Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
During the drive home, Ryker sobers up enough to convince me he doesn’t need to go to the hospital. I regret that stupid-ass decision the second it comes time to get him out of the truck and he won’t budge, even when I march around to the passenger side door and open it for him.
“Ryker, we’re here.” I wave my hand in front of his bloodshot eyes. No response. He does flinch when I grab his arm, which is a little more like the Ryker I’m used to, but I’m still freaked out. “Alright, that’s it. If you don’t walk yourself inside in the next thirty seconds, I’m taking you to the ER.”
“No,” he says, blinking a few times. “I’ve almost got it. My head is just all…” He sways in his seat, closing his eyes tightly.
My chest pinches and I fight the urge to reach out and steady him. “Fine, but I’m going to go grab a bottle of water. Maybe we can flush whatever this is out of your system.”
I make it one step before Ryker grabs my arm and drags me closer until my hip is pressed against his thigh. “Don’t go. Please . Every time I blink, I’m back inside that church.”
Nodding, I swallow. “Okay. I won’t go anywhere. ”
“Thank you.” His hand slides down my wrist, and when he links his fingers through mine and pulls me a little closer, I just about melt.
“Is that what Kane had you doing for three days? Cleaning out the church?”
“Three days?” Ryker’s hair falls forward as he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “What are you talking about? We were on the couch together this morning… Fuck .” He rakes his free hand roughly through his hair. “Noah’s gonna kill me.”
My heart skips a beat. But considering how his memory has several days’ worth of gaps in it from whatever Kane gave him, now is clearly not the time for me to be relieved that maybe he didn’t ghost me after all. “Come on. Let’s get you inside and put you to bed.”
“Trying to get me into bed already, Princess? It’s almost like you want your brother to kill me.” He cracks open his right eye, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks me up and down. “Worth it.”
I roll my eyes. He’s obviously feeling better . “Come on, Casanova. Up you go.”
I’m not really sure what the protocol is for this situation, but I’m going to treat it like when Noah comes home drunk off his ass. Which means water, food, and sleep—in exactly that order.
After struggling up the steps, we make a quick pit stop in the kitchen where Ryker chugs three bottles of water and scarfs down two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The color slowly returns to his skin as he eats, his eyes clearing not long after. Even his gait and posture are more stable.
Satisfied, I lead him to my bedroom. The mattress squeaks when he sits, still dressed in borrowed clothes, which are thankfully not covered in dirt like the others’ were.
I should make him shower and change, but I settle on helping him remove his button-down shirt, leaving him in the linen trousers, a plain cotton tee, and his shoes. I check his arms and hands for needle tracks. Except for a small scratch running through one of the wings of the moth tattoo on his forearm, he doesn’t have a mark on him .
My mouth pinches to the side. “What’s the moth for?” I ask, dropping to my knees to start in on his bootlaces.
“Tattoos don’t have to have meanings, Princess.” He pauses to yawn. “Sometimes they just look nice.”
Tilting my head, I lean forward and inspect the ink. I’m not the biggest fan of the flying critters. I’m always nervous they’re going to get caught up in my hair, and the dust their tiny wings leaves behind gives me the heebie-jeebies, but even I can admit the tattoo is beautiful.
Unlike the moth on his belt buckle, this one doesn’t have a skull in the center of its body. Instead, it has furry little antennae and gorgeous open wings with big dots on them that remind me of eyes.
“They don’t have to have meanings, but this one does,” I say confidently.
Ryker sighs, the sound somewhere between fatigue and annoyance. “You’re a brat sometimes, you know that?”
“Sucks when someone calls you on your shit, doesn’t it?” I smile up at him, grunting as I struggle to remove his boot until he lays back on the bed and holds his leg up for me. “Thank you. And you don’t have to tell me about the tattoo if you don’t want to.”
“When Kane and I were kids,” Ryker starts after a long, shaky exhale, “Beau used to burn trash in the yard. Sometimes the flames would go late into the night and we would sneak outside to watch. We’d sit there for hours, and I’d stare in horror as, one by one, moths and other insects flew right into the fire.”
After finally freeing his foot from the first boot, I tap the toe of the next one. “Why would they do that?”
“Moths use the light of the moon for navigation and figuring out which way is up and down,” he explains, lifting his opposite leg for me. “But they’re easily confused by other light sources.” He closes his eyes again, but they move beneath his lids.
“I can still see it all these years later—here one second, gone the next. Their wings incinerated in an instant. At the time, I didn’t understand how anything could confuse certain death for safety. Then one day, after my mom just sat back and watched Beau beat the shit out of me, I finally understood.”
Ryker sits up and leans forward, reaching out to twist an errant strand of my white hair around his index finger. “Saltwater for a castaway. Sleep to the freezing. A moth to the flame. It’s all the same. A starving man will devour poison to ease the ache for a single moment, even when he knows it’ll kill him.”
I sit with the bleakness of his words for a second before responding. “Why would you want to think of that every time you glance down?”
Ryker laughs, but the sound is bitter. “I took a psychology course last semester, and the professor explained how the human brain clings to false beliefs if it thinks it will protect us from pain. I can’t afford false beliefs. And I can’t lose focus trying to make life hurt less, not when Charlie is depending on me. I refuse to lead her into the fire—the way my mom did with me and Kane.”
