Chapter 26 #2
I’ve never thought I could, but tonight, even without fully understanding what this kid has been through, there’s no doubt in my mind I could.
“Ryder told you I play football. Do you want to see what it looks like inside the locker room before games?”
He doesn’t move. Only watches me.
I pull out my phone and scroll to a recent interview, giving Ryder time to relay the information.
“See this,” I point out my locker. “This one is mine. Each player gets their own space. On game days, our uniforms are hanging, ready to go.”
I peek at him, and he’s listening, so I continue. I take a deep breath, needing the rage spreading throughout my body to calm.
After a few minutes, Jos returns with a stack of clothes, and it takes time to convince the boy to leave Ryder. Eventually, he agrees, but only after Ryder promises him she’s not going anywhere.
The room falls silent as he leaves with Jos. Ryder blows out a long breath, glancing at me and then back at the other woman.
“Kerry, this is Cole. Cole, this is Kerry.”
The woman offers her hand, and her mouth gently curls upward. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
How can they act like all of this is. . .normal?
I clear my throat. “You, too.”
Her gaze shifts back to Ryder. “I’ll see if I can get him to eat something and give me a name while you talk to TJ and deal with Rodrigez.” Kerry raises her eyebrows at the last name, and I wonder what that means.
“Thanks,” Ryder says, and Kerry leaves us.
The room falls still, and I watch Ryder, a thousand questions ready to explode from my mouth, but she looks tired. Her eyes tip up to mine. Her cheek is red and swollen. My fists tighten at my sides, wanting to destroy whoever did that.
But in her eyes, I see. . .something. I watch her shrink from confidently holding the young boy’s hand and promising to protect him to only a shell of the woman who stood here seconds ago.
She holds my gaze for a moment before her eyes drop to the floor, and it takes everything I have not to pull her to me.
I want just a minute of having her close, safe with me, where whatever this is doesn’t exist. I want to hold her and promise her it’ll be ok, but I can’t. I don’t understand anything.
Or maybe I just don’t want to.
“I have to make a few calls and be sure he settles in before we can leave.” Her voice is flat, lifeless, and I hate it.
“Ok.”
She takes a step backward, one side of her T-shirt hanging on by a few threads, and the blood-stained material plastered to her side.
“Just. . .stay here. I’ll be back.” She stops, turning back to me. “Guests aren’t allowed, so don’t wander.”
I nod, wanting her to stay right here with me.
I sit on the couch, dropping my head into my hands. I close my eyes, trying to make sense of this. Any piece of it. My empty stomach surges into my throat again, and I swallow it down.
I hear a noise and pull my head up to see Kerry and the little boy, now dressed in blue sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Kerry holds a plate with a sandwich and chips. “Think you could show us some more videos?” Her question is soft but chipper.
I sit up. “Uh. . .sure.”
Kerry moves closer, and the boy follows. She sets the plate beside me, and the boy stops two feet away.
I slip my phone out of my pocket, and he flinches a little but stays put.
“This is Cole,” Kerry says, sitting on the far end of the couch. She extends her arm to him, inviting him to sit in the large space between us.
I meet his eyes, observing me so carefully. Afraid.
I think about my brothers, and my body seizes up. The boy tucks his chin and squeezes back an inch.
Shit.
I force myself to relax, wanting to help, if only in this small way. I want him to know I’m safe, so I do what I would do with my brothers.
I scroll and click on another video from a recent practice. “All right, partner.” I drum up confidence that’s currently non-existent, turning my phone toward him. “Want to check out what practice is like while you eat?”
I hold my phone to the side, not making him come any closer, while Kerry observes patiently. I talk, scrolling through videos and telling him every detail of what we do during practice.
Eventually, he sits, keeping a foot between us, and nibbles on a chip while we watch videos. As his small frame slowly begins to relax, I can only think about what Ryder told me.
She said I couldn’t unsee the things she’s seen and the places she’s been. It didn’t make sense. But with this terrified boy beside me and everything I’ve witnessed, I understand perfectly now. I can’t unsee this.
But the severe ache spreading in my gut warns that I’ve barely seen anything.
______
I punch in the code, and we both stop just inside my apartment. It’s sometime after 1:00 a.m.—a lifetime since we left for the stadium this morning.
I spent thirty minutes watching videos and talking to the boy before Ryder returned and explained that we’d be leaving. She reassured him he would be safe and promised she’d be back.
He hadn’t spoken a word until we stood to leave, but his delicate voice surprised us all, asking if I’d come back. I dropped to a squat and told him we had a lot more videos to watch.
I roll my neck, my body aching more from the tension than the after-effects of getting sacked twice in the game.
I glance at Ryder as her hand slides over her stomach, and she runs for the sink. I quickly follow, pulling her hair away from her face as the minuscule contents of her stomach splatter into the sink. She heaves again and spits, bracing her hands on the counter.
Her head hangs as she swipes at her face.
I don’t know if they’re from retching or actual tears, but I imagine it’s her body’s attempt to purge whatever she faced.
She takes a few deep breaths and steps away. “Sorry,” she says softly.
“Ryder—”
She shakes her head, stopping me. “I have to sweep the apartment and shower.” She steps away, her gaze never leaving the floor.
The physical distance she’s creating matches the emotional distance she’s determined to maintain. I want to ask if she’s ok, but I can see she’s not, and now isn’t the time to push.
