Chapter 25 Ryker
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ryker
The house is too quiet, my body too loud. My hands ache in a way that has nothing to do with old injuries and everything to do with adrenaline that has nowhere to go.
I’ve been up since five a.m. and already fucked my fist three times. I don’t have any more to give, literally and figuratively.
I pace the kitchen once, then twice, then stop and brace my palms on the counter like that might help.
It doesn’t.
I can’t use my fists anymore. Not like I used to back in high school. Not like the old days when anger had somewhere simple to land, so I joined a local wrestling club. When pain was clean and immediate and over fast.
That was how I always used to get rid of my jitters–well, until I discovered sex. That proved to be effective for a really long time.
Now the adrenaline just sits in my chest, looking for an exit.
Outside, the night is cold. Too cold for what I have in mind. The air bites even through the windows, frost edging the glass.
I shouldn’t go out there. I know better.
I lace up my shoes anyway.
A run will burn this off. It always does. Or at least it used to.
The door shuts quietly behind me, and the cold slaps me awake the second I step outside. My breath fogs instantly. The sky is clear, stars sharp and distant.
I take off down the road before I can think too hard about anything else.
At first, all I focus on is the slap of my feet on pavement. The pull in my calves. The burn in my lungs. The way the cold scrapes at my throat and demands my attention.
But memory has never respected physical effort.
I had a nightmare last night. It involved me and Jude fucking Norah on my sofa. Then her face morphed into Claire’s, and I woke up not only confused but with a raging boner.
At least the boner part was thoroughly dealt with. The rest…
Is it guilt?
Claire slides into my thoughts without warning, like she always does.
Claire, with her sharp laugh and reckless grin. Claire, who used to sit on the hood of Jude’s truck and talk about the future like it was a promise instead of a gamble.
The three of us thought we were unstoppable. We talked about houses and land and kids, like it was inevitable. Like nothing could touch us if we stayed together.
Right before Christmas, I’d begged her to come home. She had been with her own family, visiting for the holidays, but I was needy and I was restless and, to be quite honest, I just missed the girl that I loved.
So I’d begged her to come home. She had complained about the roads being icy, but eventually, between Jude and me, we convinced her to take the long drive here. I told her to text when she got home. She never did.
The crash was fast, they said. That’s supposed to help. It doesn’t.
A part of me died with her that night. Something foundational. Something that never grew back the right way.
I run harder, jaw clenched, breath ragged.
Then Norah happened.
Soft and stubborn and brave in ways that surprise me. Sweet smile, smart mouth, a body that draws my eyes even when I try to look away.
She fills space differently. Doesn’t demand anything. She exists, bright and impossible.
I don’t know when she stopped being just Jude’s friend and started being something else to me. I only know that once it happened, there was no going back.
I hit the edge of town before I realize how far I’ve gone. The streets are quiet, most places dark. I pass her flower shop without slowing, windows black, sign turned. Closed.
I smile anyway.
Of course she’s not here. She never is this early in the morning.
I grab a hot cocoa from the one place open, fingers wrapping around the cup like it is an anchor. The heat seeps into my hands, grounding me just enough to turn back toward home.
That’s when I notice the car.
It’s parked half a block from my place, engine off, windows fogged from the inside. The plates aren’t local.
Amber.
My steps slow.
Something tightens in my chest that has nothing to do with the run.
I jog over and knock on the window, sharp but not aggressive. After a second, the glass slides down, and Amber blinks up at me, eyes swollen, face blotchy, hair tangled like she has been running her hands through it for hours.
“What the hell are you doing sleeping out here?” I ask, confusion and concern colliding. “Why didn’t you knock on Jude’s door?”
Her mouth trembles. She looks away.
Then I really see her.
The red rims around her eyes. The way her shoulders curl inward. The smell of grief and panic clinging to her like a second skin.
“I can’t go in,” she says hoarsely. “Maisie can’t see me like this.”
That stops me cold.
“I’ll get Jude,” I say immediately.
She shakes her head hard. “No. Please. Not yet.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Come with me.”
I hand her the cocoa. She takes it with both hands like it might shatter. When she steps out of the car to lock it, I notice the back seat.
Boxes. Suitcases. A life crammed into cardboard and plastic bins.
Something is very wrong.
