Chapter 60
SLOANE
Nate was sound asleep in my bed, but I still checked on him every half hour. I watched the rise and fall of his chest until it became the only thing I trusted.
Home didn’t mean safe. Not with Hamilton still breathing somewhere in the world, and not with Ryker gone. A week. Seven days of silence that sat in my bones and made every corner of my house feel temporary.
I sank onto the couch and stared at the wall clock. The ticking was too loud. Tears slipped down my face without permission. I wiped them away and they came right back. I tried to make sense of it all, but my thoughts kept looping to the same brutal truth.
Ryker had traded himself to get Nate back.
And I hadn’t heard a single word from him since. The lead Ella had mentioned hadn’t panned out.
I’d told myself it was strategic. That it was how his world worked. You made choices and you paid for them, and you didn’t ask for comfort while the bill was still being calculated.
But at two in the morning, with Nate breathing in my bed and no hint that Ryker was alive, the logic didn’t help.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I grabbed it so fast I almost dropped it, then froze when I saw the number.
My pulse went hard.
I accepted the call and held it to my ear.
“Hello?” I answered in a hushed tone. Nate was finally sleeping, and I couldn’t take the sound of him waking up scared again.
“Little fox.”
I stopped breathing.
“Ry—Ryker?”
“It’s me.”
My eyes burned. My fingers curled around the phone until my knuckles ached. “Are you okay? Where are you? Tell me where you are and I’ll—”
“I’m … fine.” His voice sounded scraped raw. Thin. “Where are you?”
“At home. Nate and I came home today.” My words rushed out, stumbling over each other. “Where are you? I’ll send help. I’ll come get you. Please.”
A quiet sound came through the line, almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
“Look outside, little fox.”
The call ended.
I stared at my screen in case it changed its mind and would ring again.
“Ryker?” My voice barely carried.
I shoved my phone into my back pocket and moved on instinct. Peephole. Ring camera.
The street was dark except for red brake lights pulling away from my curb. A car leaving. Fast.
And then I saw him. My pulse spiked so hard I felt it in my throat. My hands shook as I reached for the lock.
He was coming up my walkway, unsteady, shoulders tight, his steps measured like each one cost him.
My hand flew to the lock. I yanked the door open and stepped onto the porch.
“Ryker?”
He lifted his head.
The porch light hit his face, and my stomach dropped. He looked wrecked. Not beaten the way Nate had been, but … altered. The kind of pale that came from fluorescent lights and pain medication. His jaw clenched, his posture guarded, like he was bracing against something he couldn’t breathe through.
He tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
His mouth moved again, and I saw the effort in it, the fight to form one word.
“Sloane.” It finally landed, broken and soft.
The sound of my name did something to me that I didn’t have language for.
“Oh, God.” I crossed the porch in two steps and grabbed him by his shirt like I could anchor him to the world. “Are you here? Are you really here?”
His arms came up around me, careful at first, then tighter. When I slid my hands to his face, his breath snagged and a small sound slipped out of him, like he’d been holding himself together with wire and my touch cut it.
He pressed his forehead to mine for half a second.
Then he looked past me.
Not at the house. Through it.
He didn’t step inside right away.
He tracked windows, the hallway behind my shoulder. Corners. Lines of sight. The dark.
And it terrified me more than the bruises on Nate ever had.
I tightened my grip on him. “You’re safe here.”
His gaze snapped back to me, like he’d forgotten I was the reason he’d come.
I hauled him closer, and my voice came out hard, shaking with everything I couldn’t afford to feel a week ago.
“Don’t you ever come to my door looking destroyed again.”
He attempted a smile but failed.
“Okay,” he said quietly. Like it was a promise he didn’t trust himself to keep. “I’m back.” The words sounded forced, like he had to convince his own body. “I’m … sore. Be gentle.”
Sore.
The way he said it wasn’t only pain. It was grief. It was the kind of hurt that didn’t end with stitches.
I didn’t ask. Not here. Not on the porch where the night could hear us. I slid my arm around his waist and pulled him inside. “Come in.”
He took one step, then another, and only when the door shut behind us did his shoulders drop a fraction.
I locked it.
Then I locked it again without meaning to.
Ryker looked at the deadbolt, then to the chain, then to the hallway again. His body stayed tight, like he was waiting for the next command.
I stepped in front of him, so he had to look at me. I held his face between my hands.
“This is real,” I said softly. “You’re here.”
His eyelids looked heavy, but he didn’t blink much, like he didn’t want to miss anything.
“What do you need?” I stayed close, my hand on his back, because he looked one wrong movement away from folding. “What can I do?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Nate,” he said, and the word was rough. “How is he?”
“He’s asleep,” I whispered. “He’s okay. He’s here.”
Ryker’s hand flexed at his side.
His voice came out stripped bare.
“Tell me he’s healing. Tell me I didn’t fail him.”
My chest cracked open.
“He’s alive and healing,” I said immediately. The words didn’t wobble. I refused to let them. “You didn’t fail him. He’s sleeping in my bed. Come on.”
Ryker nodded, and the motion looked like it cost him. He kept his posture careful, guarded through his hips and abdomen, as if his body was arguing with him at every step.
I led him down the hall with the lights off. The house was quiet except for the soft sound of our steps. The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the tea I’d made earlier, but underneath it was something sterile clinging to him, the ghost of a place I didn’t want to picture.
When we reached my bedroom door, I pushed it open a little.
Nate lay curled under my blanket, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and steady.
Ryker stopped and went still.
He didn’t say anything, he just watched him breathe. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, they looked wet and furious, as if relief made him angry. Ryker exhaled and it sounded like surrender.
