Chapter 16 The Things We Destroy
Please Don't
Something was wrong.
At first, I tried convincing myself I was imagining it.
Stress did strange things to people.
The last few days had been brutal.
The rumors.
The gossip.
My uncle's anger.
The entire town suddenly deciding our relationship was their business.
Anyone would be struggling.
Anyone would be distracted.
That explanation worked for exactly two days.
Then reality became impossible to ignore.
Ryder was pulling away.
Not physically.
Not completely.
The change was subtle.
Which made it worse.
He still spoke to me.
Still checked on me.
Still made sure I ate when workdays ran long.
Still noticed when something bothered me.
From the outside, nothing had changed.
But I knew him.
And because I knew him, I saw the difference.
The smiles disappeared first.
Not entirely.
Just enough.
Then the easy conversations became shorter.
The quiet moments became rarer.
The comfortable closeness we'd built over months started slipping away one piece at a time.
Like someone slowly dismantling a house while pretending everything was fine.
The realization terrified me.
Because I understood why it was happening.
My uncle's words.
The criticism.
The pressure.
The fear.
All of it had gotten inside Ryder's head.
And once something got inside Ryder's head, it tended to stay there.
The man carried guilt the way other people carried wallets.
Everywhere.
Constantly.
I saw it during breakfast.
I saw it during work.
I saw it every time someone looked at us a little too long.
The doubts were winning.
The worst part was that he wasn't fighting them.
He was surrendering.
One inch at a time.
The realization sat heavily inside my chest throughout the week.
By Friday evening, I couldn't take it anymore.
The breaking point arrived after dinner.
The ranch had settled into its usual nighttime quiet.
Most of the workers were gone.
The sky stretched endlessly overhead.
Stars scattered across the darkness.
Beautiful.
Ordinarily, the sight would've calmed me.
Tonight it didn't.
Because Ryder was sitting alone on the porch.
Thinking.
Again.
Lately he seemed to spend a lot of time doing that.
Too much time.
I found him exactly where I expected.
One of the porch chairs creaked beneath his weight.
A coffee mug rested beside him.
Untouched.
His attention remained fixed on the distant fields.
Lost somewhere inside his own head.
The sight hurt.
Because he looked lonely.
And because I knew he was choosing that loneliness.
I walked up the steps.
Slowly.
Giving him every opportunity to leave.
He didn't.
Good.
A small victory.
I sat beside him.
Neither of us spoke immediately.
The silence felt different now.
Not comfortable.
Careful.
The distinction mattered.
For several minutes, we simply listened to the wind moving across the ranch.
Finally, I broke.
"What are you doing?"
Ryder glanced toward me.
His expression looked tired.
"What do you mean?"
I laughed softly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because otherwise I might cry.
"See?"
His brow furrowed.
"See what?"
"That."
The confusion in his eyes felt genuine.
Which somehow made everything worse.
Because he honestly didn't realize what he was doing.
Or maybe he didn't want to.
I looked away.
Toward the dark pastures.
Trying to organize thoughts that refused to cooperate.
Eventually, honesty won.
It usually did.
"You're leaving."
The words settled between us.
Heavy.
Immediate.
Ryder went still.
The reaction told me everything.
I swallowed hard.
My chest felt painfully tight.
"You haven't actually gone anywhere."
My voice sounded quieter now.
More vulnerable.
"You're just..."
I struggled for the right word.
The truth.
The ugly truth.
"Withdrawing."
Silence followed.
Long silence.
The kind that confirmed fears.
Not the kind that erased them.
Ryder looked away first.
That hurt too.
Because once upon a time he would've argued.
Now he couldn't.
The truth was standing right in front of both of us.
"You've been thinking about what everyone said."
No response.
"You've been thinking about my uncle."
Still nothing.
I nodded slowly.
The movement felt strange.
Defeated.
Because I already knew I was right.
The realization settled heavily between us.
The ranch seemed quieter than ever.
Finally, Ryder spoke.
His voice sounded rough.
"Oliver."
Just my name.
Nothing else.
The warning inside it made my stomach twist.
I knew that tone.
The same tone people used before delivering bad news.
Before ending things.
Before breaking hearts.
Panic immediately surged through me.
Not loud panic.
The dangerous kind.
The quiet kind.
The kind that made your chest ache.
I stood up.
Unable to stay still anymore.
The porch suddenly felt too small.
The night air felt too thin.
Everything felt wrong.
"Don't."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Ryder looked up.
Concern flashed across his face.