I walk her to my house, unlock the door, and usher her inside. The heat hits us immediately. I turn it up anyway and grab a blanket from the chair, guiding her to the sofa near the fireplace.
She curls into herself, blanket pulled tight, cocoa untouched in her lap.
“What’s going on?” I ask gently. “Jude is going to be confused if he sees you like this.”
Her face crumples.
“I lost the baby,” she says.
Fuck. I reach out and touch her shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry, Amber.”
She breaks then, sobs tearing out of her chest in raw, broken sounds that twist my gut. I sit with her, close but not touching, giving her space while staying present.
I grind my teeth, anger flashing hot and fast. “I’m sorry.”
“What made you come here like this?” I ask.
She looks up at me, eyes glassy and desperate, like she has been crying so hard she forgot how to stop. “Maisie. I think she should be with me. I think I should take her. We can start a life together just the two of us. I’ll do things right this time around.”
The words hit wrong. Not because she is wrong to hurt, but because of the way she says it. Like a decision already made in the middle of a storm.
Alarm bells go off in my head, loud and relentless. She’s unraveling right in front of me. The thought of her driving off with a little girl when she can’t even hold a cup without shaking makes my chest tighten.
Why does she want to take her child right now? How does she think she can care for her when she can barely breathe?
I’ve seen this before.
I grew up in a house where decisions were made at full volume and paid for in silence later. My father drank until his temper bled into everything.
He fought, broke furniture, punched walls. My mother learned how to disappear in plain sight. She survived by shrinking.
I know what it does to a kid when adults make choices fueled by pain instead of clarity.
Jude and Claire were my escape. My found family.
They showed me what consistency looked like. What it meant to wake up knowing what kind of day you were walking into.
Amber doesn’t look capable of that right now.
“Amber,” I say carefully, keeping my voice calm even though my nerves are on fire, “this is a lot. Jude loves his niece. You can’t just take her because you’re hurting.”
She recoils like I slapped her. “I’m her family.”
“And he is her family, too,” I reply gently. “You both matter. But this feels like a breakdown, not a plan.”
Her eyes flash, then fill again. “You think I’m crazy.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I think you’re grieving and exhausted and terrified. That isn’t the same thing.”
She drags her hands down her face, palms trembling.
“I lost my baby, Ryker. My body failed me. The love of my life left me. I wake up every morning and forget for half a second, and then it hits me all over again. I can’t breathe.
Everywhere I look, I see what I don’t have anymore.
She’s the only good thing in my life. I need her to stay alive. I need her.”
My chest tightens.
“I love Maisie,” she continues, voice cracking. “She’s the only thing that still makes sense. I just want her with me. I want to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can start over.”
“I get wanting to run,” I say. “Trust me, I do. But Maisie isn’t an anchor you grab while the boat is sinking. She deserves stability. She deserves routine. School. Friends. A dad who shows up every morning.”
Her jaw trembles. “You think I would hurt her?”
“I think you would never mean to,” I say honestly.
She starts crying again, shoulders shaking so hard the blanket slips. I reach out and pull it back around her, grounding without crowding.
“I don’t trust myself right now,” she whispers. “I’ve been snapping at strangers. I forget to eat. Sometimes I sit in the shower and just stare at the wall until the water goes cold.”
That admission lands heavy.
“We need Jude,” I say softly. “He needs to know what’s happening.”
Her head snaps up. “No. Not yet. Please.”
Before I can answer, there’s a knock at the door. My heart jumps straight into my throat.
The door opens a second later, Jude stepping in with a tired grin.
“You got coffee? I ran out and figured I would steal some before work.”
He freezes. Amber looks up at him.
For a moment, no one speaks.
“Amber?” Jude says slowly. “What are you doing here?”
Her composure shatters completely. She stands too fast, swaying, and Jude is across the room in two strides, catching her before she falls.
“Oh my god,” he murmurs. “What happened?”
“I lost the baby,” she sobs into his chest. “I lost him, Jude. And Luke isn’t coming back.”
Jude goes very still. His hand tightens in her hair, the other bracing her back like he’s afraid she might vanish.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice thick.
She pulls back, eyes wild. “I have no one. I have nothing. Not here, not anywhere. I knew you would get it.”
My best friend looks at me before mouthing, “What is she talking about?”