Chapter 16 Ryker
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ryker
I’m driving down the street toward B&B, craving a steak, thinking I’ll give Jude time to breathe, time for him to talk and bond with his niece, when something catches my eye.
The flower shop’s lights are still on, almost ten at night.
I can’t explain why, but I slow the car and park. Snow’s coming down in thick sheets, covering the street in a soft white.
I step out, boots crunching against the frozen pavement, and push the door open. She’s sitting on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, a half-empty bottle of wine at her side.
Her hair is messy, falling across her face, and her eyes are red. She looks up at me, startled but not hiding what’s there.
“Norah,” I say, voice low, not wanting to startle her. “What are you doing here?”
She swallows and hiccups, a small, broken sound. “Being a fool,” she admits. “Being a dumb fucking fool.”
The snow is whipping against the window, a dull roar in the background.
I step closer, checking her over, trying to read her. “Can I get you something? Drive you home? Or—” I pause. “Are you okay?”
She wipes at her cheek with the back of her hand. Her eyes are glossy, unguarded. “Can you sit with me?”
I tug at my jeans and lower myself beside her.
The faint scent of Dorian hits me, soft but unmistakable. I keep my thoughts in check, watching her carefully, about to ask what’s going on when she blurts out, “How did you get over it?”
“Over what?” I murmur.
Her gaze slides up to mine. She hiccups again, voice raw. “Claire.”
My chest constricts, the memory of her still sharp, and I realize Norah’s drunk. Like, really drunk.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, voice trembling, leaning back slightly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
I press my hand against my chest, letting her words slide past, and stand. “Let me get you some water.”
It takes me a minute to figure out the layout of her shop. Finally, I disappear into a small kitchenette where I find a small refrigerator. I grab a bottle and twist the cap open.
The snow hums against the windows, muffling everything else. When I sit back down beside her, she lifts her hand to take the bottle.
She sips, a shiver running through her as the cold water hits her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, voice shaking. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her softly, hands resting casually on my knees. “Just tell me what happened.”
Her eyes drift down, then back up. “I… I fucking let Dorian fuck me again.”
Her words hit my ears and settle heavy, like ice sliding over fire. Not at all what I was expecting.
“Do you regret it?” I ask, trying to be calm, though my chest is tight.
“No.” Her voice is firm, almost defiant. Then she exhales, long and ragged, and starts weaving a winding confession.
She talks about him, about how he always disappoints, how he said he’d be there at six, and it’s now late. How she hates him and loves him and hates herself for it. Her words tumble out fast, full of heat and ache, spilling over the emptiness around us.
I reach out and take her hand. It’s warm and soft, trembling slightly. She shakes her head, hiccupping again.
“I just wish I could get over him. I’ve tried. I need the formula. Someone should give me the fucking formula just so I can get over him.”
I smile, carefully, gently. “I wish it was that easy.”
She cups my cheek with the back of her hand, thumb brushing along my jaw. “I’ve tried sleeping with other people. I even have all these sex dreams about other people, but Dorian… Dorian James.”
Her voice cracks at the name, and I watch her, taking in every curve of her face, every shiver in her body.
I touch her hand again and squeeze lightly. “Want me to call Wren for you?” I ask, though the thought feels absurd.
“Wren… she has her whole life. I don’t want to bring my screw-ups to her.” She swallows, then hiccups.
“She won’t think that,” I tell her. “She cares too much.”
She sighs and leans back against the wall, taking another sip of water. “She said I should’ve gotten on dating apps. I should’ve taken her advice.”
“And why didn’t you?” I prompt, careful.
She hiccups, a shaky laugh slipping through. “Dorian. Are you not paying attention, Ryker?”
I grin at her, watching her head tilt back slightly, the bottle in her hand wobbling. “Just how much have you had to drink?”
“A bit,” she admits. Her voice is small, vulnerable. “I don’t know how to move on from him.”
She looks defeated, and my chest clenches. I reach out and brush a loose strand of hair from her face.
“I know you probably won’t even remember this tomorrow,” I admit, “but if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over Claire either. I think that when you’re truly in love with someone, you never fully get over them.”
Her eyes widen slightly, then settle into a softer, hazy gaze. “You… you really think so?”
I nod. “Yeah. Some people, they get under your skin and stay there no matter what. You can fight it, try everything, but they linger.”
