Chapter 17
Now
He stills, his expression going slack, though his eyes incriminate him. It’s the universal look of a guilty man caught in a lie. Or worse.
I start inching backward on the swim platform. “If this is part of some long-term revenge plan and you’re planning to throw me overboard, you can think again, buddy. Kendall knows I’m here. The authorities will track me right to this secluded cove. You’re not pulling a Natalie Wood on me!”
It’s a little late to be thinking about escaping, of course; I am quite literally up shit creek without a paddle. I frantically search the boat deck for a weapon and zero in on our plastic forks. I’d only need a minute to whittle it into a prison shank.
“Relax, woman.” He grabs my hand and forcibly tugs me back to where I was sitting, which may as well be on his lap. I scooch over, trying to put some space between us. “Still so dramatic.”
I’m still eyeing him suspiciously when he speaks. “So yes, this boat is mine. I own it.” He pauses, eyeing me, as if giving me a moment to process that before he continues. “And the house I’m staying in? I own that, too.”
“What?!” I exclaim, my voice echoing off the water like the call of a loon. My face feels both numb and twitchy. I probably look like I’m having a seizure. “Wait a second. Is this a prank? Is Jase about to pop out of the water like swamp thing and say, ‘Hello, Clarice’?”
He bites back a smile. “No prank.”
“So you’re actually telling me you have a house in Seafolly?”
“Correct.”
He’s sitting there perfectly calm, still tossing bread to the ducks, legs dangling casually in the water like he didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb on me.
“But…why? When did you…?” I have about three thousand questions. I’ve missed something big here. “I don’t understand.” I need oxygen. I need a hyperbaric chamber.
He peers at me through squinted eyes. “I’ll explain, I just want to make sure you’re not about to pass out from shock. You’re looking a little woozy.”
Ya think? The ex-love of my life just told me he bought a house in the town where we fell in love. Even I can’t downplay the significance of that.
“It’s the heat. Start talking,” I order, trying to hide how thrown I am. I thought I knew the man sitting next to me, but it turns out I don’t. Not at all.
“So for this to make sense, we have to go back a bit.” He raises his eyebrows, as if to get my consent to tread into our past, and I signal for him to continue.
“After The Lost Letter, I had a rough few years. My mom getting sick was the start of it. I’m sure you remember.
” He pauses for a beat, his voice thick.
“I was terrified, but I wanted to be strong for her, and the booze helped me fake it. Or at least, I thought it did. Looking back, I’m sure I wasn’t fooling her.
I hate that that’s the version of me she saw at the end.
” There’s a long pause, and when I look over, he’s got one knuckle pressed to the corner of his eye.
Oh, Ry. My chest caves with sympathy, sorrow and guilt rising in my throat. “He’s going to need you” plays in my head like a skipping record, each loop reminding me I wasn’t there when it mattered. I’d give anything to wave a magic wand and erase his pain, but of course I can’t.
I reach over and take his free hand, squeezing it.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.” If he notices my careful choice of words, he gives no sign.
“I felt terrible when I heard. I thought about reaching out, but I just…I couldn’t.
” I breathe out slowly, forcing the pressure in my chest to dissipate.
“But I hate that you went through that alone.”
He doesn’t respond except to give my hand a squeeze back, and I know it’s an absolution. One I’m not sure I deserve.
He shakes his head. “I’m just sorry she didn’t get to see me star in a movie with Tom Cruise.”
“Oh, she definitely saw it. In fact, I bet she’s the one who made it happen.”
He blinks. “I’ve never thought about it that way. You believe in things like that? That our lost loved ones are looking out for us?”
My skin prickles, grief stirring softly in the stillness, passing over me like a whisper. “I like to think so. Can never have too many guardian angels, right?” I say, voice featherlight despite the weight in my chest.
He sits with that for a beat before clearing his throat, collecting himself. “So for those keeping track at home, I lost you and then my mom in rapid succession,” he says, his voice a hoarse rasp. “That’s when things went from casual partying to a full-blown drinking problem.”
Regret churns in my stomach. I know I’m not responsible for Ryder’s alcoholism—his choices were his alone—but I’ve always harbored guilt that our breakup fast-tracked his slide into addiction.
