Chapter 30 Ryder
RYDER
The kitchen sounds like a bar fight disguised as domestic effort. There are too many bodies in too small a space, elbows colliding, voices raised, heat rising from pans that are doing things pans should not be doing.
“I said medium heat,” Jace snaps.
“This is medium heat,“ Zane fires back, staring down a pan like it personally insulted him.
“That’s high,” Cole notes patiently, arms crossed, watching this unfold with the exhausted patience of a man who married into insanity willingly.
“No, it’s not,” Zane retorts, but the smoke says otherwise.
I stay where I am, shoulders braced, hands steady as I cut strawberries into even slices. Beck bumps into me and mutters an apology that doesn’t sound like one. “You good, Ghost?”
I grunt, and he grins. “That’s a yes.”
Cole glances at me. “You ever cooked for Valentine’s Day before?”
“No.”
“That tracks.”
Dad sits at the small breakfast table near the window, coffee in hand, watching us like this is the best show he’s seen in years.
He doesn’t interfere or offer advice, just observes with quiet amusement, eyes soft in a way that makes my chest feel tight if I think about it too long.
All his sons are under one roof, alive and happy. That’s not nothing.
In the next room, the kids’ laughter filters through—Aria and Daisy all too happy to be on babysitting duty.
I glance at the clock and realize that they’ll be back soon—the ladies of the house. We sent them out shopping and a day at the spa, hoping they’d be back by the time the food is ready, but it looks like we’ve failed that mission.
My eyes wander to the counter where a small pile of gifts waits—wrapped boxes, handwritten cards, and bouquets that the ranch hands delivered earlier with knowing smirks. Mine sits at the edge, simple white roses and a card I’ve yet to figure out what to write on.
Before we can control our chaos, the front door opens, and laughter spills in first, bright and unguarded.
Zane freezes mid-stir, Jace lowers the spice rack, and Beck whispers, “Oh God.”
Cole claps his hands, murmuring, “It’s showtime.”
Then the women strut in, freezing at the doorway like they’ve walked into a crime scene—spa-soft and glowing, shopping bags hanging from their arms, the scent of lotions and perfume colliding violently with the smell of burnt… something.
Kate’s eyes sweep the kitchen—the smoke, the mess, Beck swearing under his breath, Jace glaring at a pan like it betrayed him—and then she laughs. Full-bodied, head-tilting-back laughter that hits me square in the chest.
“What happened here?” Quinn asks, mirth all over her face. “Did you try to cook, or summon help?”
Beck straightens, smiling sheepishly. “We tried to cook.”
Ava steps forward, lips twitching. “Why is there a fire extinguisher on the counter?”
“That,” Beck coughs, “is called preparedness.”
Tessa’s eyes flick to Jace. “You burned water, didn’t you?”
Jace exhales. “No.”
“That pause was suspicious,” Ella mutters.
Kate’s gaze finds me the way she always does. I’m still holding the knife as she crosses the space without hesitation and curls into my side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You okay?” she murmurs, soft enough that only I hear it.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Just… trying.”
She smiles up at me, eyes gentle. “You’re doing great.”
Beck makes a gagging noise. “Disgusting. Someone stop them.”
Ella shoots him a look. “Leave them alone.”
Kate’s mother, ever the mama bear, walks up to the stoves and switches them off.
Margaret Ellington is smaller than Kate, softer around the edges, but her eyes are sharp in a way that tells me exactly where Kate got her spine.
She’s been at the ranch for about two weeks now, ever since I asked her to come.
After everything that went down, Kate needed her mom, but she was too afraid to call her herself, so I stepped up. She didn’t argue when I called; she just… arrived, suitcase in hand, tears she tried to hide, and went straight for Julian like he was the only thing holding her heart together.
Addison breezes in last, sunglasses still perched on her head like she forgot to take them off indoors. She pauses, takes in the chaos, then bursts out laughing. “This is domestic warfare. I’ve been in Mogadishu during active negotiations, and it was calmer than this kitchen.”
Quinn drops her bags onto the counter. “I knew it! I knew something was wrong when Beck texted me an SOS and three crying emojis.”
Beck lifts his chin in defiance when we all turn to glare at him for his betrayal. “That was strategic.”
“That was panic,” Quinn corrects.
Cole clears his throat loudly. “I told them not to use five pans.”
Zane scowls at him. “It’s called multitasking.”
“It’s called chaos,” Cole replies.
Dad hums into his coffee, satisfied, and for the first time in my life, surrounded by noise, people, and love I didn’t earn but was given anyway, I realize something quietly terrifying: this feels like home, and I don’t mind it, not one bit.
