Chapter Ten - Rachel #2
If nothing else, Ryder’s presence ensures I’m not the center of attention, so I only have to sit back, relax, and get through this meal.
At least, that’s the case before Ryder states, “We’re putting Lyla in martial arts.”
“Oh? I’ve heard that’s a great sport for kids to get into,” Mom notes.
“Very structured and disciplined,” Dad agrees.
I doubt they would be this enthusiastic if I’d broached the idea, but that doesn’t matter since I made my thoughts on the matter clear the other night.
“We haven’t actually decided anything yet,” I say, and I know that my frosty tone doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Right,” Ryder says without missing a beat. “We still need to do a trial class, but as long as it goes well, we’ll sign her up.”
I stare daggers at him from across the table.
How dare he put me in this position?
Again.
“Like I said,” I grate. “Nothing is set in stone. I think Lyla might like another activity more, so we’ll explore several options before we pick one.”
It’s too quick for me to be certain, but I swear Ryder’s gaze flicks from me to my untouched knife and back again.
“Oh?” My mother talks like she doesn’t notice the tension, and I appreciate the effort. “What other activities are you considering?”
I tick the options off on my fingers. “There’s dance, gymnastics, swimming lessons, and even a club that has soccer for toddlers.”
“And what do you want to do, Lyla?” Dad asks.
We all look to Lyla, whose cheeks redden at the sudden attention. “I want to do what Dominic does,” she answers softly.
“Martial arts it is,” Ryder declares with an easy grin that makes me want to smack him.
“Just because Dominic likes it doesn’t mean it’ll be best for her,” I whisper, but the effect is wasted since everyone—Lyla included—can hear me.
We drop the topic after that, moving on to my parents sharing about a recent project where they redesigned a friend’s backyard.
When dinner is finished, Mom and I move to the back patio while Lyla climbs on the playset and the boys clean up from dinner. I tell her about the promotion opportunity and how Ryder is working from home so I can go in.
In return, she tells me that none of her friends have unmarried kids anymore and how she’s nervous they won’t be interested in coming to my wedding if I wait much longer.
“Sweetie, you know I love you,” she starts, and every daughter knows that nothing after that phrase will ever be something they want to hear. “But I just don’t understand why you and Ryder aren’t making this work. Especially now that he lives here.”
Why is this the second time today that I’m having this conversation?
“There’s nothing to make work, Mom. We’re not a couple, and aside from the making of our child, never have been.”
Mom cringes at that, and I’m glad. Serves her right for trying to poke around my love life… or lack thereof.
“Besides,” I continue. “He’s only here temporarily for work, and then he’ll be back in Los Angeles.”
“When will that be?”
“There’s not a timeline right now. Could be weeks, maybe years.”
“You’re saying he could be living with you for years, and you’re not even willing to try a relationship?” She says it like she’s accusing me of a vicious crime and not simply making my own choices.
“Trust me, Mom. Things are better this way. A relationship would only complicate things for Lyla.”
Mom shakes her head. “Rachel Anne Lance, you’re allowed to complicate things sometimes. Being a mother is a wonderful thing, and the fact that you want to protect your child is great, but sometimes it’s okay to be selfish.”
I nod but don’t say anything else. I hope the conversation will pivot, but when my mom starts talking about how beautiful the last wedding she went to was, I excuse myself to refill my glass of wine.
My dad passes me to go outside as I go in, and I round the hallway to the kitchen to find Ryder wiping his hands on a dish towel with the single most priceless expression.
Ryder has the best poker face in the world. His composed features are such a huge part of who he is that it throws me off whenever he shows emotion so openly.
Which is why the look of utter exasperation on his face is nothing short of comical.
“I have had intensive interrogation training that would put any country’s military to shame, but if I have to pretend to know about real estate for one more second, I’m going to break and tell your parents everything.”
The annoyance my mother evoked vanishes, and I laugh so hard my stomach aches. Ryder joins in, the sound soothing and light, like summer rain.
“You should be honored that he likes you enough to read half a million articles on the topic. He just wants to impress you.”
“I should’ve picked a more interesting cover. Real estate is boring as hell.”
“And what would you consider interesting?”
He thinks for a few seconds. “Management.”
“Management? That’s not a job in itself. Managing what?”
“Literally anything but real estate. I manage a criminal empire. Wouldn’t be that hard to change my product from weapons and substances to—I don’t know, watches.”
