Chapter Twenty-Eight - Ryder
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ryder
I barely make it to the couch in the pool house before my knees give out, and I bury my face in my hands.
I’ve been waiting for that call for two weeks, hoping—praying—for the invitation to go back to Los Angeles. Now I have it, and all I can think about is the woman I left inside.
She thinks I never loved her?
Everything I’ve ever done was because I love her.
Even walking out of that house—despite it being the last thing I wanted to do—was just me forcing myself to respect the boundaries she was putting in place. She wanted me to go, so how could I deny her?
But for her to think that I never loved her?
What have I done that was so wrong for her to have come to that conclusion?
I did everything she asked—gave everything I had—and when she decided to walk away, I respected that choice even though it tore me apart from the inside out.
I thought I could do it all—be an underboss, a father, and Rachel’s—but sitting here, in this stupid pool house with no title, a daughter I barely see, and a woman who thinks I never loved her, I wonder what I’ve actually accomplished.
Maybe Rachel and Lyla would be better off without me—safer, for sure. My daughter would never have been kidnapped. She wouldn’t live in a shadow darker than night itself. She wouldn’t have to learn self-defense to build her confidence. She wouldn’t be in therapy before she could even read.
Maybe it’d be better if I just left and never came back, giving them a quiet life away from the danger of my world.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
And I’m smart enough to know it isn’t just Lyla I can’t stay away from.
Whether she likes it or not, Rachel is a part of me that I can’t bear to part with. I did once, and I haven’t been whole since. Maybe I could’ve fooled myself into believing I’d moved on, but after these weeks spent together, I know I never did.
Rachel may be mad at me now, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ll win her trust back. I’ll win her back.
It’s not even a choice at this point but a fact that both of us have to accept because there is simply no other way.
I know I’m supposed to push to my feet, pack, and drive to the life I’ve been working to earn back since I got here—but I can’t bring myself to move. The weight of what I left in that house is too heavy.
I left because a life without you was better than a life where I would never come first.
That’s not how I remember things.
That’s not what she told me all those years ago when I begged to know why she was leaving.
I did choose her.
Right?
But the more I think about that day, the less sure I am.
When my phone buzzes, I have half a mind to ignore the message, but the slight chance that it’s Rachel is the only reason I pull it out.
Elli: Congratulations! I am so excited to see you! When will you be here?
My hands work on autopilot, but I go to my contacts instead of typing my answer.
He answers on the first ring.
“Moreno,” he answers, voice clipped as it’s been with me for weeks.
“Thank you for the invite, but I have to decline,” I say, my voice sounding not at all like my own, but when the guilt crushing me eases, I know I’m making the right choice.
“Excuse me?” The question is more confused than frustrated—though the frustration is certainly evident.
“I can’t come to LA, not this week anyway.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now? You didn’t deserve this chance, but the capos pleaded your case, so I allowed it. Now, you have the audacity to decline a direct invitation from your boss?”
I know the weight this choice carries.
I know I am giving up the job that has defined me for the better half of my life. I’m telling my boss—the man I still consider my best friend—that I have more important things to do than take my title back.
And with that comes a freedom I’ve never felt before, not because I’m walking away from the job—that part actually hurts like hell—but because choosing Rachel is a euphoria I’ve never fully given in to.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?” he asks, and it’s the first time his tone toward me is anything more than icy. “What could be more important than this?”
“Rachel,” I answer without hesitation, like I should’ve inside.
It’s a long moment of silence, and I know he’s waiting for me to go on, but the answer really is that simple.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Weren’t you?” I ask.
When he laughs, it’s a relief to hear genuine amusement there. “I was willing to do whatever it took.”
“I think I’m starting to understand that,” I admit.
“This won’t look good to the others.”
“I know.”
There’s a long silence that I let myself believe is companionable before he finally says, “Goodbye, Ryder.”
Moreno ends the call.
I stand from the couch, debating the dozens of ways I could apologize to Rachel—starting with words and ending with some very generous actions—but stop the second I’m on my feet.
I lock eyes with the window on the far left side of the pool house. Normally, I wouldn’t pay it any attention—but normally it would be closed.
Right now, it isn’t.
I take a step closer, suddenly feeling the presence of eyes on me. I reach for my gun, but it’s not strapped to my side.
I took it off in the car and didn’t put it back on because I was too eager to get inside to Rachel.
Movement flashes behind me, and I feel the prick of a needle at the same time I whirl around, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t see anything.
My vision goes black, my knees buckle, and I’m out before I even hit the floor.