer.”
“Good.” But he didn’t move away. Didn’t drop his hands from my face.
“Ryker?”
“Yeah?”
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I know.”
“And if you walk away from me again without explanation, I will find a way to fire you. Broke or not.”
“Noted.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” His thumb traced my jaw one more time before he finally, reluctantly, stepped back.
The loss of his touch left me cold. Empty. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the heat he’d left behind.
“Now,” he said, his voice carefully professional again, though his eyes still burned with everything we weren’t saying, “we need to go over your case.”
When I swallowed hard, he must have read the apprehension all over my face. Because of course he did. The man read me like I was written in neon.
“We could do it while painting again?” His offer was gentle.
I shook my head, remembering how that had ended last time. “No … that’s okay.”
But he clearly could see how hard talking about all of this was for me. Knew me well enough to realize that sitting across from him, staring into those eyes while reliving my worst moments, would shatter what little composure I had left. Especially after what happened last time.
“Get changed,” he said suddenly.
“For what?”
“It’s unseasonably warm out. We can go for a hike while we talk.”
The thoughtfulness of it—remembering how I’d mentioned loving hiking, how being outside made everything feel less suffocating—threatened to undo me completely.
“Okay.” I turned toward my bedroom, needing distance before I did something stupid, like cry. Or kiss him.
I’d made it three steps when he called out, “Faith?”
I paused, but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
“Wear layers. And good shoes. I know a trail.”
Of course he did.
In my bedroom, I pressed my back against the closed door and muttered, “Fuck.”
Because somewhere in that conversation, I’d stopped trying to push him away.
And started falling completely, irrevocably in love with him.
But there were still things I hadn’t told him. Things that might make that moment of doubt he’d admitted to grow into full-blown mistrust. The fights that had gotten bloody. The things I’d stolen to survive. All the ugly parts I’d kept buried.
He said he believed in me. Said he wasn’t going anywhere. But would he still feel that way when he knew everything? Would he still think I was magnificent when he learned just how dark my past really was?
I changed into hiking clothes—leggings, T-shirt, flannel shirt—trying not to think about how Ryker had confessed he still had feelings for me. Trying not to replay the way his hands had felt on my face, the way his voice had broken when he’d said he couldn’t walk away.
When I came back out, he’d changed too. Sort of.
He’d kept his dress shirt and slacks from the office but had thrown a black leather jacket over them.
The contradiction was so perfectly Ryker—polished attorney on the surface, something darker and wilder underneath.
Like the tattoos I knew covered his torso, hidden beneath those expensive shirts.
The careful control barely containing something primal.
“That’s your idea of hiking clothes?” I asked, needing the normalcy of teasing him.
“I’ve hiked in worse.” He grabbed his keys. “Ready?”
No. I wasn’t ready for any of this. Wasn’t ready to bare my soul again. Wasn’t ready to see disappointment replace the heat in his eyes. Wasn’t ready to watch him realize I wasn’t worth the fight after all.
But I nodded anyway.
Because if there was one thing I’d learned in foster care, it was how to pretend everything was fine when your world was falling apart.
As we headed to his car, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this hike would change everything. That whatever fragile thing existed between us would either solidify into something real or shatter completely.