Chapter Thirty-One
Present - Evelyn
PLACING OUR TOOTHbrUSHES back in their holder, I try to catch his gaze in the mirror, again.
Ryder looks away, again .
Last night was…beautiful. The culmination of a lifetime of love finally being freed, and yet Ryder hasn’t looked me in the eye once, since he got out of bed without a word. I’m not insecure enough to wonder whether it meant the same thing to him as it did to me, but I know something is wrong.
“Are you okay?”
His answering smile is almost convincing enough. I’d fall for it if I hadn’t spent every rare moment memorizing it. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”
“Splendid.”
“Great.”
I raise a brow. “Great.”
“I need to have a shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Ryder’s hint isn’t even a little subtle, so I step out of the bathroom and Ryder closes the door behind me, before starting the water.
Okay. Fine . If he wants to act like an idiot, so will I.
Turning in a half circle, I realize there’s not much to snoop through, but whatever is causing his sour mood, I’m determined to find it. Starting with the couch, I lift and spread the cushions, finding nothing besides a nickel.
I drag a knuckle over one of the walls, tapping here and there, but find nothing hollow. I’ve already found his stash under the floor, so he’d never be dumb enough to try and hide something from me in there. Opening his fridge and freezer, I shuffle the bare minimum stores around, coming up empty handed. After scouring the cabinets and still finding nothing, a tentative worry starts to eat at the edges of my heart.
Am I insecure enough to doubt how he feels about me?
And then I spot it: the little white fan. Completely unassuming and destined to be overlooked. But he forgets who he’s dealing with.
Crossing the distance to the fan, my hand hovers over it for a split second, while I decide whether I want to open this can of worms. Glancing toward the bathroom door, I get my answer. Whatever drove him away from me this morning will continue to do so unless we deal with it. If we’re incapable of working through something difficult, then we don’t deserve to love each other anyway.
Lifting the fan, I find a white, rectangular card stuck to the bottom. Peeling it away, my eyes adjust to read the small, neat font.
Agent Lincoln Blackhall
Federal Bureau of Investigation
555 - 671 - 3945
What. The. Fuck.
Why does Ryder have a business card for someone in the FBI?
Flipping it over, there’s no more information about this Blackhall character.
Questions race through my mind, fighting for my attention. Is this what’s caused him to clam up this morning? Or was it what he was involved in prior to receiving this business card? Do I really know how deep Ryder has gone into that life? And somehow, worst of all, I wonder if he’s had a way out this whole time, but has chosen to stay.
The water shuts off and Ryder steps out with a towel wrapped around his waist, steam billowing behind him. If I wasn’t standing here, looking and feeling gutted like a fish, I’d notice how sexy it was, but I am looking and feeling gutted like a fish.
Holding up the business card, I watch as Ryder freezes a fraction of a second before his black eyes shutter. Without a word he walks to the kitchen I was searching through just minutes ago, takes out a glass and pours himself a shot of whiskey.
“It’s not even nine in the morning, Ryder.”
He braces his hands on the counter, dropping his head low between his shoulders, uttering so quietly, “Why did I pick up the damn card?”
“Who is Agent Blackhall and why do you have his business card?”
Ryder shrugs, taking another shot. “He gave it to me.”
“Save the act. I want to know why this…this agent gave you his card?”
“He wants me to flip.”
“Flip?”
“To be a rat. Feed him information that can help him take down Stefan.”
“He wants you to be an informant?” My mind races, trying to sort through this information and what it all means. “Did you agree to do it?”
“No.”
Staring at him, I feel my face do that judgy thing it does of its own accord. “Why not?” If he says for my safety, I just might kick him in the balls. This could be his way out.
Ryder stands there, completely silent. He doesn’t provide any explanation or justification, but remains motionless, spiking my temper far past the roof.
“You know what?” Stalking over to his bed, I grab my phone from off the floor. “I wasn’t going to show this to you. I told myself that it’d only hurt you, thinking you have no choice in doing what you do. I justified it, thinking that showing you wouldn’t change that.”
Tapping a quick search into Safari, I find the news article I’m looking for and shove my phone into his hands. Ryder looks it over, where it describes the hit and run that occurred just over forty-eight hours ago.
A poor woman was walking home from work in the middle of the night when CCTV footage caught the disturbing moment she was run over by a car. The driver fled the scene after stumbling out to check on her, likely finding her already dead.