Then guilt.
The sight made everything worse.
Because guilty people only looked guilty when they were planning something.
Something painful.
Something final.
I took a shaky breath.
Then another.
Trying and failing to calm down.
The fear had already arrived.
The fear of losing him.
The fear that all those whispers had finally won.
The fear that the future I'd imagined was slipping away.
Piece by piece.
Right in front of me.
"Don't do this."
The words came out quieter this time.
More honest.
More desperate.
Ryder stood.
Immediately.
Instinctively.
Like he wanted to reach for me.
He stopped himself.
That hurt most of all.
The distance.
The hesitation.
The restraint.
I hated it.
I hated all of it.
Because none of this felt like us.
None of this felt like love.
It felt like fear wearing love's face.
"You think you're protecting me."
The statement landed hard.
Ryder's jaw tightened.
Exactly.
I saw it immediately.
The guilt.
The certainty.
The self-sacrifice.
All the things that made him wonderful.
All the things that were about to destroy us.
"You think I deserve better."
His silence confirmed it.
The truth finally stood naked between us.
Painful.
Unavoidable.
I laughed once.
A broken sound.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The distance.
The sadness.
The withdrawal.
He wasn't falling out of love with me.
The idiot was trying to save me from himself.
The realization should've made me feel better.
Instead it nearly broke my heart.
Because I knew Ryder.
And Ryder would absolutely destroy his own happiness if he thought it helped someone he loved.
The man had a hero complex the size of Texas.
I stepped closer.
Ignoring the fear.
Ignoring the tears threatening behind my eyes.
Ignoring everything except him.
"Listen to me."
Ryder met my gaze.
Reluctantly.
Painfully.
I saw how much he was hurting.
How much he believed this.
How much he feared becoming someone who ruined my future.
The sight made my chest ache.
"You're not deciding this for me."
The words came out firm.
Certain.
True.
His expression faltered.
Good.
For once, I wanted him off balance.
I wanted him listening.
I wanted him hearing me.
"I'm not a child."
Another step.
"You don't get to choose what makes me happy."
Another.
"You don't get to decide what future I want."
The silence stretched.
Neither of us looked away.
The stars glittered overhead.
The ranch disappeared around us.
Only this moment mattered.
Only him.
Only us.
My voice cracked slightly when I spoke again.
The emotion finally breaking through.
Raw and unfiltered.
"Please."
The single word hurt.
Because I meant it.
God, I meant it.
Every part of me meant it.
Ryder's eyes closed briefly.
Like the sound physically pained him.
Maybe it did.
I didn't care.
Not anymore.
The fear was stronger.
The love was stronger.
Everything was stronger.
"Please don't push me away."
The confession hung between us.
Vulnerable.
Honest.
Terrifying.
My chest felt tight.
My heartbeat loud.
The future suddenly balanced on a knife's edge.
Because for the first time since arriving at Blackthorn Ranch, I wasn't afraid of the town.
Or the gossip.
Or the judgment.
I was afraid of losing him.
And standing beneath the stars, looking at the man I'd fallen completely in love with, I silently prayed that he wasn't already halfway out the door.
Let Me Be the Villain
There are moments in life when a person knows they're about to make a mistake.
Not a small mistake.
Not the kind that becomes a funny story years later.
The kind that changes everything.
The kind that leaves scars.
The kind you remember forever.
As Oliver stood in front of me on the porch, eyes bright with emotion and fear, I knew exactly what kind of moment this was.
The worst part?
I knew he was right.
Every word he'd said.
Every accusation.
Every plea.
He was right.
I was trying to make the decision for him.
I was trying to protect him.
I was trying to sacrifice my own happiness because I believed it would somehow save his.
The problem was that I genuinely believed I was doing the right thing.
That made everything worse.
Because villains usually knew they were villains.
Heroes usually knew they were heroes.
I was neither.
Just a man standing in the middle of the wreckage, trying desperately to convince himself he wasn't about to destroy the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Oliver stared at me.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Trusting me.
The trust almost broke me.
God.
That trust.
The kid had trusted me from the beginning.
Trusted me when I was grumpy.
Trusted me when I pushed him away.
Trusted me with his fears.
His dreams.
His heart.
And now I was about to reward that trust by breaking it.
The realization made me feel sick.
"Oliver."
My voice sounded rough.
The way it always did when emotions got too close to the surface.
He didn't look away.
Didn't retreat.
Didn't give up.
The stubborn little idiot actually looked hopeful.