Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
ryder
By the time we return to the campsite, the sun is starting to set behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of purple and pink. I get the fire going while Noia unpacks the food.
“Please tell me you didn’t just pack protein bars and beef jerky,” she says, rummaging through the bag.
“Hey! Have a little faith,” I grin, pulling a couple of foil packets out of a small insulated bag. “We’re having hobo dinners. Potatoes, carrots, onions, and steak all cooked in the fire.”
“Okay, color me impressed.” She settles onto the log near the fire pit. “I was expecting hot dogs and s’mores.”
“We’ve got those, too.” I carefully shove the foil packets into the coals. “It would be sacrilegious to go camping without s’mores.”
As we wait for dinner to cook, I pull out a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. “Here. Time to sit back and relax.”
We sip our wine and look out at the lake. After a while, Noia shifts to look at me.
“Will you tell me more about what happened to you?”
I stare into the fire, watching the flames dance, debating how much to tell her. But there’s a flicker inside that makes me want to tell her everything.
“I was on my second tour,” I begin softly. “We were part of a routine patrol outside Kandahar. Me, Kade, and four others.”
The memories instantly come flooding back—the oppressive heat, the dust, the constant awareness of danger lurking everywhere.
“Kade was my best friend. I’d known him since basic. We’d been through everything together.” I take a long swallow from my cup. “We were checking out a village that had reported Taliban activity when we got word to pull back.”
Noia’s eyes, open and patient, stay fixed on me.
“On our way out, we got ambushed. Started taking fire from three different directions.” My hands clench involuntarily. “We managed to find cover, but we were pinned down.”
I swallow hard. “I remember Kade yelling at me to run, but there was an IED buried right in our path.”
“Oh my god,” Noia whispers.
“Kade...” My throat tightens.
The fire crackles, sending sparks up into the darkening sky.
“He was running with me to the Humvee and…” I close my eyes, the image of what happened next still so horribly vivid. “The blast threw me twenty feet. I remember it sounded like the world was being ripped apart, and then… nothing.”
Noia grabs my hand and threads her fingers with mine. Her touch grounds me immediately.
“Next thing I remember was waking up three days later in a military hospital in Germany. They told me Kade didn’t make it. That he’d taken the brunt of the explosion.” My voice drops to a harsh whisper. “And that I’d almost lost my leg.”
I set my cup down on the ground and roll up my pant leg to reveal the twisted mass of scar tissue running from my ankle to just below my knee. The skin is puckered and shiny, with deep gouges where chunks of flesh were torn away.
“Shrapnel tore through everything—muscle, tendons, even bone. The doctors wanted to amputate at first, but one surgeon was sure he could save it.” I trace the line of the scar. “Took eight surgeries and a year of physical therapy before I could walk even close to normal again.”
Our eyes lock. Noia’s eyes are filled with tears as she looks at the scar and then back at me.
“May I?”
I nod, watching as she gently traces her fingers along the path of the scar.
“The physical pain was bad, but the survivor’s guilt was even worse,” I admit, loving how soothing her fingers feel on my skin. “I kept wishing it had been me who had died. Kade had a family, a baby on the way. I had no one.”
I shove the denim down with a sigh.
“They had me on some pretty heavy painkillers,” I explain. “At first, it was just about managing the pain. Then it became about numbing everything else.”
I look up and she’s still watching me in stunned silence. “I was a mess when I got back—angry and self-destructive. The pills were the only thing that made it bearable.”
“You got addicted,” she states.
“I did.”
She squeezes my hand. “How did you get clean?”
“By hitting rock bottom. My neighbor found me overdosed in my apartment and called 911.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Nothing like almost dying to force you to rethink your life choices.
“After I got out of the hospital, my counselor pushed me to join a support group. I fought against it at first, but it was either that or jail time since I’d been caught with too many pills.”
My eyes scan the shoreline and I shift in my seat.
“I met Claire when she was assigned as my sponsor. She’d been clean for five years at the time. She was this loud, purple-haired force of nature who wouldn’t take any of my shit.”
Noia smiles softly. “I kinda got that impression.”
