Chapter 14 Ghosts Return #2
"I was in Dallas for work."
I nodded.
Waiting.
"Thought I'd stop by."
Still waiting.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"You always hated patience."
"I own a ranch."
"Exactly."
Fair.
Unfortunately.
Rebecca sighed.
Then looked around the kitchen.
At the photographs.
The furniture.
The life I'd built after she left.
Something thoughtful appeared in her expression.
"I missed this place."
The confession surprised me.
Apparently, it showed.
Because she laughed softly.
"Not enough to stay."
The words landed gently.
Without blame.
Without bitterness.
The absence of anger somehow hurt more.
I looked away.
Toward the window.
Toward the fields.
Anywhere except the memories waiting across the table.
The truth was ugly.
Our marriage hadn't ended because of one dramatic betrayal.
No affair.
No screaming matches.
No single catastrophe.
Just years of accumulated damage.
The kind that happened slowly.
Quietly.
A thousand tiny fractures nobody noticed until the foundation finally collapsed.
Rebecca eventually set down her coffee.
"I spent a long time being angry."
The admission caught my attention.
I looked back.
She smiled sadly.
"At you."
A pause.
"At myself."
The words felt familiar.
Too familiar.
Because I'd spent years doing exactly the same thing.
"I know."
Rebecca nodded.
Silence followed.
The comfortable kind.
The painful kind.
The kind shared between people who once loved each other and no longer knew what to do with that history.
Eventually she leaned back in her chair.
"Do you ever think about it?"
I laughed quietly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the answer felt obvious.
"Sometimes."
Another lie.
The truth was more complicated.
I thought about it more than sometimes.
Not every day.
Not the way I used to.
Enough.
Rebecca seemed to understand.
She always did.
The woman knew every version of me.
The ambitious rodeo rider.
The broken man after the accident.
The husband who couldn't figure out how to heal.
The husband who pushed everyone away instead.
That version remained the hardest to face.
Because it was true.
After the accident, I became impossible to live with.
Not cruel.
Not intentionally.
Just lost.
I buried myself in anger.
Shame.
Frustration.
Everything except healing.
Rebecca had spent years trying to reach me.
Eventually she ran out of strength.
I never blamed her for leaving.
Not really.
Some days I blamed myself enough for both of us.
The silence stretched again.
Then she spoke quietly.
"You know it wasn't all your fault."
I looked at her.
Immediately suspicious.
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
The reaction felt painfully familiar.
"We were both miserable, Ryder."
The words landed gently.
Yet they still hurt.
Because part of me never stopped wondering.
What if I'd handled things differently?
What if I'd healed faster?
What if I'd been enough?
The questions never completely disappeared.
Rebecca seemed to read the thoughts on my face.
Again.
Annoying woman.
"We were young."
She shrugged.
"Broken people don't always know how to save each other."
The statement hung between us.
Simple.
Honest.
Painfully accurate.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Rebecca smiled softly.
The kind of smile that carried understanding instead of judgment.
"I'm happy you survived it."
The words surprised me.
More than they should have.
Because for years surviving hadn't felt particularly impressive.
It felt necessary.
Ordinary.
Something I did because there wasn't another option.
Yet hearing it from her changed something.
Slightly.
Not much.
Enough.
The conversation drifted after that.
Safer topics.
Work.
Life.
Mutual friends.
The passage of time.
Normal things.
For a little while, it almost felt easy.
Then Rebecca ruined it.
Naturally.
The woman had always possessed remarkable timing.
She set down her coffee.
Studied me carefully.
Then asked the question.
"So."
My stomach immediately tightened.
Danger.
I knew that tone.
Knew it very well.
Rebecca folded her arms.
A smile appeared.
Small.
Knowing.
Terrifying.
"Tell me about Oliver."
There it was.
The room went silent.
I stared.
She smiled wider.
Damn it.
"You're not subtle."
The accusation sounded unfair.
Mostly because it was true.
I groaned.
Rebecca laughed.
The sound echoed through the kitchen.
"You should see your face."
I considered throwing her out.
Briefly.
Unfortunately, she continued.
"The kid's sweet."
I remained silent.
A mistake.
Rebecca noticed.
Of course.
The woman had built an entire career around reading people.
Reading me required even less effort.
Her expression softened.
"You're in love with him."
The statement wasn't a question.
I looked away.
That was apparently all the confirmation she needed.
Wonderful.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Rebecca sighed.
The sound held concern.
Not judgment.
Concern.
"I figured."
I rubbed a hand across my face.
Exhaustion settled heavily into my bones.
The conversation I didn't want was officially happening.
Rebecca leaned forward slightly.
"How serious is it?"
The answer arrived immediately.
Terrifyingly immediately.
Very.
The realization hit me before I could stop it.
Rebecca saw it too.
Her expression changed.
Something gentler.
Something sadder.
For a moment, she simply looked at me.
Then she spoke quietly.
"Ryder."
The warning in her voice made my stomach drop.
"What?"
Rebecca hesitated.
Choosing her words carefully.
Never a good sign.
Finally, she sighed.
"The town is already talking."
The words landed hard.
Exactly as intended.
I stared at her.
She held my gaze.
Unflinching.
"The rumors are everywhere."
My jaw tightened.
Rebecca continued anyway.
Because she'd never been afraid of difficult truths.
"People notice things."
The statement felt painfully obvious.
Yet hearing it aloud changed something.
Made it real.
Made it immediate.
Rebecca's expression softened again.
"I don't care."
A pause.
"Most decent people won't care."
Another pause.
"But somebody's going to figure it out."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
The air heavier.
The future closer.
Because deep down, I already knew she was right.
The whispers had started.
The questions had started.
The truth wasn't buried anymore.
It was surfacing.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
Rebecca reached across the table and squeezed my hand once.
The gesture surprised me.
The kindness surprised me more.
Then she smiled sadly.
"The only question left is whether you're ready when it becomes public."
The words lingered long after she let go.
And sitting there across from the woman who knew me better than almost anyone alive, I realized something uncomfortable.
The future I'd been trying not to think about was almost here.
And whether I was ready or not, nothing was going to stop it.
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