Chapter 41
Ryder woke to the sound of breathing that wasn’t his own.
The room was still dark. Pre-dawn light filtered through the curtains, turning everything muted and soft. The rhythm was slow, peaceful. Different from Ellie’s small quick breaths through the monitor on his nightstand.
Ivy.
Her hair fanned across his pillow, a spill of pale gold against white cotton. One hand rested on his chest, fingers curled loosely against his heartbeat. He’d forgotten how it felt to wake without bracing for impact. Just breath and warmth and her.
Three weeks since that hospital corridor, and he still woke sometimes half-expecting the bed to be empty.
It never was.
His shoulder ached. A dull throb that started deep in the joint and radiated down his arm. The sling sat on the chair beside the bed where he’d dropped it before sleep. He’d need to put it back on soon. PT appointment this afternoon. Six more weeks minimum before he’d be cleared for light duty.
He had no regrets.
Every torn muscle, every sleepless night—had brought him this.
Ivy in his bed, in his house, in his life.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway, and small footsteps padded closer. The door opened slowly, hinges squeaking. Ellie stood in the doorway in purple elephant pajamas, clutching her stuffed bear. Her hair stuck up on one side where she’d slept on it.
“Daddy?” Her voice was whisper-small. “Eye-vee here?”
Still. Like she needed confirmation. Like she was afraid Ivy might disappear the way her mother had.
Ryder’s chest locked.
“She’s here, bug. Come, give Daddy a hug.”
Ivy stirred. Her eyes opened, found his face first, then tracked to the doorway. A smile curved her mouth. “Morning, Ellie.”
Ellie’s whole face lit up. She ran the last few steps and clambered onto the bed, bear clutched in one fist. Ivy shifted to make room, lifting the blanket so Ellie could burrow between them.
“Cozee Daddy. Eye-vee,” Ellie snuggled against Ivy, bear squashed between them.
Ryder pressed a kiss to her messy hair.
The easy way Ivy’s arm came around Ellie’s shoulders, and Ellie tucked herself in close like she belonged there, no hesitation or awkwardness, just family. God, he swallowed against the tightness around his Adam’s apple.
Ellie melted against Ivy like she’d done it forever. Ivy caught his eye over her head, raising her eyebrows in question.
He shook his head. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.
“Pan-makes, Eye-vee?”
Ivy laughed. “Again? That’s three times this week.”
“Daddy. Pan-makes now.”
“All right,” Ivy said. “But you have to help.”
“Yay!” Ellie wriggled against them both.
Out of bed, she grabbed Ivy’s hand and pulled her toward the door, quizzing her on whether the pancakes needed Marsha-mallows.
Ivy looked back at Ryder, still in bed, and smiled. “Coming?”
“Give me a sec.”
He sat up carefully, grabbed the sling, and worked his arm into it one-handed.
The shoulder protested, but he ignored it.
He’d gotten good at ignoring it. Had to, when there was a toddler who needed lifting and a house that needed maintaining and a woman who tried to do too much when she thought he wasn’t looking.
The kitchen was already chaos by the time he got there.
Ellie stood on a chair at the counter, flour dusting her pajamas and her hair. She held a wooden spoon like a weapon, stirring with enthusiasm. Ivy stood beside her, measuring milk with one hand while the other steadied the chair.
Ivy peered into the bowl. “Easy, sweetheart. We want to mix it, not murder it.”
“Me stir.” Ellie waved the spoon, spattering the counter.
Ivy ducked, laughing. “I can see that.”
Only now did he fully understand how quiet the house had been without Ivy. She’d pulled on one of his old Coast Guard sweatshirts over her tank. It hung mid-thigh, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her feet were bare on the cold tile floor.
She’d stayed. Left her entire life behind and stayed for pancakes and a toddler’s sticky hands. She could have walked away. Could go anywhere. Her brother was a duke. She had money, connections, options he couldn’t even imagine.
And yet she was here, in his kitchen, teaching his daughter how to crack eggs without getting shell in the batter.
“Daddy, me help,” Ellie called when she spotted him.
“I can see that, bug.”
“Marsha-mallow, Daddy?” Her lower lip popped out as she tried to look serious.
A smile tugged at him anyway. “No, bug. Not for breakfast.”
Ivy glanced at him, grinning. “Someone has strong opinions about marsha-mallows for breakfast.”
He shook his head. “Wonder where she gets that from?”
He moved into the kitchen, reached for the coffeepot with his good hand.
Ivy got there first. “I’ve got it.”
“I can make coffee one-handed.”
“I know you can.” She poured two mugs anyway. Fixed his the way he liked it—black, no sugar and handed it to him. “But you don’t have to.”
Their fingers brushed, the contact sending warmth up his arm that had nothing to do with the coffee. He wanted to pull her close, kiss her till the world blurred and slide his hands under the warmth of his sweatshirt.
But Ellie was watching, and some things could wait until later.
“Thank you.” He sipped his coffee.
“You’re welcome.” She turned back to the stove and poured batter onto the griddle in neat circles. Ellie leaned over to watch, and Ivy put a hand on her back to keep her from tipping forward.
