Chapter 12 Ryder
Ryder
The steel ring was heavy in my pocket when I arrived back at the ranch.
But my heart was light. Lighter than it had been in a very long time.
And for the first time, I was feeling almost hopeful about my romantic prospects.
Up until a month ago, romance wasn’t even in my vocabulary.
But I couldn’t deny how I felt about Connor now.
It was more than just lust, more than just the need for a quick fuck.
Something was happening between us, I just didn’t know what it was yet.
The house was dark when I pulled up, which was unusual.
Dad was typically still up, watching TV or doing paperwork in his office.
I hesitated at the front door, listening.
The silence felt oppressive. Maybe he’d gone to bed early, which would be a blessing.
I wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation.
I stepped inside, my boots barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. The living room was empty, but I could see a faint light spilling from the kitchen. As I moved closer, I caught the unmistakable scent of whiskey. Lots of it.
“That you, boy?” Dad’s voice slurred from the kitchen.
Shit. I considered turning around, heading back out, maybe sleeping in the barn. But that would only make tomorrow worse.
“Yeah, Dad. It’s me,” I replied, squaring my shoulders as I walked into the kitchen.
He sat at the table, an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in front of him. His face was flushed, eyes bloodshot. I’d seen him drunk plenty of times before, but this was different. This wasn’t his usual mean drunk. There was something else there… something that made my skin crawl.
“How was the wedding?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
I kept my distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Fine.”
“Fine,” he repeated, nodding slowly. “Fine that you went to watch two men make a mockery of everything decent people stand for.”
I bit my tongue. Don’t engage. Just get through this and go to bed.
“Nothing to say?” Dad took another swig straight from the bottle. “You sit there in church every Sunday, listening to Pastor talk about sin, and then you go celebrate it like it’s something to be proud of.”
“They’re good people, Dad,” I said quietly, unable to hold back. “They’re happy.”
He slammed his fist on the table, making me flinch. “Happy?! You think God cares if sinners are happy?” He stood up, swaying slightly. “You think I care if a couple of faggots are happy?!”
The slur hit me like a physical blow. I’d heard him use that word before, countless times, but tonight it felt different. Tonight, with Connor’s kiss still fresh on my lips and his ring in my pocket, it felt like he was talking about me.
“Don’t call them that,” I said, my voice stronger than I expected.
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said don’t call them that.” I straightened up, my hands trembling slightly at my sides. “They’re my friends, and I won’t listen to you talk about them like that.”
He laughed, an ugly sound that had nothing to do with humor. “Your friends? Since when do you have friends? God, you’re just like your mother. You’re always looking for attention, always trying to be special. Look where that got her.”
I felt my blood run cold. He rarely mentioned my mother, especially not like this. The contempt in his voice made me take a step back.
“Don’t you dare blame her,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “She died giving birth to me. That wasn’t her choice.”
“She chose to keep you when I told her not to!” he roared, his face twisting with rage. “I told her she was too weak, too small. The doctors warned her, but no, she had to prove she could do it. She had to be special. Had to have her precious baby.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. All the air left my lungs as I stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you killed her.” He took an unsteady step toward me. “And for what? So you could grow up to be this... this disappointment?”
My back hit the wall. I hadn’t even realized I was moving. The kitchen seemed to be spinning around me.
“I didn’t kill her,” I whispered. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Everything was fine before you,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “We were happy. And then you came along, and she was gone, and I was stuck with you.” He spat the last word like it tasted bad in his mouth.
Something inside me broke. All those years of trying to please him, of swallowing his insults and his fists, of hiding who I was… all of it crashed down around me.
“Fuck you,” I said, the words ripping from my throat.
Dad blinked, momentarily shocked into silence. Then his face darkened.
“What did you just say to me, boy?”
“I said fuck you.” I was shaking, but I didn’t back down. “I didn’t kill Mom. I didn’t ask to be born. And I’m done. I’m fucking done letting you make me feel guilty for something I had no control over.”
He lunged at me then, whiskey-clumsy but still strong as the table crashed to the floor. His hand closed around my throat, shoving me against the wall.
“You ungrateful little shit,” he snarled, his breath hot with alcohol. “After everything I’ve done for you—”
“You’ve done nothing but make my life hell,” I choked out, clawing at his hand. “You hit me, you belittle me, you blame me for Mom’s death. What kind of father does that?”
His grip tightened, and for a moment, I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before. It was a hatred so pure it scared me more than his fists ever had. Would he do it? Would he actually kill me this time?
“You want to know what kind of father I am?” he growled. “I’m the kind who should have left you at the hospital the day you were born instead of letting those assholes talk me into taking you home.”
And that was all it took. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of walking on eggshells…
it all crystalized into a single moment of clarity.
I wasn’t going to be his punching bag anymore.
I wasn’t going to sit here and take abuse from a man that didn’t even want me around, who had never wanted me.
There was no allegiance anymore, no loyalty, and sure as fuck no love between us.
I reacted on instinct. My fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crack that sent shockwaves up my arm.
He stumbled backward, his grip on my throat releasing as his eyes widened in shock.
For a moment, we both froze. He swayed on his feet, and I stood there with my fist still clenched at my side.
“You hit me,” he said, his voice oddly small. Like he couldn’t believe it.
“You’re damn right I did.” My voice was steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “And I’ll do it again if you ever put your hands on me like that.”
Dad touched his jaw, wincing as his fingers probed the spot where I’d struck him. Then his legs seemed to give out, and he dropped heavily to the floor, sitting among the shattered remains of the whiskey bottle.
“Get up,” I said, standing over him. “Get up and hit me back if that’s what you want.”
But he just stared up at me, something like confusion replacing the rage in his bloodshot eyes. For the first time in my life, I saw fear there too. Fear of me.
“You’re just like him,” Dad mumbled, more to himself than to me. “Just like your grandfather.”
I’d never met my grandfather. He’d died before I was born, but I’d heard stories. None of them good.
“Maybe I am,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “But at least I’m not you.”
I stepped around him, careful to avoid the broken glass, and headed for the door.
I couldn’t stay in this house tonight. Maybe not ever again.
The weight of Connor’s ring pressed against my thigh as I walked, reminding me that I had something worth protecting now. Something my father couldn’t take away.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad called after me, his voice regaining some of its strength.
I paused at the door, not bothering to look back. “Anywhere but here.”
“You walk out that door, don’t bother coming back,” he threatened, the words slurred but unmistakable.
I laughed, the sound hollow in my chest. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
When he didn’t answer, I stepped out into the night, letting the door slam behind me. The cool air hit my face, and I gulped it down like I’d been drowning. My hand throbbed, and my throat felt raw where he’d grabbed me, but I’d never felt more alive.
I walked toward my truck, keys already in hand, when a thought struck me. If I left now, what would happen to Connor? To all the guys working off their parole? Dad was drunk, angry, and humiliated. He’d need someone to take it out on.
I hesitated, one foot on the running board of my truck.
I could just drive away, start fresh somewhere else.
It would be so easy to leave it all behind.
But Connor’s face flashed in my mind, making my heart race.
No, I couldn’t just leave him and everyone else behind.
Not yet. But I couldn’t stay here either.
I looked back at the house, then at my truck, caught in the no-man's-land between them. The night air felt electric around me, like the moment before a lightning strike. I couldn’t stay with him anymore, that much was clear.
But I couldn’t just drive off and leave Connor vulnerable to whatever Dad might do in his drunken rage either.
My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the ring Connor had given me. The weight of it grounded me, reminded me that for once in my life, I mattered to someone.
I pulled out my phone and called the only person I could think of.
“Evelyn? It’s Ryder. I need a favor.”