Dinner happens anyway. We crowd around the table later with plates that don’t match and food that doesn’t fully make sense. Slightly overcooked pasta, a salad that’s mostly strawberries because I got carried away, and pizza boxes open like salvation, but no one complains.
Julian is passed from arm to arm like precious cargo. Tessa holds him first, cooing softly, then Margaret takes him, tears gathering as she presses a kiss to his hair.
“My grandson,” she whispers, voice thick.
Addison leans toward me, elbow on the table. “So,” she starts, eyes sharp with humor, “how does it feel being domesticated?”
“Haven’t you overstayed your welcome?” I bite back.
Her smile gets wider. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Morgan. I am here to stay.”
I grunt in response, and that earns me a laugh. “You are so whipped.”
Then she makes a swooshing sound with her lips, mimicking a whip. Kate kicks her under the table. “Behave.”
Addison scowls at her, muttering something about betrayal over dick or something along those lines.
Margaret leans in, voice low. “Ryder…”
I turn to her, giving her my full attention.
Her hands twist together once, nerves hidden under composure.
“I don’t know everything. Kate doesn’t tell me much, but I know my daughter.
I know when she’s been through something that changed her, and I know what it looks like when she’s finally… not alone.”
She nods once, as if confirming her own thought. “Thank you. For taking care of her, and for stepping up for Julian.”
I don’t know what to do with gratitude; it sits in my chest like a live thing, so I nod. “That’s my job.”
Margaret’s eyes soften. “No, that’s a choice, and you made a good one.”
Then she turns her attention back to Kate, watching her like she’s memorizing her, like she’s afraid that if she blinks, this version of her daughter might disappear. When Kate catches her looking, she smiles softly, reaches out, and their fingers lace.
It’s been a month since everything went down, and even though there’s still a lot of red tape and investigations ongoing, my connections in the government have ensured that my family is safe. What we did was to protect ourselves; we got rid of trespassers, and for that, the law is on our side.
Still, I find myself clocking exits without thinking—the windows and sound of boots moving outside. Habit doesn’t shut off just because the table is full and the lights are warm. But it’s different now. It’s protection without paranoia.
Beck lifts his bandaged arm dramatically. “Just saying, I almost died for y’all.”
“You got grazed,” Jace says flatly. “It’s been a month. You’re fully healed. Get over it.”
”I bled.”
“Yeah, like a drama queen.”
Quinn snorts. “He asked for extra gauze so people would notice.”
Dad clears his throat, not loud, but it cuts through the noise anyway. The table quiets without effort as he lifts his glass. “I’m glad you’re all here. Happy Valentine’s Day. Cheers.”
That’s it—no speeches, no sentiment—but it’s perfect, and it hits harder than anything else could have.
We all lift our glasses and chorus, “Cheers.”
After dinner, Beck pushes back his chair with theatrical force. “Alright,” he announces, grin turning dangerous. “Surprise time.”
I’m thinking he’s talking about gifting our ladies their flowers and chocolates until everyone turns to face Kate and me, in a way that lets me know they are all in on it. She looks at me questioningly, but I’m just as confused as she is.
Kate narrows her eyes. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
Blindfolds appear, and Quinn waves one cheerfully at Kate. She recoils, curling into my side. “Absolutely not.”
I glance around, and everyone’s smiling too much. “What are you all up to?” I demand.
“Trust us,” Ella smiles gently.
My problem is not the surprise part, but the blindfold. Not because I don’t trust my family, though that is debatable when Beck is involved, but because I don’t like not seeing. I don’t like surrendering control, even for something harmless. Especially for something harmless.
Kate is still arguing beside me as Quinn ties the fabric around her eyes. “If I trip, I’m suing.”
“You can’t sue family,” Ella sings.
“Watch me.”
Beck appears in front of me, grinning like a menace. “You ready, Ghost?”
“No.”
“Too bad.”
He pulls the blindfold over my eyes, and I go blind. Immediate instinct flares—my posture goes rigid, and my shoulders lock. Kate’s hand finds mine again, her fingers lace through mine, grounding me.
We’re guided outside, everyone talking excitedly around us—Beck narrating like this is a game show, Quinn hissing at him to shut up, Jace telling him he will bury him if he ruins this, and Addison laughing too loudly.
Something important is about to happen, and I’m choosing to trust them instead of overreacting.
We stop after a bit of a walk, and the silence shifts. Even Beck quiets, which is how I know this is real.
Then Dad’s voice booms, “Alright, take them off.”