Overwhelmed by the intensity of his stare, I try to look away, but he drops my hair and grabs my chin to stop me. “This tattoo reminds me not to be distracted by something that looks pretty but will only end up destroying me.”
Ignoring the dangerous octave of his voice, I inch forward, shivering when he does the same and his nose brushes against mine.
“Is that what you’re doing, Princess?” His deep whisper is rough and smoky. “Trying to distract me? Trying to destroy me?”
Heart in my throat, I shake my head. “I would never?—”
“Then why are you the only thing I think about when I should be concentrating on Charlie and getting Kane help? Every damn day, it’s only you. I’m burning from the inside out.”
My world tilts so violently I grip onto his thighs to keep from falling. “Ryker, I?—”
Gravel crunches in the driveway, and he briefly looks to the window, blinking like he can’t quite focus on what he’s seeing and reminding me that he’s still under the influence of whatever drugs his brother gave him.
My stomach churns. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying…
“Kiddo?” Dad calls out from somewhere outside, likely assuming I’m in the garden.
Ryker’s grip on my chin tightens, guiding my face to his until our lips almost touch. “Will one taste quench the thirst, Princess? Will it douse the flame or burn me alive?”
Bootsteps pound on the porch, thudding in time with the erratic cadence of my heart. Every fiber of my being wants to press my lips against Ryker’s—to climb on top of him and figure out for the both of us how to ease this burning need…but I can’t. Not like this. Not when I can’t be sure if this is really how he feels.
The front door opens and closes. “Willa?”
“We’re in here,” I say breathlessly, never breaking eye contact.
Ryker blinks, the hard look in his eye easing as he releases me a second before my dad appears in the doorway, phone clutched to his ear and his brow scrunched.
Dad zeroes in on the shirt I threw on the floor, slowly trailing his gaze over to the boot, and then to my precarious position between Ryker’s knees. “I’m going to have to call you back,” he says into the phone, jaw hard and lips tight. “It’ll have to wait, Noah. I just walked in on your sister taking your best friend’s clothes off.”
“Jesus, Dad,” I sputter, realizing too late how this must look to him. “Kane drugged Ryker. I was putting him to bed so he could sleep it off.”
“ Narc ,” Ryker mumbles under his breath, but I’m too embarrassed to care.
Dad’s jaw works as his attention volleys between us, finally landing on me. “Why didn’t you call me?” Then to Ryker he says, “Do you know what you were dosed with?”
“I don’t.” Ryker scoots back on the mattress and away from my hand, highlighting just how far up his thigh my palm had traveled.
I slowly slide my hand off his knee and into my lap while Ryker pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Dunn, if I really was drugged…th en you can’t report this. Beau will find a way to use it against me for getting guardianship.”
I can almost see the cogs turning in Dad’s cop-brain. “Willa, I need to speak with Ryker and you need to talk to your brother before his head explodes.” He holds out the phone, swiping to answer the incoming call, and I cringe when Noah’s angry yammering fills the room.
Sighing, I rise to my feet and take the cell from my dad’s outstretched hand, not allowing myself to look back at Ryker as I trudge into the living room.
This should be fun.
Considering how Noah nearly killed Cooper Blackthorne after finding out we’d kissed under the bleachers, I can only imagine what he’s planning to do to his best friend after Dad’s ridiculous comment.
The phone vibrates, and I glance at the screen to make sure the call didn’t drop, frowning at the email banner that flashes across the top. I didn’t think Dad got work emails on his personal phone, but this one is clearly labeled Texas Correctional Health Care Services , which means I definitely shouldn’t be reading it.
Huffing out a breath, I bring the phone to my ear and brace myself. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
“What the actual fuck , Willa?” my brother shrieks through the line. “My best fucking friend? Are you kidding me?”
Okay, damn . I’d assumed most of his anger would be aimed at Ryker, but I guess I deserve that. There are about a thousand snarky ways I want to respond, but instead, I bite my tongue and spend the next few minutes explaining the events of the past three days.
When I’m finished, Noah releases a sigh. “So nothing happened between you and Ryker?”
I pull the phone away and frown at the screen like that will magically help his response make sense. “Seriously, Noah? Your best friend was drugged by his creepy-ass brother and that’s the first thing you ask me?”
“ Fuck .” My brother’s voice is so soft and fragile that if I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost sounded hurt. “Something did happen, didn’t it…”
I’m tempted to hang up and be done with this conversation. I barely understand my chaotic, ever-changing feelings for Ryker. The last thing I want to do is discuss them with my brother. Then again, Ryker is Noah’s best friend. Maybe I should consider his feelings before deciding on my own… My stomach tangles into knots.
“ Wills ?” Noah says softly. For some reason, I picture him hunched over and clutching the phone with both hands. “I’ve never asked you for anything, but I’m asking you for this. Please, anyone but him.”
I turn back toward the hallway where Ryker is barely visible through the crack between my door and the frame. I can only see a few inches of his downcast face, but it’s enough to make the knots in my stomach unfurl and erupt into a flurry of heat.
It’s like I’m burning from the inside out .
“Willa, did you hear me?”
I choke down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I heard you. Anyone but him.”