I swear, do all women belong to some sort of telepathic network where they just know why they’re angry?
“Because I snapped at her.”
“Oh, Ryder. You silly, stupid man.”
She’s still chuckling as she reaches for her tea. The steam rises into her eyes when she takes a sip.
“Okay, let’s recap. Something happened to put you in a crabby mood.”
“Yes.”
“So you went over there in a bad mood.”
“Yes.”
“She asked you what was wrong and you said to drop it. Then she pushed and you snapped at her.”
“Yes.” Guilt pricks me at the reminder that I snapped at my woman.
“And you apologized for snapping.”
“Yes,” I say in frustration.
“But she’s telling you she’s not mad that you snapped at her. She’s mad because…？” Darby lets that hang, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
“No, you don’t get it. She hasn’t told me why she’s mad.”
“You should know why!” Darby sputters in amazement. “Dude. She’s upset because you wouldn’t fucking tell her why you were in a bad mood. What was the thing that happened to upset you? What, do we live in some mystery land where we don’t talk about things? The whole point of dating someone is to get to know them and share in all their moods. Their good moods, their bad moods. If I have a bad day, you damn well know Nick’s going to hear about it. He’s going to know every single detail.”
“You realize you’re a chick, right?”
She snorts. “You think Nick doesn’t tell me things too? Like, when he and his younger brother got in a huge fight last month, that’s all he talked about.”
“I’m not a talker,” I mutter.
“Then don’t be in a relationship.”
I sigh.
“Seriously, Ryder. There are different rules in play now. If you’re just hooking up with someone, banging here and there, you don’t have to talk about important things. But the second you start dating them, the expectations change.”
I rub my forehead. “I don’t like that.”
“Well, hate to break it to you, but that’s how relationships work. You have to talk. If something’s wrong, the other person wants to hear it. They need to hear it.”
My stomach churns. The idea of telling Gigi about the prosecutor’s call or my dad’s whereabouts, his parole hearing…it twists my insides.
But then I think about Gigi and how easily she tells me how she’s feeling, even when it makes her uncomfortable. And I realize I don’t give her anything in return other than orgasms.
Darby grins at me over the rim of her teacup. “You know I’m right, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I grumble. “I know you’re right.”
A sudden commotion sounds from the hallway. A loud crash, as if the front door flew open and smashed the wall. Thunderous footsteps then barrel down the hall.
I jump out of my chair just as Nick Lattimore comes tearing into the kitchen. He looks at me. Eyes Darby at the table. Then, before I can blink, he pulls his fist back and sends it flying toward my face. I dodge at the last second, so the blow only grazes my cheekbone, but there’s no dodging the accompanying jolt of pain.
“What the fuck?” I demand, as Shane, Beckett, and Will run into the kitchen.
“Lattimore, stop,” Shane says, pulling him away from me. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Me?” he roars. “He’s making a play for my girlfriend, and you’re asking what’s wrong with me?”
“Are you crazy? I’m not after your girlfriend,” I growl.
“You sent her a text that says, and I quote: Come over to my place and don’t tell your boyfriend.”
I falter. “Oh, in hindsight, that was worded poorly.”
Beckett doubles over in laughter. “Jesus. That’s fucking priceless, mate.”
Darby rises from her chair. “Sorry, Ryder, I know you told me not to say anything, but Nick and I don’t keep secrets.” She punctuates that with a look.
Point taken.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
GIGI
He led me to you
I RETURN FROM MY POSTDINNER RUN TO FIND RYDER SITTING ON my couch. I jolt in surprise, tugging my earbuds out. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
He gets up. “Wanted to see you. Mya let me in before she headed out. She said to tell you she’s meeting some Tinder guy for drinks in Hastings.”
As I get closer, I notice a red mark on his left cheekbone. Not quite a cut. Maybe a slight bruise.
“What happened here?” Despite myself, I reach out to touch his face. “Did you get hurt during one of your games this weekend?”
He shakes his head. “Nick Lattimore punched me.”
“What? Why on earth would he do that?”
“He thought I invited his girlfriend over for sex.”
“Do I even want to ask?”
Ryder shrugs. “Darby came over because I needed advice on how to make you not hate me.”
I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I do. His gruff, sheepish admission instantly warms me over. God, this man.
“And I think I figured it out.” Another shrug. “I was hoping we could talk. For real.”
Sweaty and sticky from my run, I unzip my hoodie and take a step toward my side of the suite. “Do you mind if I grab a shower first?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll wait.”
A moment later, I dunk my head under the hot water and let it wash down over me. I think about everything I want to say to him. Everything that’s been weighing on my mind these past few days.
Do I want us to keep going?
Is there even a point?
Because I can’t be in a relationship with someone who shuts down. Someone who doesn’t let me in.
Except then I think about how rewarding it is to get a smile out of him. How my heart flips when he laughs. The way that he listens to me and shows me no judgment, only acceptance.
I quickly dry off and throw on a pair of flannel pants and a hoodie. It’s the least sexy outfit ever, but the way he admires me when I walk out makes me feel so stupidly pretty.
I sit next to him, drawing my knees up and hugging them.
“My father’s name is Luke.”
It’s not at all what I expected to hear.
I furrow my brow at him. “It is?”
“My mom named me after him.”
“So you’re a junior?”
“Not exactly. I don’t have his last name. They weren’t married, so Ryder is my mother’s maiden name.” He looks sick. “I’m glad I don’t have both his names. Christ. Then there’d be no escape from it at all. At least I have Ryder.”
“Why do you need to escape it? You’re not close to your dad?”
“He shot my mother in the head and killed her.”
Shock slams into me.
I’m given zero preparation and have no idea how to react.
I gawk at him, blinking. Until I realize he’s just shared something so deeply personal and harrowing, and I’m here staring at him like an idiot.
“W-what?” I stammer. Again, not the most coherent response. But at least my voice works now. “Your dad killed your mom?”