Chapter 7
After lunch, I spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the house, moving from room to room like a ghost trying to exorcise the past. The tax receipt still burned in my mind, but I needed to do something with my hands, so I started clearing closets, the attic, and, finally, my father’s office.
The attic was a mess of dust and forgotten things. I found old childhood drawings I’d made as a little girl, ones made up of stick figures depicting a happy family that had never existed. I set them aside without looking too closely.
Hidden behind a filing cabinet in the spare bedroom, I discovered a half-dozen empty liquor bottles, the glass still sticky with residue.
In one dresser drawer, I found a box of aged and discolored family photographs, their frames cracked, glass shards still clinging to the edges.
My mother’s face had been scratched out in some of them, viciously gouged like he couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore.
She had run when I was eight, leaving in the middle of the night after one of their worst fights, and never came back.
I had always felt abandoned by her, like she had chosen to save herself and left me behind with him.
Years later, I heard she had died somewhere far away, but by then, the damage was already done.
That old hurt twisted sharp in my chest all over again.
My father had always blamed her for leaving him with me… the daughter who looked too much like her and reminded him every day of the wife who had run. He hated me for it. For existing. For surviving.
I sat on the floor surrounded by it all, the weight of every ugly memory pressing down on me until my chest was too tight to breathe.
Tears fell, hot and silent at first, then harder until I was shaking with sobs I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I cried for the little girl who had drawn those pictures, for the woman who had run away trying to escape an abusive husband, and for the father who had broken everything he touched, including me.
I was so broken that I didn’t hear Ryder come in, so emotionally shattered I didn’t even question why he’d just walked into my house or how he’d known, in that moment, that I needed him more than anyone.
He didn’t say anything at first, simply lowered himself to the floor beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine, and sat there in the mess of my past. No questions or attempts to make me feel better. Ryder just gave me his steady presence in the middle of the chaos.
After a long minute, when my tears had begun to dry, his voice came low and rough.
“You survived him.”
No pretty words or promises that things would be fine. Just that simple truth.
My throat tightened. All those years ago, I'd run to him because I hadn't known where else to go. Ryder had always been there. Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we didn't. He'd sit beside me in the hayloft or on the porch steps and wait until I was ready to go home.
I realized, with startling clarity, that nothing had changed. Even now, after fourteen years apart, I'd still run straight to Ryder Kane.
I turned toward him, tears still wet on my cheeks. He was watching me with those dark, steady eyes that had seen too much and still chose to be here with me. The air between us was raw and electric, stripped of everything we’d been hiding behind.
He didn’t give me any indication he wanted more than just to be beside me.
But I needed more.
I leaned in, and there was no hesitation. His hand came up to cup the side of my face, his thumb brushing away a tear, and my mouth met his.
The kiss was slow at first, almost careful. I knew Ryder was giving me every chance to pull away.
But I didn’t.
I wanted more and curled my fingers into his shirt.
The kiss deepened with all the years of distance, emotional vulnerability, and quiet longing neither of us had ever named.
We didn’t rush. There was no frantic tearing of clothes or desperate hunger.
It was just the warmth of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart under my palm, and the quiet way he held me like I was someone worth protecting.
In that moment, we were both emotionally exposed, raw and real, and for the first time, I felt truly seen.
When we finally pulled apart, we stayed close, our foreheads resting together, breathing the same air. Neither of us spoke for a long time because there was no need.
For now, this was enough.