The doorbell rang.
Ryder set down his coffee as Ellie scrambled down from her chair and ran for the door.
He followed, catching her before she could yank it open. Sarah was visible through the glass panel. She had her sheriff face on and matching uniform.
He opened the door. “Someone die?”
“Not yet.” Sarah stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “Mom wants you at dinner Sunday. I’m delivering the message in person.”
“You could’ve texted.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She looked past him toward the kitchen.
Ivy stood at the sink, dishtowel in hand. “Sarah, hi.” She waved the dishtowel.
“Morning.” Sarah walked into the living room, her gaze sweeping the space.
Ryder followed her.
“So, Ivy’s still here.” Sarah lifted one eyebrow.
“Observant.” Ryder cocked his head. “I can see why you’re sheriff.”
“Wasn’t sure you’d actually tell her how you felt.” Sarah turned to face him. “Figured you’d chicken out.”
“I told her.”
“In a hospital gown. Caleb said.”
Ryder scrubbed a hand over his face. “Great. Good to know my love life’s a family group chat.”
“Very romantic.” Sarah’s mouth twitched.
“Maybe you should try it sometime.”
“Please.” She waved him off. “I’m hardly the hearts-and-flowers type.”
Ellie tugged on Sarah’s belt. “Tantie. El-Lo.”
Sarah dropped to her knees and tweaked Ellie’s nose. “Hello, button. Smells like you’ve been making pancakes.”
“Yes. Eye-vee. Me help.”
Sarah’s gaze flicked Ryder. “Ivy’s been busy.”
Ryder knew that look. Had been on the receiving end of it his whole life. Sarah was checking. Making sure this was real. That Ivy wasn’t here out of obligation, gratitude or some misguided sense of debt. Ensuring she wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces when it all fell apart.
Ivy joined them in the living room. She met Sarah’s eyes directly, shoulders square, and slid her arm around Ryder’s waist.
“We’re happy,” Ivy said. Quiet but firm. “If that’s what you’re wondering, despite the mountain of visa paperwork I’m working through right now.”
Sarah studied her for a long moment. Her expression softened in a way Ryder rarely saw outside of family moments.
“I’m glad. Really glad.” She jerked a thumb at Ryder. “He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s a good man. You’re good for him. For both of them.”
Ivy’s throat worked. “He’s good for me too.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said quietly. “I know.”
For the first time, his sister didn’t look at him like a man holding himself together with duct tape.
Sarah had spent three years watching him struggle and parent alone while insisting he didn’t need help. Seeing him close himself off because letting someone in risked Ellie’s heart as much as his own.
And now she was standing in his living room giving her blessing to the woman who’d changed everything.
“Well.” Sarah angled her hands on her hips. “Dinner’s at six Sunday. Mom’s making pot roast.”
“We’ll be there,” Ryder replied.
“Good. Because if you don’t show, she’ll drive over here, and you know she has opinions about your kitchen organization.” She glanced around. “Although it looks better than usual. Ivy?”
“I, um, reorganized the spice cabinet.” Ivy blushed. “I’ve had some spare time.”
“Alphabetically?”
“Frequency of use.”
Sarah gave a low whistle. “Mom will love you even more than she already does.”
She headed toward the door, then paused. “Oh—you should know. We got him.”
Ryder straightened. “The guy from the rig?”
“Bill Hainsworth. Picked him up in Anchorage two days ago. Between your description and Jack’s testimony, we had enough for an arrest. We coordinated with the FBI and CGIS on the arrest. Hainsworth’s talking now, and Sinclair’s facing federal charges.”
For a moment he smelled the oil and salt, the vibration of metal tearing apart in his fingertips.
Then, Ivy’s hand tightened on his, and the memory was gone. “And Sinclair?”
“Federal charges. Conspiracy, attempted murder, corporate fraud. He won’t see daylight for twenty years.” Sarah’s expression went hard. “They left you both to die. We’ll make sure they answer for it.”
Ivy sagged against him—relief, not weakness.
“Thank you,” Ivy said.
Sarah nodded. “Just doing my job. But...” She looked between them. “I’m glad you’re both here to see it.” She took a step back and touched Ryder’s cheek briefly. “I’m glad you listened.”
That conversation when she’d told him point-blank to tell Ivy how he felt.
“Me too,” he said.
“Love you, little brother.” She looked at Ivy. “And Ivy—for what it’s worth? You’re family now. Mom and Dad feel the same. We all do.”
Ivy blinked. “Thank you, Sarah.”
Sarah smiled. “See you Sunday.”
Her cruiser disappeared down the road, and the house was quiet again except for Ellie’s giggles coming from her room. Ivy turned to him, eyes shining. He drew her close with his good arm.
“I love you,” she said softly. “And your family.”
“They’re yours now too.”
For too long, survival had meant keeping the world at arm’s length.
Now it meant this—arms full, heart steady, future wide open.
Ivy rested her head against his chest, smelling of his shampoo and vanilla. He drew in a slow breath, memorizing the weight of her against him, the sound of Ellie laughing.
This. This was everything.
His forever.