“Watches?” I repeat with as much composure as I can. “You know what? You’re right. You should go into watch management.”
“You know what—”
He stops when his eyes focus on something through the window. His expression sobers from whatever he sees there.
“What’s wrong?” I say, rushing to look, too.
“Absolutely nothing,” he says, and I follow his line of sight to where my father pushes Lyla on a swing while my mother takes pictures.
Her smile is huge, and now that we’re quiet, we can hear her giggles all the way from here.
“It’s like she doesn’t even notice we’re gone,” Ryder whispers, and it’s only now that I realize, in my haste to look out the window, I’ve pressed my back against his front, and his breath skates over the shell of my ear.
For a second, I’m thrown back to the night we met—the large presence at my back, his words setting me ablaze, and his warmth encasing me so thoroughly that my mind goes so wonderfully silent.
It takes physical strength to wrench myself away and take a step back. The cold that replaces him is so brutal that I shudder, and I can’t bring myself to look at him for fear that my reaction to him is written all over my face.
I’m sure that it is.
“We should head out there,” I say and step toward the back door.
“Wait.” Ryder grabs hold of my arm, sending that warmth back through me with an intensity that I’m not at all prepared for. I don’t know if it’s the way I freeze at his touch or if he feels the same intensity, but he releases my arm almost as fast as he grabbed it.
“Let’s go on a walk—see how she does with them if we’re gone for a while. Being able to stay with anyone aside from us would be a huge win.”
He’s right, and it probably makes me a bad parent that I’m considering ignoring that fact just to avoid spending more one-on-one time with him.
Of course, my desire for Lyla’s independence wins out.
I shoot my mom a text, which she immediately responds to enthusiastically, and Ryder and I walk out the front door.
We don’t speak for a while, but we don’t need to. The neighborhood is beautiful and lively, thanks to the kids who ride their bikes down the street and the couples who walk their dogs.
I’m careful to keep a solid foot of space between Ryder and me, which isn’t easy considering his size and the narrow sidewalk, so I end up walking in the grass most of the time.
Worth it.
“If this goes well, I think we should try having Lyla stay with your parents for an evening,” Ryder says, breaking the silence that I would’ve been happy to keep intact.
“I’m not sure. It seems a bit too soon for that, don’t you think?”
He shrugs. “There’s a gala next weekend that I have to attend, and it could be the perfect time to try it out.”
“I don’t have plans next weekend, so we don’t need a sitter.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d join me,” he says, with all the chivalry of a gentleman and all the authority of an underboss.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“It’s not work-related. Well, it is, but nothing happens out in the open at an event like this. It’s just to show my face and intimidate a few big names in the area.”
I take a moment to be glad he thinks my apprehension has to do with his work. I wish it was.
“I don’t—”
“It’s just a night out, Rachel. Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”
“I’m not sure this is the kind of ‘night out’ I’ve been waiting for.”
Ryder narrows his eyes. “Does it ever get tiring?”
“What?”
“Overthinking everything.”
Yes, I think immediately, but glare at him instead of giving him an answer.
“It’s one night,” he says with an easy smile. “Good food, even better drinks, and live music.”
I agree that I deserve this night out, but I’d be lying if I said his dark, hypnotizing eyes, and silky tone had nothing to do with my relenting.
“Fine, I’ll go.”
His smile grows, and we turn to make our way back to the house.
As we walk, a particularly slow truck passes us, and it reminds me of the watchful eyes I’ve felt recently. “Are you having me followed?”
“Followed?” he asks, but I don’t turn to look at him when I feel his eyes studying me.
“You know, like security.” Saying the words out loud—hearing just how ridiculous it sounds—I wish I hadn’t said anything at all.
“You think I’d do that without telling you?” he asks, and I’m sure that, once again, my paranoia got the better of me.
Of course, Ryder would never stick protection on me without my knowledge. What had I been thinking?
When we get into the house, I listen for the sound of screaming or crying, but there are only the muffled voices from the TV drifting through the house.
We get to the living room and stop, taking in the scene before us.
Mom sits on her usual spot on the tan leather couch, and my dad sits in his recliner with Lyla cuddled into his side. Her eyes are wide, mesmerized by the screen playing one of her princess movies.
When Ryder locks his awe-struck gaze with mine, I tell myself the heat that courses through my body is only the product of my pride for Lyla.
But that’s just not true.