10. 10 Ryder
10: Ryder
“What the hell is your problem, Ryder?” Blaze is still fuming, which, yeah, fair. If the roles were reversed, I’d be ready to throw hands too. Hell, I’d probably already be swinging.
“She was right there! How could you make us leave?”
“ She made us leave,” I correct, trying to push us along the sidewalk so we're not tempted to re-enter. Which we all very much are. I’m still piecing together whatever mess we just walked out of, but one thing’s crystal clear: Tori didn’t mean a damn word she said.
Thorne’s quiet. Brooding again. Honestly, I’m not sure he ever stops. It’s like his default mode—factory reset to intense and silent.
“She was lying! There’s no way she would rather be with Nico, even if she didn’t want to be with us.” Blaze’s voice wavers, but not enough to cover the raw hurt in his eyes. Words always cut Blaze deeper than he lets on.
“You noticed who else was in there, right?” I ask, studying him. I know his focus was glued to Tori, same as mine, but unlike him, I caught what she was really saying when she called me Blue. That’s when I started looking around—and damn , did I find more than I bargained for.
“Diablo.” Blaze practically spits the name, his teeth grinding like he’s seconds away from cracking a molar.
“And?”
His hands fist at his sides, his temper spiking. “What does this have to do with Tori?”
“Everything,” I say, dragging the word out just to piss him off. “Your brother was there, Blaze.”
He freezes, his gaze darting to the window. From here, you can still make out Tori, Nico, and—right there in the background—Marcus Hwan, looking every bit the smug bastard he’s always been.
“What the fuck?” Blaze’s voice drops, all fury and disbelief.
We all knew Marcus was tangled up with Nico’s gang, but seeing it firsthand? That’s another story. Blaze tried to pull him out a few years back, even went toe-to-toe with Nico over it, but Marcus made his choice. He wanted to prove something, maybe that he could one-up his big brother, but he’s not even running things. Just another cog in Nico’s blood-soaked machine.
A cog we can use.
“You think you can get him to talk?” I ask, watching Blaze closely.
“Doubt it,” he mutters, shaking his head. “He hates me. Always has. And now that he’s in deeper with Nico, it’s not like he’s gonna spill his boss’ secrets to me just because I ask nicely.”
“Well, you’re gonna need to figure something out, because it's pretty fucking obvious Nico's holding something over Tori. And until we know what that is, we’re stuck.”
And with that, Mr. Hothead finally backs off, heading for the car.
Look at me, being the voice of reason.
Feels unnatural.
We pile into the car, minus one very important passenger. Don't worry, KitKat. We're coming back. Rick and Keagan exchange glances, but for once, they have the good sense to keep their mouths shut. Keagan drives us back to his place in pin-drop silence.
It’s Thorne who finally breaks it. “How’d you know?”
I glance at him in the rearview mirror, already knowing what he means. ‘How could you tell she needed us to leave when I couldn’t?’ It’s not about pride—it’s more than that. He thinks he knows her better because of their history, that year they spent in the group home together. What he doesn’t realize is that we all have pieces of her. Different pieces, but they’re ours all the same.
“She called me Blue,” I say simply.
Blaze looks over, his brow furrowing. Thorne stares out the window, his mouth tight, unreadable.
“That’s all I needed to know,” I continue, the memory rushing back like it was yesterday. Tori sitting under the bleachers, wiping away tears she didn’t want anyone to see. The way she laughed that day, the walls she let down for just a little while.
It was the one memory I held onto through all the chaos of high school. And it’s the one thing that makes me sure she didn’t mean any of what she said back there. Not a single word. Because she wasn’t her. She was Sprout.
*Junior Year of High School*
It was supposed to be a regular day—a little chaos, a few laughs, and a perfectly executed plan to remind Icky she didn’t belong in our world.
That’s the thing about her: she tries too hard to blend in, to fade into the background, and for some reason, I can't let her. Maybe it’s because I know she doesn't belong there. Or maybe it's because of the look in her eyes, like she’s one push away from shattering completely. I like testing the limits, seeing how far I can go.