For years I tortured myself, wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t left, if my presence could have pulled him back from the brink, if I could’ve helped him dig himself out. If I could have saved him from himself.
But instead of recognizing how low he was, I abandoned him. I left him without a word, and he’s never known why. The guilt cuts deeper than a carving knife.
“After Mom died I threw myself into work, which was easy to do because all of a sudden I was being offered all these amazing projects, opportunities I never could have dreamed of,” he continues, resuming his haphazard bread scattering.
He’s down to crumbs now. “I don’t know how you felt, but it was a lot to process for a guy who wasn’t sure he’d even get work as an adult actor. ”
“I can definitely relate,” I tell him, and it’s true.
It’s hard to explain just how disorienting it had been to go from living in near squalor and wondering how I’d pay my rent to flying first class and staying in five-star hotels overnight.
What a mind game it had been to go from begging for a job—any job—to being pitched my choice of roles by hotshot producers who hadn’t known my name a month earlier.
I’ll never forget the moment I realized I’d never have to worry about money again, that I could afford the best of everything, that I’d made more on one film than my parents had made their entire adult lives.
It was a strange reality to live in, to have the world’s luxuries at my fingertips while my family members were still clipping coupons back in Indiana.
“And when you’re making a lot of people a lot of money, they’re incentivized to ignore all the red flags,” Ryder continues.
“They clean up your messes, look the other way when you screw up, lie for you without even having to be asked. I was managing to keep the wheels from coming off, but just barely. I’m sure you probably heard some things. ”
I nod, offering him a sad smile. Of course I heard. No matter how hard I worked to block them out, stories about Ryder’s troubles always managed to seep through. “What made you decide to seek treatment?”
He rubs his hand along his chin. “It wasn’t some rock-bottom moment like you hear about, more like a combination of things.
Over time I wasn’t hiding things as well and it started to affect my work.
I lost out on a couple of jobs because they thought I was a liability.
I had a lot of shady people hanging around, taking advantage of me.
I was tired of feeling like shit all the time.
” A muscle pulses in his jaw. “Once I started needing a drink to get up in the morning, I knew it was time to get help.”
He sprinkles the last of his breadcrumbs in the water.
“Something I learned in rehab is that you can come up with literally any excuse to drink. Want to celebrate? Propose a toast. Sad and depressed? Drown your sorrows. Tired? Time for a nightcap. Need some energy? Take a shot! Nervous? Liquid courage to the rescue.” He laughs humorlessly as the ducks fight over the crumbs, gobbling them down with their little quacking noises.
“It’s crazy, how many clever little catchphrases we can come up with to describe slowly poisoning yourself. ”
Shame curls through me as I think back on all the dots I didn’t connect until it was too late—the shots he needed to get through scenes, the ever-present stash of liquor in his trailer, the way every emotion or stressor sent him straight to the bottle.
The warning signs were right in front of me, but I was too na?ve—or blinded by love—to recognize them.
He brushes his hands off. “Anyway, after rehab I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
I’d cut myself off from my old crowd, but that meant I was really and truly alone.
Since Mom and I had moved around so much, I didn’t have extended family or a hometown to go back to.
I was always jealous of you for that.” He swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“You know how you were saying that it’s really loud at your parents’?
” he says, and I nod. “Well, it’s been really quiet for me. ”
My heart splinters at the pain in his voice.
The grief is visible in his posture, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed in resignation.
It occurs to me that I have no idea what it would be like to be so alone in the world.
I gripe about my rowdy, opinionated family, my mom’s nosiness and nagging, but I can’t imagine life without them and their signature brand of chaos.
I’ve been lucky enough to navigate the world with a built-in safety net, a tribe of loved ones ready to rally around me and catch me if I fall, and I’ve taken it entirely for granted.
What a privilege it is to walk through life, never considering the alternative.
“So how does Seafolly come into play?” I eventually ask, trying to chase away the cloud that seems to have settled over us. I frisbee the last of my own bread into the water, and when the ducks realize we’re tapped out, they start swimming away.