I focus on Ryder’s eyes, knowing exactly when he gets to the line where it says the driver is believed to have been under the influence of alcohol and possibly illegal substances after being seen at The Swan an hour before the incident.
“You’re standing by when people like this go to that bar. Every time you push that button, someone innocent could get hurt, because not only are people leaving intoxicated, but hopped up on something even more deadly.” Lifting the business card, I continue. “You say you have no choice, but you do. You’ve had a choice since he gave you that business card.”
“Doing whatever that agent wants would put your life in danger.” Ryder scoffs. “That doesn’t feel like much of a fucking choice.”
“And my life is worth hundreds of others?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. It’s worth thousands. Millions.” Ryder slams his hands on the counter. “I would watch the rest of the world burn with a smile on my face if it meant you lived.”
“No life is worth more than another’s.”
“Yours is.”
“And what about Connor’s? Or Lou’s? Or Ara’s? What if it was one of them walking home?” I shake my head, wondering how he’s strayed so far from what’s right. I’ll never be able to understand the kind of position he’s been in, but I vow to do whatever it takes to get him out of it. “Ryder, this is your way out. And if you decide to remain on the sidelines, out of fear, then what you risk losing is far worse than death.”
A hint of fire gleams in his black eyes at my words. “You said you didn’t care.”
“I said it doesn’t change how I feel about you, not that I don’t care. I’m with you no matter what, but that doesn’t mean I have to stand by and watch as it ruins you. This is your life , Ryder, your very soul .” I plead, crossing the distance between us and placing the card gently on the counter. “And now it’s mine, too.”
“I don’t do what I do because I’m trying to win a Nobel Peace Prize, or because part of me thinks it’s the right thing to do. In fact, I know in my bones that it’s not. It’s wrong. So very, very wrong. You have no idea the kind of things I’ve seen.” Shadows encircle his eyes, snuffing out the flame. “But once upon a time, it was the only option I had to ensure that if I found you again, I’d get to keep you.”
“You don’t get it.” A tear slips down my cheek, and this time, Ryder doesn’t wipe it away as I make my way to the bed, slipping on the extra jeans I brought in my overnight bag. The white button-up shirt follows suit, and I throw my hair up in a messy bun before slipping on my cream loafers. “You do get to keep me, Ryder, but only if you stop trading your soul to do so. If you lose any more of it…you’ll make sure you lose me too.”
With that, I let myself out of his loft, closing the door on a man I can only describe as lost.
· · ·
“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.” Marcy sighs, setting her planner on my desk and placing her hands on her hips. “You’ve been sitting there all day. Not one of us has been given a task or felt your bossy breath down our neck. It’s been weirdly chill, and it’s giving me anxiety of the worst kind.”
“The fact that I’m not stressing you out is giving you anxiety?”
“Yes, now get up and demand perfection!” Marcy lifts a finger like she’s had a lightbulb moment. “Maybe you can even do that arm crossing thing you’re so good at.”
Normally I find Marcy’s shitty pep talks amusing, but I can’t bring myself to laugh. “I just don’t have it in me today.”
Marcy’s eyes soften before she sits down in one of the plush chairs in front of my desk. “Is it because of Ryder?”
“No.” Yes.
“Did you two have a fight?”
“I…I don’t know. I guess we did, but it’s not one of those ‘you left the socks on the floor again’ kind of fights.”
“What kind of fight was it?”
“The kind that shakes you to your core.”
“Well, you know what this means.”
I lift my brow. “What?”
Marcy leans closer with a whisper. “Phenomenal make-up sex.”
“We’d have to make up first.”
“It looks like that’s gonna happen sooner than you think.”
There have been several times where I deeply regretted choosing an office wholly made of glass walls. Once it was when I had food poisoning and an event pitch due the next day. Another time was when I wore a new pair of heels and nearly broke an ankle as I sent myself careening over my desk. And then today, because the moment Ryder walks into reception, he sees me laid over my desk, moping like a fucking loser.
I snap up, right into the posture of the bad bitch who served him his ass and didn’t blink an eye over it. My receptionist’s eyes bug out before dropping down his frame and catching on the bouquet of yellow roses that’s barely staying together, completely windblown. Ryder begins speaking to her and I take advantage of it to rip my fingers through my hair.
“That did nothing.” Marcy sighs. “You still look like a mess.”
“Marcy!!”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t lie to you!”