But when I see her sitting alone under the bleachers, her knees drawn up, her shoulders shaking, it stops me cold. Tori doesn't cry. At least, not that I've ever seen. She’s always fought back, with sharp comebacks and fire in her eyes that makes me itch to provoke her more. This? This isn’t the Tori I'm used to.
I clear my throat, loud enough for her to hear. Watching her jerk her head up and scramble to wipe her eyes shouldn’t hit me the way it does, but it does. For a split second, I almost turn around and walk away.
Almost.
Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and step closer. “Wow, you’re not gonna run?”
She glares at me, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and snaps, “Why? So you can chase me? No thanks.”
Her voice is sharp, like she is ready for a fight. Good. I hate seeing her like that—vulnerable, sad… It doesn't suit her.
“Relax,” I say, crouching down beside her. “I’m not here to play the big bad wolf today.”
She doesn't buy it. Not that I blame her. I pull out my pack of cigarettes and hold one out to her. “Smoke?”
She wrinkles her nose and waves it off. “I don’t smoke.”
“Suit yourself.” I light one for myself and lean back against the post, letting the silence hang between us. “You look like crap, by the way,” I say after a moment.
“Wow, thanks,” she mutters, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. “Always the charmer, aren’t you?”
“I mean it in the nicest way possible,” I joke with a smirk, taking a drag of my cigarette. “Rough day?”
She doesn't answer, just stares at the ground like it might swallow her whole. What the hell am I doing? I'm not good at this—whatever this is. Comforting people? Not my thing. But for some reason, I can't bring myself to leave.
“Why are you being nice?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shrug, playing it off like it's no big deal. “It’s an off day.”
She snorts, and for a second, I think I see a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” I start, exhaling smoke lazily, “That maybe I don’t feel like being the school asshole every second of the day.”
She rolls her eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You know, we could just pretend we’re not us for a bit. Might make this whole thing less weird.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Pretend we’re not us?”
“Yeah. Like… I’m not Ryder, and you’re not…” I trailed off, studying her. Her hair is falling into her face, her nose is red from crying, and yet she still manages to look… pretty. Not that I’d ever say that out loud. “What’s a good fake name for you? Something that fits.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t.”
I smirk, tilting my head as I consider my options. “I got it. You’re… Sprout.”
Her mouth falls open, and I have to fight back a laugh. “You're joking, right?”
“Hey, I could’ve gone with worse,” I reply, holding my hands up defensively. “Sprout’s kinda cute. Small, scrappy, and probably deadly if underestimated.”
“Wow, such a compliment,” she deadpans. “Fine. If I’m Sprout, then you’re… Blue.”
That catches me off guard. “Blue? Why Blue?”
She shrugs, looking anywhere but at me. “Your eyes. They don’t match the rest of you.”
I let out a low laugh, shaking my head, wondering exactly what she means by that, but knowing I won't get the answer. “Alright. Blue it is.”
For the next hour, we sat there under the bleachers, pretending. I wasn’t Ryder, the guy who’d made her life hell, and she wasn’t Tori, the girl who hated my guts. She was Sprout, and I was Blue, and somehow, it wasn’t weird.
I told her stupid stories about Blaze and Thorne, exaggerating every detail just to make her smile. She told me about some book she was reading, and even though I didn’t care, I pretended to.
When the bell rings, I stand and offer her a hand. She stares at it for a moment like she doesn't trust me, but eventually, she takes it, allowing me to help her up.
As we walk back toward the school, I glance at her. “So, Sprout… think you’ll survive the rest of the day?”
She rolls her eyes but smiles—a real one this time. “I’ll manage, Blue. Don’t get used to me being nice.”
“Right back at you,” I say with a grin, shoving my hands into my pockets once again.
For just a little while, we weren’t Ryder and Tori. We were Blue and Sprout. And maybe… maybe I didn’t hate that.