She lets out a small, shaky laugh, taking another sip of water. “I hate that. I hate that I can’t just erase him.”
“You can’t,” I tell her simply. “It’s not something you can carve out.” My hand hovers near hers again, brushing her knuckles. “And maybe you don’t want to.”
She presses her forehead against her knees for a moment, then lifts her head, voice low, tired. “I’ve tried to. I really have. But every time I see him, feel him, it’s like… like all my trying means nothing.”
I slide a hand along her back, rubbing circles and trying to calm her. The room smells faintly of wine and snow and her, and it’s dizzying. She’s raw, open, exposed in a way I’ve never seen.
The warmth of her hand in mine is a tether, something real in the middle of all these confessions and mistakes.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” I murmur, almost to myself. “Not even close.”
Her laugh is small, bitter. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re human,” I counter. “Not a mess. You’re just… figuring things out. And sometimes figuring things out feels like falling apart.”
She snorts, a small hiccup cutting through. “Falling apart feels about right.”
I shake my head, smiling softly. “You’re tougher than you think. You just don’t know it yet.”
She cups my cheek again, thumb stroking lightly. “I can’t stop thinking about him. About Dorian. No matter what I do, I’m still… this.” Her voice is thick with frustration and longing.
“I get it,” I say, voice low. “I get it more than I’d like to admit. And you’ll find a way, eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but you will.”
She leans closer, resting her forehead against mine this time, and I can feel the tremor in her body. “It’s just… I wish I could move on.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I know. And it’s not a reflection on you. Love isn’t tidy. It doesn’t care about timing or rules or any of that. It just happens.”
She sighs, finally letting herself relax against me, water finished, wine forgotten. “I just… I hate that it has to be this way.”
I press a gentle kiss to her temple. “It doesn’t have to be easy. It just has to be real. And right now, this? This is real.”
She closes her eyes, leaning into me, hand still in mine. I feel the subtle tremors of exhaustion and emotion running through her, and I keep my hand on her back, grounding her, letting her know she’s not alone in this.
I let the silence stretch between us, comfortable in its weight. Her confession, her drink, her heartbreak—all of it is raw, and I can’t fix it.
I can’t make it better. But I can sit here, beside her, and let her know she’s not facing it alone.
I watch her eyelids flutter, breath evening slightly, and I think about Claire. Some things never leave you. Some people never do.
And maybe that’s not a curse. Maybe it’s just proof that the connection, the love, the fire we carry, doesn’t fade that easily.
Norah shifts beside me, leaning a little more, finally letting herself rest against the wall, against me. Her hand tightens on mine, and I squeeze back, a silent promise of presence, of understanding, of quiet solidarity in the middle of her storm.
It takes her being still for at least seven minutes before I realize she’s dozed off. Damn it. I slide out from beside her, careful not to jostle her, trying to think through what comes next.
My watch glows in the dim light of the shop. It’s late. Calling Wren or any of her friends would take forever, and the thought of her arriving tipsy and upset isn’t something I want to deal with right now.
I look around, spotting her keys by the counter. That’s step one. I pull my jacket off and drape it over her shoulders, letting the scent of leather and warmth mingle with her faint perfume.
She looks so small, so vulnerable, asleep in the middle of her flower shop, and it hits me like a punch. This girl I’ve got a stupid little crush on, completely in love with someone else, is all soft and unguarded in front of me.
Her freckles peek through her skin, sprinkled across her cheeks and nose, and it’s hard not to stare.
She shifts slightly, groaning in her sleep, and I curse under my breath.
Eventually, I have her in my arms, careful not to squeeze too hard, careful not to wake her. Her legs are light, almost weightless against me, but every inch of her is fire under my skin.
I buckle her into the passenger seat of my car, making sure she’s tucked in safely.
I close up the flower shop, the door clicking behind me. My stomach growls, reminding me how hungry I am. Steak at B&B will have to wait.
I think about calling Dorian, but immediately cross it off the list. No. This is her mess, not his, and besides, I don’t need that complication right now.
I’ll just drop her off at home. Good thing I remember where she lives.
I drive carefully through the snow, the streets slick and empty, and pull up to what I think is her house. I head to the door and slide the key inside. It jams, and I twist harder. A flurry of movement catches my eye just as the door finally pops open.