11. Maya
Maya
I didn’t mean to fall for Ryder Beaumont.
It happened slowly, then all at once. In the careful way he moves through PT exercises, trusting me to guide him.
In the way he listens when I talk about my nightmares without trying to fix them.
In the quiet moments on his couch when we’re both too tired to pretend we’re okay and just exist together in shared brokenness.
The way he kissed me, the way he held me, and he didn’t want to let me go, and I prayed he didn’t. I’ve thought about him kissing me so many times, and it was everything I thought it would be.
I freeze. “What?”
“Sorry. That —I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Why did you kiss me back?” I ask, almost not wanting to know the answer.
“Because watching you is the best part of these sessions. Because somewhere between you insulting me in the hospital and now, I started looking forward to seeing you every day, and I’m thinking about you all the time.
” He stops for a moment and looks at me in the eyes and smiles.
“I’ve thought about doing things, which I know I shouldn’t. You’re my best friend’s little sister.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Ryder?—”
“I know. I know you’re dealing with your own stuff. I know I’m a disaster. I know this is probably the worst possible timing, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”
I should tell him I understand, about us both being broken at the moment, and that I am Carters little sister, but instead, I kiss him.
It’s not graceful. I practically lunge across the space between us, my lips finding his in a collision that’s more desperation than romance. But he kisses me back, his good arm pulling me closer, and for the first time in eighteen months, I feel something other than numb.
I feel alive.
We break apart, both breathing hard.
“That was…” Ryder starts.
“Stupid?”
“I was going to say incredible.”
“It’s both. It’s definitely both.”
“Maya, I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m not asking you to be healed. I’m just asking if you maybe want to try this. Try us.” He asks, but I also know in the back of his head he’s thinking Carter is going to kill him.
“I don’t know how to be someone’s girlfriend when I can barely be my own person.”
“Then we figure it out together. Two disasters trying to be slightly less disastrous.”
“That’s a terrible sales pitch.”
“Best I’ve got.”
I lean into him and kiss him, letting my mouth linger against his until the hesitation bleeds out of both of us. His lips part undermine, warm and sure, and when his tongue slides against mine it’s like a match struck in the dark. Heat flares low in my belly, sharp and immediate.
Ryder makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, the kind that vibrates through me.
His good hand slides up my spine, fingers splaying wide between my shoulder blades, pressing me closer until my breasts flatten against his chest. I can feel the hard thump of his heart or maybe it’s mine, racing like we’ve both been running for miles.
I shift, straddling his
lap on the couch without breaking the kiss. He groans into my mouth when my
thighs bracket his hips, when the heat of me settles right over the thick ridge
already straining against his sweatpants. His bad arm stays carefully at his
side, but his good one moves sliding under my shirt, rough palm skating up my
bare back, tracing the line of my spine like he’s memorizing every vertebra.
“Tell me to stop,” he
murmurs against my lips, voice gravel-rough. “If this is too much, if you’re
not sure.”
I answer by rocking my
hips down, slow and deliberate, grinding against him until his breath catches
hard. “Don’t you dare stop.”
That’s all it takes.
He surges up, mouth
claiming mine again, hungrier now. Teeth graze my bottom lip, then soothe with
his tongue. His hand slips higher under my shirt, cupping my breast through my
bra, thumb circling the already-tight peak until I arch into his touch with a
broken whimper. The sound seems to unravel him. He drags his mouth down my jaw,
my throat, sucking lightly at the pulse point there while his fingers tug the
cup of my bra down. Cool air hits my skin, then his hot mouth wet, open kisses
trailing lower until he closes his lips around my nipple and sucks.
My head falls back.
“Ryder—”
He hums against me, the
vibration shooting straight between my legs. I grind down harder, chasing
friction, already soaked through my leggings. He switches to the other breast,
giving it the same slow, filthy attention while his hand slides down to grip my
ass, guiding my hips in a rhythm that has us both panting.
I need more.
I tug at his shirt, careful
of the healing shoulder and he helps me pull it over his head one-armed. The
sight of him shirtless, all lean muscle and fading bruises. I’m on my knees
between his legs.
His eyes darken as I hook
my fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Maya?—”
“Shh.” I tug them down
just enough. He lifts his hips to help, he’s bare thick, hard, flushed dark at
the tip, already leaking. I wrap my hand around him, stroking once, slow,
watching his abs tighten and his head tip back against the couch.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
I lean forward and take
him into my mouth.
He swears again, louder
this time, fingers threading into my hair not pushing, just holding on like he
needs an anchor. I swirl my tongue around the head, then slide down as far as I
can, hollowing my cheeks. His hips jerk once, involuntary, before he stills
them with visible effort.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he
rasps.
I pull off just long
enough to murmur, “Good way to go,” then take him again, deeper, faster, until
his breathing turns ragged and his thighs tremble under my palms.
He stops me before he
loses it gentle but firm, tugging me up by the arms until I’m straddling him
again. His mouth crashes into mine, tasting himself on my tongue, and he groans
like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.
Clothes come off in a
frantic rush after that. My shirt, my bra, my leggings yanked down with my
underwear in one impatient motion. His sweatpants kicked somewhere across the
room. Then it’s just skin on skin, his chest to my breasts, my thighs spread
wide over his, the blunt head of him nudging at my entrance.
He looks up at me, eyes
blown dark with want. “You sure?”
I sink down an inch, just
enough to feel the stretch. “Yes,” I whisper as I feel him stretching me.