“I didn’t even ask!” I shout. “Wait—why are you still in here!?”
“I’ll be watching whether I’m at my desk or this desk! What difference does it make?”
“The difference is you can’t read lips, but you can hear.”
“And you’d take that away from me?”
“Yes! This is my personal life.”
Marcy nods slowly. “I see where I stand, then.”
“Good. Bye.”
“Are you sure I can’t stay?”
“Marcy!!!”
“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Marcy begins to gather her things just as Ryder knocks on my glass wall from the doorway. We both look up and Marcy flushes, fanning herself a little with her planner. “Gosh, you’re even taller up close. I’m Marcy, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Ryder.”
“I know.” Marcy giggles as she backs through the doorway. “Toodles!”
My office is quiet, so quiet that I’m not sure either of us are breathing until I finally remove my hands from my face and watch Ryder’s chest rise and fall.
“You were right, Eves, and I’m sorry.” Emotion churns in his eyes, voice unsteady. “I’m still shedding that skin I worked so hard to surround myself with. You have to understand that I’ve spent my life living a certain way and forcing myself to believe a certain thing. That doesn’t change overnight.”
Wow, that was… extremely emotionally aware. “Who knocked the sense into you?”
Ryder grimaces. “Lou.”
My lips twitch. “Get any of it on camera?”
“Thankfully not.”
The humor fizzles out quickly, the elephant in the room refusing to be ignored.
“Ryder, I don’t judge you for the choices you’ve made in the past, but I also can’t allow my compassion to turn into complacency.”
“I know.” He takes a step forward, resting what remains of the yellow roses on my desk. “I have become complacent about my situation, but I won’t be anymore.”
“You swear?”
Ryder slowly circles my desk before dropping onto a knee so he’s eye level with me in my chair. “Have I ever been able to deny you anything?”
“No.” A shiver rolls down my spine at the truth of it. What was that thing Marcy said about make-up sex? I imagine my hands running through his hair as he lays me back on this desk. It’s so tempting, I almost forget about the glass office thing. “I better get these flowers some water.”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Tentatively.”
Ryder smiles. “This place is perfect, by the way.”
“It’s a bit small for how many people we have now, but I’m proud of it.”
“You should be.” Ryder stands and offers me a hand, helping me out of my chair. With how jelly my legs are, I’m grateful for it. “Your staff worship you.”
My brows shoot up at his deduction. “I wouldn’t say that.
“They do. It’s obvious.”
Huh. “Well, you might start a mutiny judging by my receptionist’s eyes that have tracked your every move. It’s a wonder they didn’t fall out at the sight of you.”
“A little jealous, are we?”
I scoff. “No.”
Ignoring Marcy completely, I lead him out of my office and around the corner toward the kitchenette. It’s also the only room besides the bathroom that doesn’t have see-through walls.
“Coming here sheds a new light on what you’ve grown into. Not just a woman, but a powerful one.” Ryder cocks his head. “I’ve always been attracted to you, but seeing you in this button-up shirt, sitting at a desk that was made for ordering people around…it’s overwhelmingly sexy.”
“You were here to discuss your poor life choices, not whatever delusional nonsense you keep spouting in an attempt to distract me.”
“Delusional nonsense? You’re as turned on right now as I am, regardless of my poor life choices. Plus, you’ve already forgiven me.”
“ Tentatively .”
Before I can think better of it, he’s pulling me into the kitchenette, pinning me against the wall, hands planted on either side of my face as he presses into me. “But I brought you flowers.”
“Not just any flowers,” I add, completely unhelpfully.
“That’s right.” Despite my shirt, Ryder drags his nose over my collarbone, and I feel a hint of a smile against my chest. “Yellow roses.”
“You need to put an end to what’s happening at The Swan.”
“And I told you I would.”
“No matter the consequences,” I insist, as Ryder uses two fingers to spread the opening in my button up, revealing the white lace bra I’m wearing underneath, before dipping his chin and licking up the line between my cleavage.
“No matter the consequences,” he agrees with a whisper to my ear before walking out without another word.
Like an out-of-my-mind, sex-crazed idiot, I can’t help but trail behind him as he walks past Marcy’s desk, pausing when he sees the news article I showed him earlier. This time, the picture of the driver they’re hunting is blown up on the screen. Shame flickers in Ryder’s expression, along with something even more terrifying.
Recognition.