Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
RYDER
Leaving used to be easy. That’s the problem. You stay nowhere long enough, eventually it becomes instinct. Don’t unpack. Don’t settle. Don’t let people matter more than the road. Simple rules. Safe rules. Then Elena Delmont wrapped herself around every broken part of my life without even trying.
Now I’m standing in our bedroom three nights later staring at my duffel bag like it personally betrayed me.
The clubhouse is quiet, it’s late. Most people are asleep.
I move carefully while packing because some stupid part of me still wants to avoid waking her.
Coward move. I know it. But facing Elena after the conversation on the porch? Harder than facing gunfire.
I shove spare ammo into the bag harder than necessary.
My cut hangs over the chair nearby. My wedding ring glints against my hand when I zip the duffel shut.
Heavy. Meaningful. Terrifying. I love her.
There it is. The truth I’ve been avoiding since Tennessee.
Not lust, protectiveness or obligation. But love. Real enough to ruin me.
And that’s exactly why I’m leaving. Because eventually men like me become disappointments. Ghosts. Memories. Elena deserves permanence.
Safety. Someone who doesn’t instinctively sleep with weapons nearby. The floorboard near the door creaks softly. I freeze.
“Elena…”
She stands in the doorway wearing one of my shirts, hair messy from sleep, eyes heartbreakingly awake. Her gaze drops to the duffel bag instantly. Neither of us speaks for a second.
“You were going to leave without saying goodbye.”
The quiet hurt in her voice cuts deeper than any accusation could. I scrub a hand down my face.
“I was gonna say goodbye.”
“When?” she whispers. “After?”
No answer. Because she’s right. Elena steps fully into the room.
“You promised I had choices.”
“You do.”
“Then why are you deciding this for me?”
Christ. I look away briefly because seeing tears gathering in her eyes feels unbearable.
“You deserve better.”
“There it is again,” she says softly. “You keep deciding what I deserve without asking me.”
“That’s not what I’m…”
“You love me.”
The words slam into the room hard enough to silence everything. I go completely still. Elena’s voice shakes slightly anyway.
“I know you do.”
My chest feels split open. Dangerous girl. Beautiful, terrifying girl.
“You shouldn’t,” I say roughly.
She actually laughs once through tears. “Little late for that.”
I move toward her before I can stop myself. “Elena.”
“No.” Her chin lifts stubbornly. “You don’t get to protect me by abandoning me.”
The raw honesty in her voice wrecks me completely.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly.
She blinks. Maybe because it’s the first time she’s heard me say it aloud.
“Of what?”
I look at her. Really look. The woman who ran barefoot through rain and somehow rebuilt herself from the wreckage.
“You make me want things I stopped believing I could have.” Emotion floods her face instantly.
“A home?”
“Yeah.”
“Family?”
“Yeah.”
“Me?”
The last word nearly kills me. I cup her face gently.
“Especially you.”
Tears spill over her lashes. Then Elena does something that completely destroys whatever walls I had left. She takes my duffel bag. And calmly dumps the entire thing upside down onto the floor. Ammo spills everywhere. Clothes. Knives. Boot socks. I stare at the mess. Then at her.
“Elena.”
“No.” She wipes angrily at her tears. “You don’t get to love me and run away because you’re frightened of staying.”
My lips twitch before I can stop them. She points a furious finger at me.
“Don’t you dare find that cute right now.”
God. I’m gone for her. Completely gone. I pull her against me hard enough to make her gasp.
“You’re trouble,” I mutter against her hair.
“You married me.”
Fair point. I bury my face briefly against her neck, breathing her in. Home. That’s what she smells like now. Not danger. Not weakness. Home.
“I don’t know how to stay,” I admit quietly.
Elena’s arms tighten around me instantly. “Then we learn.”
Something inside me finally gives way completely. No road. No running.
No disappearing. Just her. I kiss her slowly, deeply, with every ugly, terrified truth I’ve spent months trying not to feel. When we finally break apart, Elena presses her forehead against mine.
“So,” she whispers softly, “you unpacking now?”
I look down at the pile of spilled gear across the floor. Then back at my wife.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” I say roughly. “Looks like I am.”