He grips my hips, careful,
reverent and helps guide me down until he’s buried to the hilt. We both freeze
for a second, breathing hard, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the
perfect, aching fit.
Then I start to move.
Slow at first, rolling my
hips in lazy circles that make him curse under his breath. His good hand slides
up to cup my breast again, thumb brushing my nipple in time with my rhythm. I
pick up speed, rising and falling, taking him deeper each time until the slap
of skin on skin fills the room along with our gasps and moans.
He meets me thrust for
thrust, hips snapping up, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst
behind my eyelids. His mouth finds my throat, my collarbone, sucking marks I
know I’ll feel tomorrow. I rake my nails down his back, not hard enough to hurt
the healing parts, just enough to make him growl and drive up harder.
“Ryder, fuck…I’m close?—”
He slips his hand between
us, fingers finding my clit, circling with perfect pressure. “Come for me,
Maya. Let me feel you.”
That’s it.
I shatter around him, clenching
tight, pulsing, crying out his name as wave after wave crashes through me. He
fucks me through it, relentless, drawing it out until I’m trembling and
oversensitive and still rocking against him because I can’t stop.
When the aftershocks
finally ease, he flips us careful of his shoulder until I’m under him on the
couch. He hooks one of my legs over his good arm, spreads me wider, and thrusts
deep, hard, chasing his own release now.
“Look at me,” he rasps.
I do. Our eyes lock as he
drives into me again and again, faster, rougher until his rhythm stutters and
his jaw clenches. “Maya.” My name sounds so good from him.
He comes with a broken
groan, burying himself as deep as he can, pulsing hot inside me. His forehead
drops to mine, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat.
We stay like that for long
minutes, tangled, wrecked, hearts hammering in tandem.
Finally he kisses me, soft
this time, almost tender. “Still think this is stupid?”
I laugh, breathless,
wrecked. “Yeah. But I’m keeping you anyway.”
He smiles against my
mouth. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”
And just like that, two
disasters decide to try being something better together.
The next few weeks are strange and wonderful and terrifying.
Ryder and I don’t tell anyone, not Carter, not Lennox, not my therapist. It feels too fragile, too new, too likely to shatter if we expose it to scrutiny.
We steal moments between PT sessions and his classes and my shifts at the library. Quick kisses in empty corridors. Long conversations in his apartment about everything and nothing. The careful negotiation of two people learning how to be together while still figuring out how to be themselves.
But secrets don’t keep forever.
Carter figures it out first, walks into Ryder’s apartment without knocking and finds us on the couch, Ryder’s good arm around me, my head on his shoulder.
“Oh,” he says. “I’m going to kill you.” He snaps, and I see the red ready to kill someone.
“It’s not—” I start.
“We’re just—” Ryder tries.
“You’re dating my sister,” Carter says flatly.
“Technically we haven’t defined?—”
“Ryder. You’re dating my sister.”
Ryder looks at me. I look at Carter. Carter looks between us with an expression I can’t read.
“Yeah,” Ryder says finally. “I am.” He pulls me in front of him so Carter can’t get to him, and I shake my head.
“You’re using me as a shield?” I look over my shoulder at him.
“I’ve seen what he can do on the ice, this is a just in case, his my best friend, but you’re his sister.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Carter snaps.
“We were going to?—”
“When? After you broke up? After something went wrong?”
“Carter—” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Listen man, I was going to tell you, but you’re my best friend, and she’s you little sister, I was working out how to tell you, so you didn’t kill me. I’m sorry.” Ryder tells him, but he also takes a small step away from me, and I know why. If Carter wants to punch him, I’ll be out the way of it.
“No. Let me process this. My best friend is dating my sister who I found nearly dead in a bathtub eighteen months ago, and you thought keeping it secret was the best plan?”
The words land like a slap.
“That’s not fair,” Ryder says.
“None of this is fair. Maya’s fragile?—”
“I’m right here,” I snap. “And I’m not fragile, I’m recovering. There’s a difference.”
“You tried to kill yourself?—”
“Eighteen months ago. I tried to kill myself eighteen months ago. I’m still here. I’m in therapy. I’m getting better and you don’t get to use my worst moment as a reason to control my life.”
Carter’s face crumples. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? From being happy? From having someone who understands what I’m going through? From trying to have a normal relationship?”
“From getting hurt when this falls apart.”
“So, you just assume it will fall apart?” I snap.
“Maya, be realistic. You’re both struggling. You’re both in recovery. How is this sustainable?”
“Maybe it’s not,” I say. “Maybe we crash and burn. Maybe this is the worst idea either of us has ever had. But maybe, just maybe, we help each other be better. Maybe we’re stronger together than apart. Maybe you need to trust that I can make my own decisions about my life.”
The room goes silent.
Finally, Carter says quietly, “I can’t lose you again. I can’t go through that again, Maya.”
“Then don’t push me away by trying to protect me from everything. Trust me to know my own limits. Trust Ryder to care about me. Trust that we’re not as fragile as you think.”
Carter looks at Ryder. “If you hurt her?—”
“I won’t. I can’t promise we won’t mess this up, but I can promise I’ll try my hardest not to hurt her.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Carter shakes his head.
“It’s the truth. Which is better than pretty lies.” Ryder jokes.
Carter sighs, looking every bit the exhausted older brother. “Fine. Fine. But I’m watching both of you and the moment this gets toxic or unhealthy or?—”
“We’ll tell you,” I promise. “Because we want this to work, which means being honest even when it’s hard.”
Carter leaves without another word,