Chapter 39
The morphine had worn off hours ago.
Ryder lay in the hospital bed, shoulder throbbing in time with his pulse, eyes fixed on the door. The surgeon had been blunt—torn rotator cuff, damaged labrum, possible nerve involvement. Six months minimum before he’d be cleared for active duty. Maybe longer.
Worth it.
Every torn muscle, every minute on the Vega. Because Ivy was alive.
Her footsteps echoed in the corridor before she appeared. Light and purposeful. She paused in his open doorway, wearing borrowed clothes. Dark jeans a little too long. A navy Coast Guard hoodie that dwarfed her frame. Her hair was clean but uncombed, falling loose around her face.
She looked exhausted. Bruised. And somehow, still luminous.
“Hey,” she said.
His breath caught. “Hey.”
She crossed to the chair beside his bed and sat, folding her bandaged hands in her lap like she wasn’t sure what to do with them. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Like I lost a fight with a truck.” He tried for a smile. “You?”
“Same.” Her gaze flicked to his shoulder—immobilized in a sling with an IV line snaking out. “What did they say?”
“Surgery went well. Full recovery expected, just slow.” He shifted, grimaced. “Could’ve been worse.”
“Could’ve been dead.” Her voice was soft, eyes now on her fingertips peeking from the bandages.
Silence pooled between them, thick and awkward.
He wanted to reach for her hand, but his good arm was on the wrong side and moving hurt like hell.
“Jack’s doing okay.” She looked up. “I saw her this morning. Broken ribs, concussion, but she’s stable. They’re keeping her another day for observation.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“She asked about you. Apparently, you’re buying the first round when she gets out.”
Ryder huffed a laugh. “Sounds like Jack.”
She plucked at a stray thread on her bandage. He tried not to remember the way her hand had clutched his—bloody and desperate—on the collapsing walkway.
At last, she looked up. “Did you get in trouble? For coming out to the rig when you were ordered not to?”
“Formal reprimand. Could've been worse.”
“Ryder—”
“The success of the rescue helped. Getting you and Jack off alive, plus exposing BlackRock's crimes…” He shrugged his good shoulder, winced. “Command decided a slap on the wrist was sufficient.”
Relief flickered across her face. “That's good. I was worried—”
“Don't be. Wyatt's collecting reprimands like baseball cards at this point. I'm just keeping up with family tradition.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth, but it didn't reach her eyes. The guilt was still there, written in the tension of her shoulders.
“Ivy.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.”
Her throat worked, eyes bright. She looked away first.
“And the police are talking to Sinclair,” she continued, after clearing her throat. “BlackRock’s legal team showed up this morning. Sarah said they’re already trying to spin it as equipment failure, but the data Jack gave us with Henderson’s testimony should hold.”
“Will it stick?”
“I think so. Especially once they find the man who attacked us.” A muscle fluttered in her jaw. “Sarah’s working with a sketch artist. Between my description and Jack’s, they should have something solid.”
“She’ll find him. My sister’s terrifying when she’s focused.”
“I know.” Ivy gave a small laugh and folded her arms, shoulders curving inward. “Everyone’s been so kind. Your family.”
“You don’t owe anyone thanks.”
“I do, though.” She looked up at him, eyes shining. “If you hadn’t come for us, Jack and I wouldn’t be here.”
Ask her to stay, you fool. Just ask.
But the words sat heavy on his tongue—mission-clear and impossible.
“You saved yourself first,” he said instead. “You and Jack. You got out of that container and lit the flares. I just came for the pickup.”
“That’s not—” She shook her head. “You know that’s not true.”
He did. But saying it out loud, acknowledging what had happened on that rig, felt like opening a door he couldn’t close again.
The machine beside his bed beeped softly. Outside in the corridor, someone laughed. Normal hospital sounds. Safe sounds. Not the shriek of tearing steel or her voice screaming his name.
“Ellie’s okay.” He made his tone lighter. “She’s with my parents. Mom said she’s been asking about you.”
Ivy’s expression softened. “Has she?”
“Every five minutes, apparently. ‘When’s Ivy coming? Can Ivy read me a story?’” He smiled despite the pain in his throat. “You made an impression.”
“She’s wonderful,” Ivy murmured. “You’ve done an amazing job with her.”
“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “They’re bringing her by this afternoon.”
“I’d love to see her.” Seconds ticked loudly on the clock above the door. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.”
Tell her that Ellie adores her. That you—
But what kind of life was that? Asking a woman who almost died on a collapsing oil rig to stay?
Asking her to take on a single dad in a foreign country on the other side of the world with a wrecked shoulder and a three-year-old and a job that would put him in danger again and again.
He couldn’t ask her to take that kind of risk.
She deserved better. Someone who could give her stability. Safety. A life in England with her family.
“When’s your flight?”
She sucked in a sudden breath and didn’t look at him when she answered. “Tomorrow. Afternoon.”
“Right.” His ribs didn’t feel like they could move. “That’s good. You’ll want to get home.” He hated how it sounded. Like a goodbye instead of a mistake.
“Yes, George has been texting nonstop. He’s worried.”
“I bet.”
“The oil development’s off, obviously. George is relieved, actually.” Her fingers twisted together. “I’m taking a more in-depth look at wave power. Tidal energy. More sustainable. Lower risk.” A pause. “It’s a better fit for what we want long term.”
Long term. The words hung between them.
“That sounds good,” he said. “Smart.”
“Yes. Well.” She looked down at her hands. “Something productive from all this, at least.”
More silence. This one hurt worse than his shoulder.
Ivy reached out slowly, as if checking to see if it was allowed, and rested her hand on top of his. Her fingers were warm against his skin.
His throat closed. This—her touch, her presence, her choosing to reach for him—this was what he wanted. Every day. Forever.
He looked down at their hands and tried to memorize what it felt like.
“Ryder—”
“You should rest.” His words came out too fast, too sharp. Panic talking. “You’ve been through hell.”
She withdrew her hand, and the air between them felt colder for it.
“Right.” She stood up. “Of course. You need rest too.”
She tugged the ridiculous hoodie hem straight and tucked her hair behind her ear.
Don’t go. Stay. Please stay.
“I’ll come back this afternoon. To see Ellie. If that’s still okay.”
“Yeah. She’d like that.” He stared at the sheet covering his legs, too chicken to meet her gaze.
Ivy started toward the door. Stopped. Turned back.
“Ryder, I—”
His heart stopped. Say it. Whatever it is. Say it.
A soft sigh escaped her, as if whatever she’d been about to say had died on her tongue.
Ask her, you fool. Ask what she was going to say.
But fear locked his jaw.
She looked down, throat working. “Thank you. For everything.”
He bit back the words he wanted to say.
“Anytime.” He met her gaze now.
She looked at him for one more long moment, then turned.
She walked away—not just from the room, but from him.
From the future he hadn’t dared to imagine until she’d thrown light into every dark corner he’d been content to ignore.
The door clicked shut—soft, final.
He stared at it, chest hollow.
The sound of his last chance walking away.