Chapter 37 Ryker
RYKER
“Hey, are you at work?”
Gripping my cell phone hurt like hell, but I used my good hand to grip the wheel as I peeled out of the parking lot.
The tires squealed against the asphalt, leaving rubber marks that matched the fury burning through my veins.
My knuckles throbbed with each heartbeat, split skin singing a symphony of satisfaction and pain.
“Hello to you too,” Blake drawled from the other end of the line. “I’m doing fantastic, thanks for asking. And Tessa? She’s wonderful as well.”
“Are you at work?” I repeated through gritted teeth, taking a corner hard.
“What’s wrong?” The sarcasm evaporated from his voice. “You sound fucking pissed.”
“Just answer the question.”
“No. I’m not at work.” A beat of silence. “Ryker, what the hell—”
“Do you have a medical kit?”
Blake paused. The kind of pause that meant his doctor brain was already cataloging worst-case scenarios. “Why?”
“Can you meet me at Faith’s?”
“Is she okay?” Panic seized his voice, sharp and immediate. The protective big-brother mode activated in zero-point-two seconds.
“Physically, she’s fine.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I could hear the engine of his car groaning louder as he accelerated. “Ryker, I swear to God—”
“Just … can you meet me there?”
“Tell me what’s going on, or my head’s going to fucking spin. And you know what happens when doctors get anxious? We imagine every possible medical catastrophe. Is that what you want? Me showing up with a defibrillator and trauma kit?”
I flexed my hand against the steering wheel. “A man disrespected Faith. Now I think my knuckles need stitches.”
Another pause. Then, surprisingly, a low chuckle. “Jesus Christ, Ryker. You couldn’t have led with that? Here I am, thinking Faith’s hurt, and you’re calling because you went all caveman defender?”
“She was crying, Blake.” The words scraped raw with the memory of tears on her face. “Some asshole made her cry.” I left out the part where the guy laid hands on her. If I told Blake that, he might crash.
“Next time, aim for the body. Faces are all bone,” Blake said. “Bad for the hands.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ll be there soon. Try not to bleed on her carpet. She’ll castrate you if you ruin it.”
“Compassionate as always, Doc.”
“See you soon. And, Ryker?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For defending her. Even if you are an idiot who doesn’t know how to throw a proper punch.”
The line went dead before I could respond. Typical Blake. But as I pulled into Faith’s driveway, cradling my busted hand against my chest, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror.
Blood on my shirt. Bruises forming on my knuckles. Absolutely zero regret in my eyes.
Yeah, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Hopefully, Faith wouldn’t be pissed at what I’d done …