Back at Keagan’s place, the broodiness is thick enough to choke on. Blaze is pacing the length of the living room like he’s trying to wear a hole in the carpet. Thorne’s perched on the couch, arms crossed, his jaw so tight it looks like it might snap. And me? I’m sprawled out in one of Keagan’s armchairs, pretending I’m a lot calmer than I actually feel.
Because, yeah, leaving Tori back there sucked. But storming in like idiots wasn’t the answer either. Even if I was the first one to get out of the car.
Blaze spins on his heel and points at me. “So what’s the plan, genius? You seemed pretty sure back there.”
“I mean, first step: get Marcus to talk. But, you know, since he hates your guts , that’s gonna be a you problem.”
Blaze glares at me, and for a second, I think he might actually throw something. “Real helpful, Ryder. Glad you’re here to point out the obvious.”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. Maybe don’t lead with ‘Hey, little bro, remember when I ruined your life?’”
“ I didn’t ruin his life! He ruined mine,” Blaze shouts, his voice echoing through the room.
Thorne finally speaks up, his voice low and even. “We need to handle this carefully, or it could blow back on Tori. We don't want to make things worse for her.”
Blaze runs a hand through his hair, his frustration practically radiating off of him. “And how exactly do you suggest I handle it, huh? You think Marcus is just gonna sit down and tell me what I need to know?”
“Maybe you should try bribery,” I suggest, grinning. “Everyone has a price, right?”
Blaze gives me a look that could curdle milk. “What am I supposed to bribe him with, Ryder? My charming personality?”
“Eh, might need to throw in a gift card to sweeten the deal,” I quip. “Maybe Java Jive? Everyone loves overpriced coffee.”
Keagan chuckles from the corner, and even Thorne’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. Blaze, though, looks like he’s seconds away from committing murder—the victim being me.
“You’re not helping,” he growls.
“Fine, fine,” I say, sitting up and trying to look serious. “If bribery’s out, what about guilt? Play the big brother card. ‘Remember when I used to let you win at video games? ’ Or, ‘Hey, remember that time I didn’t rat you out to your mom? ’”
Blaze crosses his arms, his glare intensifying. “We never played together. His mom made sure of that.”
“Oh, right,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Then maybe go with, ‘Remember that time I didn’t let you drown when you fell in the pool?’ ”
I know. I know I'm being an ass right now, but if I let him dwell on the past too much, nothing will get done. He's never healed from the shit his stepmom and his father did to him—hell, none of us have healed from what our parents did—but that's trauma to deal with on another day. A day we have Tori back with us.
Keagan chokes on a laugh, and even Thorne can’t hide his smirk this time. Blaze, however, is less amused.
“You’re an idiot,” he mutters, but the tension in his shoulders loosens just a bit.
“An idiot with a point,” I shoot back. “If you want Marcus to talk, you’re gonna have to offer him something he wants. Money, loyalty, an apology—whatever it takes.”
Blaze exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “Fine. But if he tells me to go to hell, I’m not liable for my actions.”
“Oh, please,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “He’s probably already told you that a hundred times.”
Blaze flips me off, but I catch the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile.
Thorne stands, his expression eerily unreadable. “We should move fast. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to get him alone.”
“Let’s go convince Blaze’s baby brother to spill the tea,” I say, getting to my feet.
Blaze groans, but he’s already grabbing his jacket. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you keep me around,” I reply, flashing him a grin.
“You’re making me wonder why.” Blaze rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed.
“Let’s focus. How are we going to get Marcus to talk to Blaze?” Thorne chimes in again, trying to keep us on track. He’s really losing it without Tori by his side.
“You know, Marcus is on a dating site,” Rick says, casually tossing himself onto the couch like he didn’t just drop a bomb on us.
The room goes dead silent, all of us suddenly paying attention to Rick. Blaze pauses mid-pace, Thorne freezes with a glass of water halfway to his lips, and I… well, I just start imagining what he has on that dating profile.
Is it a shirtless picture?
What does he state as his occupation?
Henchman?
