Chapter 45 Louise
LOUISE
My phone beeped the moment we stepped out of the woods and into the clearing where Ryder had parked his truck.
I paused beside the passenger door and listened to the first voicemail, my breath still fogging in the cold air.
“Miss Sloane, this is Frankie up at Frankie’s Auto; callin’ to let you know your car is ready for pickup.”
Then the second.
“Miss Sloane, this is Paula from Shadow Creek Resort, returning your call. We have one room, just opened up. Call me back as soon as possible if you’d still like me to reserve it for you.”
I stood frozen in the snow, phone in hand, heart hammering louder than it should have been. Two lifelines. Two reminders that I didn’t belong here.
Ryder turned to me. “Everything all right?”
I stared at him, and the words stuck in my throat. “My car’s ready… and they’ve got a room for me at Shadow Creek Resort.”
The silence between us stretched, heavy and loaded, like a storm building pressure.
I watched him, praying—begging—for a sign. For him to say something. Anything.
Please ask me to stay. Please tell me you don’t want me to go.
His eyes flicked away for the briefest second. And then he shrugged.
“Well. Do you need to call them back?”
I snapped. I don’t know why. Desperation maybe, exhaustion maybe? Frustration.
“I don’t know, Ryder,” I said, the sarcasm sharp in my voice. “Do you want me to call them back?”
He lifted a shoulder, noncommittal. Like it didn’t matter.
Like I didn’t matter.
I grabbed the door handle, pulled hard. “Just take me to my car. I’m going home. Maybe you were right. Maybe I do need to get the hell out of here.”
The door was locked. I yanked again. Harder.
“Why?” he asked as he came up behind me.
I spun around, slipping slightly on the slick rock beneath me. He reached for me, but I yanked my arm out of his grasp.
“Why?” I snapped. “Because I’m sick of being jerked around.
One minute you're pushing me away, the next you're touching me like you can’t help yourself. You’re hot, you’re cold.
You make me feel something—and then act like it’s nothing.
Like I’m nothing.” My voice cracked. “I can’t keep doing this with you, Ryder.
I can’t keep waiting for you to decide if I’m worth the risk.
So yeah—maybe it’s time I just… get out of here. ”
“The roads aren’t cleared, Louise. Especially not all the way to Ponco. That’s a three-hour drive.”
“What the hell do you care, anyway? All of a sudden you’re worried for my well-being? All of a sudden you’ve had a change of heart and like me?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You don’t think I know why you didn’t shoot me the night I broke into your house?
Because you’re still on parole. You didn’t want another dead body on your hands.
And why you picked me up at the lake when I had nowhere else to stay?
Because if I would have died that night from hypothermia, or from the String Strangler himself, it would be a body linked to you. ”
My hands curled to fists at my sides. “You couldn’t get me out of your house fast enough the next morning.
And when you realized my car was broken down, you’d rather ride hours on horseback in a snowstorm to escort me to my hotel, rather than offer me shelter for just one more night in your house of ice. ”
His jaw clenched. He didn’t like that.
But I did. I was a bomb slowly exploding, and it felt damn good.
So I kept going.
“You wanted nothing to do with me. That’s the only reason you’ve helped me out.
To get me out of your hair.” I began pacing.
“But then you hold my hand, seem protective of me, give me glimpses of someone I want to know so badly. And you kissed me! And it was the best kiss of my life. And then there’s that look.
The look you give me that sends goose bumps right down to my toes.
I want to get to know that guy. The old you.
I meant what I said earlier. You can’t allow what happened to you to ruin the rest of your life.
You are not a victim in life. You’re an asshole.
You’re selfish. You’re a jerk. You’re so freaking gorgeous—”
His lips crashed into mine before I could finish my tirade, silencing the words with a kiss so fierce, so full of longing, it stole the breath from my lungs.
His hands cupped my face—not rough or demanding, but reverent, as if I were something fragile he’d nearly shattered. I gasped softly, startled by the gentleness, by the undeniable ache beneath it.
My head spun as my camera slipped from my fingers, landing in the snow with a dull thud.
Ryder’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me into him.
His other hand curled into my hair, tilting my chin upward as his mouth claimed mine again—hungry, aching, desperate.
Like a man starved of touch, of hope, of something real.
I melted into him, my hands gripping the front of his jacket, holding on as if he might disappear.
Around us, melting ice dripped from the trees, falling onto our shoulders.
And then, too soon, he pulled back.
He staggered a few steps away, chest heaving, hands shaking at his sides. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the ground, lips parted as if he were trying to catch his breath—or gather his resolve.
The raw emotion in his eyes knocked the wind from me.
He opened his mouth—then closed it again.
Whatever this was between us… it wasn’t just chemistry.
It was a collision.
“Do you know why I busted that tile by the front door?” he asked, voice low and husky.
I shook my head because forming a complete sentence was an impossibility at that moment.
“Because I had to get rid of you. All of you. Because I couldn’t fucking stop thinking about you. It was like you were instantly tattooed on my brain—someone I didn’t even know! It didn’t make sense. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like this kind of instant power you had over me.”
He took a step closer. “You are, Louise Sloane, the most mesmerizingly beautiful disaster of a woman I’ve ever met in my life.
Your lips, your eyes, those little freaking dimples when you smile.
You’re so beautiful and don’t even realize it, and that only makes you more beautiful.
When I saw you wearing my T-shirt that day…
” He looked down and shook his head, then looked back up.
“I liked it. You fit, right there in my room, in my bed, in my shirt, in my house. I liked it. Do you know why I asked you to wear the blue sweatpants?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Because they were the smallest size you had. I wanted to see you, every gorgeous curve of you.”
Color rushed to my cheeks, burning hot as he looked away, dragging a hand over his mouth.
“You said a picture is worth a thousand words,” he murmured.
“Louise… when I saw that photo you took of me at the lake—when I was fishing—I didn’t even recognize myself.
I looked… hollow. Tired. Like I’d aged twenty years.
It hit me hard. That man in the photo—he looked so sad.
Worn down. Haunted. And I thought…” He paused, voice tightening.
“Is that who I’ve become? How sad to live the rest of my life like that? ”
His hands slowly curled into fists at his sides, the truth of his words settling heavy between us.
“I don’t know how to change it,” he growled.
“The last woman I was with died tragically, and my baby with her. Then I killed the man who killed them. I don’t…
I don’t see myself having a relationship ever again.
Like I’m jinxed or something. And more than that, why would someone want me and all my baggage?
I can’t even take someone on a date in this town without being side-eyed out of the room. ”
“That’s exactly why you can’t allow this to define you, Ryder.
What happened in the past doesn’t mean the next woman you allow into your life is going to face the same fate.
You—the old Ryder—didn’t want to be alone.
I see it in your eyes. You want a family.
And you are worthy of it, like you told me I was.
You just have to let the past go. One day at a time, which is the complete opposite of how you operate now. ”
I closed the inches between us and grabbed his hand. “One day at a time.”
“Something about you has made me feel again,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Alive. Life.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze holding mine with quiet intensity.
“I’m not ready to let you go, Lou. I’d like you to stay with me tonight. Please. I’d like you to come home with me. Let’s go get your vehicle, then… go home.”
I nodded, and leaned into the warmth of his palm.
Home.