I nod. “Ok.”
When she’s cleared the apartment, I step into the hottest shower I can stand, wondering if it will ease any part of the nightmare I have no choice but to accept is real. The horror, I have no doubt, is a part of Ryder’s everyday life.
I turn the water off suddenly, suffocated by the heat and steam.
I quickly pull on shorts and sit on the edge of the bed. I rest my elbows on my knees, inhaling and exhaling as my body relaxes and returns to a normal temperature.
“Hey.”
Ryder stands in my doorway in baggy gray sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt with her hands fisted at her sides. The swelling and redness on her cheekbone are beginning to turn blue.
“Hey.” I straighten.
Her tired, sad eyes stare at me, then she blinks a few times. “I. . . I need your help.”
There’s only been one other time this woman has asked me for help, and I know enough now that those words cost her every time she says them.
I grab the T-shirt beside me and tug it over my damp skin. “Ok.”
She doesn’t move. “I have a cut, and I can’t reach it.”
My gaze falls to her side, and she shifts a little.
“Ok.” I push off the bed, moving toward the bathroom to allow her lots of space to enter. “Come in here. The light is better.”
It takes her another second, and I wait. She crosses my room to the bathroom, stopping between the two sinks and facing the mirror.
I stand behind her, and she stares, unmoving, at my reflection. “Ryder.”
Her eyes focus on me more intently.
“Show me.”
I don’t move a muscle, waiting for permission to see and touch her. I feel more than see her exhale. Her eyes fall closed briefly as she releases her fists. Both shoulders roll forward as she reaches for the hem of her shirt and slowly inches it up, wincing in the process.
I keep my eyes on hers in the mirror, letting her know it’s ok.
When her hands stop moving, I hold her gaze.
“Ok?”
When she nods subtly, I allow my eyes to drop to her side.
I ease out a slow breath as my hands round into fists, wanting at whoever did this.
A long, sickle-like cut begins two inches from her belly button, climbs up her side, and ends near her shoulder blade underneath her sports bra.
Her body goes rigid as I bend to get a better look.
“My stomach is just a graze, but my side and back. . . I can’t. . . ” Her shaky voice stops me, but as I search her eyes again, something shifts in them.
“I kicked his sick ass straight into a mirror. He got me before my boot broke his jaw, along with some teeth.”
I straighten behind her. The justice in her tone gives me a minor amount of satisfaction, but her casualness confirms this is her life.
Her tone softens. “Can you see if there are any shards and how bad it is?”
I pull myself from the impossibility of it all and get to work.
“Sure.” I bend, taking a closer look. “I’m gonna touch you. Ok?”
She nods, her eyes falling closed as I run my fingers along the broken skin, inspecting the cut that gets deeper the higher it climbs. When I get to the edge of her bra, I stop. Blood stains the white material.
“I need to lift—”
Her eyes snap open, and she stares at her own reflection. I feel her ribs rise and fall this time. After a second, she raises her arm higher, her gaze dropping to the counter.
I slide my fingers under the stretchy band, but before I can get a peek at the cut, my eyes snag on a burn scar under her arm. Four bars of varying widths in a row.
Her gaze remains set on the counter as her body tenses and goosebumps prickle her skin.
I pull her bra away enough to see the open wound, and fresh blood seeps to the surface. It’s not as deep as I worried it might be, and it looks clean.
“I don’t think you need stitches, but I’ve got to find a bandage.”
She nods subtly, and I gently release the fabric to rummage through my drawers. I find a smashed box of Band-Aids and make quick work of pulling off wrappers on the largest ones and stacking one on top of another.
A chill runs through Ryder as I place the second one, and she shivers.
I toss the garbage in the trash as she pulls her shirt back down.
“Stay here,” I say, stepping into my room and quickly returning.
She watches me in the mirror as I bunch up my hoodie to put it over her head. Once I do, she slips her arms into place, her eyes never leaving mine, full of complete exhaustion and heartbreak—not a night’s worth, but a lifetime.
Tucked inside the soft material, she turns to face me.
Without a word, she takes a tiny step, and her forehead falls to the center of my chest. With her resting against me, I do what I’ve longed to do all night.
If I’m honest, even before she got the phone call from TJ.
I’ve wanted to hold her since I looked up at her from the sideline, wondering what the hell has become of my life.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. Her arms remain between us, and I surround her, breathing her in.
This woman is the kind of brave I’m not sure I knew existed, and I’m certain I still don’t even know the half of it.
We stand there for a long time, so long my legs start to ache, but eventually, she shifts.
“Can we watch a game for a while?” she whispers.
I release her, but I’m not really ready. I want to tuck her into my bed and keep her beside me the rest of the night. “Yeah.”
I take her hand. “You want the chair or the bed? It’s too late for the couch.”
She glances at me. “Uh. . .chair.”
“All yours.” I extend my hand to the large recliner and grab the control as I rest back on my bed.
Ryder curls up in the chair, and I turn on a game. After a bit, I peek at her. She’s tucked into a tight ball, and her eyes are heavy. I wonder if she’s afraid to go to sleep.
I am. I know when I wake up, absolutely nothing will ever be the same.
______
NICK: What the fuck is going on?
ME: Someone switched my playbook.
NICK: What the hell? You’re still being threatened? Is this part of it?
ME: Has to be.
NICK: That was a complete shit show.
NICK: Be careful. Watch your back.