Rick doesn’t look up, scrolling on his phone like this is just another tedious conversation. “What? It’s public knowledge if you know where to look. The dude’s got a type, too—brunettes, tattoos, big—”
Blaze clears his throat loudly, cutting him off. “We’re not having this conversation,” he snaps, running a hand through his hair like he’s regretting every life choice that brought him here.
But this is an in. We just need to catfish him. It would help if we actually had a girl to help… wait, we do.
“Oh no,” Marisol says, already shaking her head before anyone even glances her way. She must’ve seen where this was headed from a mile away.
Smart girl.
“Oh yes,” I chime in, shooting her a grin.
“No,” she repeats firmly, holding up a hand like that’ll stop us. “Whatever you’re thinking? Nope. Not doing it. I am not going on a date with Blaze’s idiot brother to get information.”
“But you could,” Rick says, as unbothered as ever. “You’d just have to, you know, make a profile and swipe right. He’ll take the bait.”
Marisol’s glare could melt steel. “Why don’t you do it, Rick? You’ve got those big, soulful eyes. Maybe Marcus is into guys.”
I snort. “I don’t think Marcus is quite that open-minded, but hey, good for you for suggesting equality.”
“Guys,” Thorne says, his voice a sharp warning. “Focus. Marisol, it's one quick date. One you won't even have to be on for long. Just long enough to let us get to him.”
We all turn to her, who looks like she’d rather face a firing squad.
She crosses her arms, her brow furrowing. “You all owe me so much for this. I want gift cards. Expensive ones.”
“Deal,” Blaze says quickly, probably afraid she’ll back out.
Within minutes, Keagan is handing her his phone to make the profile while Thorne grumbles something about how this “better work.” I’m sitting back with my feet on the coffee table, thoroughly enjoying the show.
“Likes long walks on the beach,” Marisol mutters, typing into the app. “And being emotionally unavailable. Great. This guy’s gonna eat it up.”
“Throw in something about motorcycles,” Rick suggests, “and maybe, I don’t know, how you’re into bad decisions?”
Marisol glares at him. “How are you single?”
“By choice,” he replies with a wink, slicking back his dark hair with flair.
“Let me see,” Blaze says, leaning over her shoulder to check the profile. “We’re trying to sell this, not advertise that we’re catfishing.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, already laughing. “He’s not picky.”
“Oh, so you’re an expert on Marcus’ dating life now?” Blaze shoots back.
I shrug like I could be, but I have no clue. I don’t talk to the guy. That’s the problem.
The phone buzzes a minute later, and she groans. “He swiped right.”
“Told you,” I say smugly.
The real fun begins when she starts typing. Well, tries to. She barely gets out a greeting before I yank the phone from her hands.
“Hey!” she snaps, reaching for it, but I dodge easily. “Give it back, Ryder!”
“Oh, relax,” I say, scrolling through Marcus’ messages. “You’re too polite. Let me handle this.”
“‘ Hey, bad boy ,’” Blaze reads over my shoulder. “‘ Wanna meet up and show me how dangerous you are?’ Really, Ryder?”
I shrug. “It’s what he wants to hear.”
Marisol groans again. “I’m gonna die of secondhand embarrassment.”
“Not before Marcus falls for it,” I shoot back, flashing her a grin.
The phone buzzes again. Marcus has taken the bait.
“Look at that,” I say, holding up the phone triumphantly. “He’s in. Wants to meet tonight.”
Blaze snatches the phone from me to check the details, his jaw tightening. “We’ll go with her. There’s no way she’s walking into this alone.”
“Obviously,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “Relax, big guy. It’s all part of the plan.”
“Your plans usually involve breaking something,” Thorne mutters, but he doesn’t argue.
In fact, he's been more silent through all this than usual. He's probably still thinking about what Tori said and brooding over the fact that he didn't catch her secret message. Thorne isn't used to that, it seems. He thinks he knows her so well. But this one was just for me. And now we get to figure out what actually made her say the things she did.
What does Nico have on her?
It's time to go on a date with Blaze's brother. What could go wrong?