I slipped my fingers into his hand. He clutched them hard, then loosened like he’d realized he was holding too tight.
“I’m here,” I whispered again, for him this time.
Ryker’s attention remained on Nate. “I needed to see it.”
I knew what he meant. Not just alive, but Nate at home was real. We backed out of the room, and I closed the door.
Back in the living room, I guided him toward the couch. “Sit. Let your body stop fighting for one minute.”
He lowered himself down with care, one hand braced on his thigh. He didn’t let his body relax.
Now that the porch light wasn’t hiding anything, I saw the marks on his wrists.
Rope burns. Angry and dark.
My stomach turned.
“Ryker …” My voice cracked on his name. I reached for his hands again. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
He shook his head. “No. Some water, please.”
“Okay.” I turned toward the kitchen, then stopped and looked back at him. “Stay right there.”
He watched me as I moved away, like distance was a threat.
I went to the sink and filled a large glass with cold water. My hands shook, and I forced them steady, set the glass on the counter, and then pulled my phone from my pocket.
Ella’s name was already in my recent messages. I stared at it for a beat, then typed fast.
Me:
Ryker is here. He’s home.
I hit send before I could second-guess it, then stared at the screen again, waiting for a reply.
The message showed delivered.
Ella’s reply came fast.
Ella:
Thank God! Is he okay? Is he hurt? Do you need anything?
Me:
He’s ok. I’m not sure of details yet. I’ll let you know if we need anything. Ty.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and carried the water into the living room.
“Drink it slow,” I whispered, holding the bottom of the glass while he drank so it wouldn’t shake in his hand. “Don’t rush it.”
He took a few careful swallows and blinked like the world was trying to tilt. He set the glass down and kept his palm on it a second longer than necessary, as if he was afraid it would slide away.
I crouched in front of him, my hands on his knees, my face close.
“You’re here,” I said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a plea. “You’re real.”
His held my gaze. “Just keep saying that. I need it too.”
A soft vibration buzzed in my pocket.
I didn’t move right away.
Ryker’s brow lifted. “Who is it?”
I checked the screen. “Ella.”
Ella:
Thank God. I let everyone know. Tell him we love him.
My eyes burned again.
I typed back with my thumb.
We’re locked in. Nate’s asleep. He’s here with me.
I put the phone face down on the coffee table and focused on the man in front of me.
“Let me see your wrists.”
Ryker didn’t pull away, but his shoulders tightened. He held still, the kind of stillness that didn’t come from trust. It came from endurance.
“I’m not hurting you,” I said. “I’m helping.”
His breathing snagged once. Then he gave me his hands.
I examined the rope burns. Broken skin. Swelling. Angry lines that made my stomach twist.
“I need a first aid kit.” I stood and moved quickly, then returned with antiseptic wipes and gauze. I sat beside him so I could work without hovering. “Tell me if it hurts.”
“It hurts.”
I wiped one wrist. He flinched, small and controlled. I didn’t apologize, but I kept my touch careful and did what needed to be done.
“Did they feed you?” I asked quietly.
Ryker’s jaw flexed. “A little.”
“And water?”
He shook his head.
I cleaned the other wrist and wrapped it with gauze. My hands were gentle, but my anger wasn’t.
When I finished, I set the supplies on the coffee table and held his hands again, thumbs brushing over the bandages.
“What do you need?” I asked. “Pain meds? Ice? A blanket? Do you need to lie down?”
Ryker glanced toward the hallway, then back to me. “I can’t lay down.”
The words were simple, but the meaning under them made my chest ache.
His posture stayed guarded, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Each shift looked calculated, controlled, like he’d learned the hard way what movements punished him.
I reached for the throw blanket and draped it over his legs without jostling him.
“Sit right here and let me take care of what I can.”
Ryker stared at the blanket, then at my face.
“What did Hamilton do to you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Ryker’s gaze dropped. His body tightened through his lower abdomen like a reflex.
“Not tonight,” he said quietly.
His words and the ache in his tone made my chest hurt. It meant the truth was heavy enough that he couldn’t carry it and speak it at the same time.
I nodded. I stood and went back to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared at shelves that looked empty because I hadn’t lived in this house for a week.
“I don’t have food,” I called softly. “I’ve been gone. There’s nothing to cook.”
“Order something,” Ryker said.
“I am.” I pulled up a delivery app and placed the first order I saw that would get here fast. Burgers. Fries. Something warm and simple.
I returned to the living room and sat beside him again. “It’s not healthy, but it’ll be here soon.”
“Thank you. Come here.” He patted the cushion beside him.
I slid in close, careful of his soreness, and rested my head against his shoulder. I felt the heat of him, the weight of him, the proof.
He lifted my hand and pressed it to his mouth. Not a kiss meant to seduce. A kiss meant to survive.
“I thought I lost you,” I whispered.
“You didn’t,” he said.
I tilted my face up, studying him in the dim light. His expression looked too old. Too tired.
I wanted to rage. I wanted to ask every question at once. Nate was breathing. Ryker was here.
That was enough for this moment.
His breath came out uneven. He leaned down, mouth near my ear, and when he spoke, it was barely sound.
“I love you,” he whispered.
The words hit me so hard I couldn’t move for a second.
I turned my face toward his. “I love you too.”
Ryker closed his eyes, and for the first time since he walked through my door, he let his forehead rest against mine like he could finally stop fighting for air.
I kept my hand on him and didn’t let go.
Not for anything.
His fingers tightened around mine.
“Tomorrow, little fox,” he whispered. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”
“Okay. You’re home. That’s all I need.” I could live without details for one more night. I couldn’t live without him.
His breath brushed my hair. “Stay close.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”