“Yeah. She dragged me to meetings when I didn’t want to go. Showed up at my apartment at all hours to make sure I wasn’t using. Called me on all my bullshit excuses.” I shake my head and chuckle. “I hated her at first.”
“And now, not only is she your friend, she manages Skin & Ink.”
“Even more than that, she saved my life.” I check the foil packets nestled in the coals.
“One night, about six months into my recovery, I was at a really low point. It was the anniversary of Kade’s death and I was this close to using again,” I say, holding up my thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart.
“Claire found me sitting in my car outside my dealer’s house.
She got in, took my keys, and drove for hours.
We ended up at this all-night diner where she told me her whole story—things she’d never shared in group meetings.
By the time the sun rose the next morning, I knew I wasn’t going to use that day.
And it was enough to help me get through to the next. ”
I pull the packets from the fire and set them on a flat rock to cool.
“A few weeks later, she introduced me to Jax. He was new to the program and dealing with his own demons. Not my story to tell, but we connected right away. Both of us were looking for something to focus on besides our addictions.”
Noia tilts her head. “Is that when you got into tattooing?”
“Not exactly. Jax was already apprenticing at the same shop downtown where Claire was working. I’d go hang out there sometimes, just to be around people who weren’t constantly talking about recovery.
One day, she saw me sketching while I was waiting for Jax to finish up and she offered me an apprenticeship. ”
“Wait, you can draw? Like, really draw?”
The look on her face makes me grin. “Yeah, I’ve always been good at it. Used to sketch all the time when I was a kid, but I never dreamed it could be a career. Drawing is basically the backbone to tattooing.”
“So you and Jax decided to open your own shop?”
“Eventually. We worked at that shop for a couple of years, built up our clientele and scraped together enough money to open Skin & Ink. Claire came with us to help manage.”
A cloud of fragrant steam releases into the air when I open the foil packets, allowing them to cool while I dig through a bag for utensils.
I hand Noia a fork and one of the packets. “Careful, it’s still pretty hot.”
We dig into our meals, eating in comfortable silence until Noia takes a sip of her wine and clears her throat. “Claire mentioned something at the party.”
Still chewing, I pop an eyebrow. “Oh, shit. What did she say?”
“She said she’s never seen you look at anyone the way you look at me.” Her cheeks flush behind the dancing shadows from the fire. “And you haven’t been seriously involved with anyone for a long time.”
I set my empty packet aside and lean back, studying her face. “She’s right.”
“Why?” Noia’s voice is soft, hesitant. “I mean, you’re...” She waves a hand at me.
“I’m what, kitten?” I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
“You know.” She rolls her eyes. “Gorgeous. Talented. Not completely terrible to be around.”
“High praise, coming from you,” I chuckle, then get serious. “There was someone once. We were together for almost two years before my second deployment.”
“What happened?”
I take a deep breath, surprised when I don’t feel the once familiar twinge of pain at the memory.
“Her name was Melissa. She sent me a letter while I was in Afghanistan telling me she couldn’t handle the distance anymore, and that the waiting and not knowing if I’d come back or not was too stressful. ”
Noia’s eyes widen and flare. “She broke up with you while you were deployed?”
“Yup. Got the letter three days before the ambush that killed Kade.” I watch the flames dance. “I was distracted and angry. Not focused on the mission like I should’ve been.”
Realization dawns on her face. “You blame yourself.”
“I’ve always wondered if I’d been more alert, more present... maybe Kade would still be alive.” I shake my head. “It’s just another thing I’ve had to learn to live with.”
“Oh, Rye.” Her voice breaks as she sets her dinner aside and moves to sit beside me. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t keep carrying that with you.”
“I know that now.” I put my hand on her thigh and squeeze. “After I got clean, I threw myself into my work. It was easier to focus on other people’s pain than my own. Relationships seemed... unnecessary. Risky.”
“What about now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
My eyes meet hers. “Now there’s you.”
The air thickens, filling the space between us. I reach up and brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. In that moment, everything I’ve been holding back—all my control, all my careful planning—crumbles to dust.
“Fuck it,” I growl.
Grabbing her around the waist, I pull her onto my lap.
She gasps, thighs straddling mine, hands automatically gripping my shoulders for balance. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains.