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Kyle stops dead in his tracks, panting hard, hatred burning in his eyes as he clutches his shoulder. “Fuck you! You don’t get to have him.”

I know Dad’s got this, so I rush forward and drop to my knees beside Ryder, heart pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else. My fingers fumble at the ropes, shaking so badly I can’t get a grip, can’t work fast enough, can’t think past the desperate, all-consuming need to get him out, get him out,get him out.

Dad comes to help, keeping his weapon raised and eyes locked on Kyle like he’d already made peace with pulling the trigger if he had to.

He crouches down beside me, handing me the knife Kyledropped, and starts slicing through the ropes. His calm focus is the only thing holding me together as my lungs burn, my hands tremble, and every part of me screams with one singular thought:Ryder needs to be freenow.

When the last rope falls away, Ryder falls forward from the chair into my arms, like he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. I catch him, wrapping my arms around him, one hand braced behind his head, the other gripping his waist. I need him anchored against me, need him to know he’s safe, that I won’t ever let go again.

The police storm in seconds later with guns raised, shouting commands. I turn my head and see Dad lower the gun he had pointed at Kyle as Kyle starts screaming nonsense. I hear the sharp bark of an officer telling him to stay down, and hear the clink of handcuffs closing around Kyle’s wrists as they start to read him his rights, “You have the right to remain silent...”

The words drift somewhere past me as everything else in the room fades into the background. Because all I can see is Ryder. He’s clinging to me, shaking and crying, as the warmth of his blood soaks into my shirt.

We’re holding on to each other like a lifeline, and I pull him as close as I possibly can.

He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

He’s here.

And I am never letting him out of my sight again.

I hold him through it, whispering, “I love you,” and “I’ve got you,” and “you’re safe,” on repeat until the paramedics rush in and we’re loaded into the ambulance together.

31

RYDER

The last few days were strange.

Sitting here, safe, warm, with clean clothes on my back and Logan beside me, doesn’t feel real. It feels like I’ll blink and wake up back in that plywood room. Or worse, I’ll open my eyes and realize I’m still there, tied up, waiting for Kyle to decide what comes next.

After they arrested him, they brought me straight to the hospital. The cops had questions. The doctors had concerns. A psychiatrist stopped by for a session, though I barely remember what I said to him. I think I stumbled over the words, trying to figure out how I’m supposed to explain what happened.

Physically, I’m fine. I only needed seven stitches total, four on my forearm and three on my side from the knife. The rest of the wounds on me are superficial. They said I have bruised ribs, and I was dehydrated and exhausted.

It’s the rest of me that’s not fine.

Logan knows it, too.

I don’t think either of us is okay, not really.

The whole time we were in the hospital, he refused to leave. Not even when the doctors wanted to keep me overnight. I told him he could go home to sleep in a real bed, and take a goddamn break because he had found me, and saved me, and brought me home. Now he needed to rest because he was recovering, too.

Logan looked at me in the hospital room like I’d said something insane and said, “Not happening, baby. I just got you back, I’m not going anywhere.”

My mom made the drive, and she was at the hospital, worried sick. She fussed over me nonstop, which is understandable, but all I wanted to do was sleep.

Now, we’re finally home—just the two of us. My mom’s staying at my house while we’re back at Logan’s. She wants to hover and take care of me, I can tell, but she understands we need space and time to decompress with each other after what happened.

Even though everyone saw Kyle get dragged out of that warehouse in handcuffs, and logically I know he’s behind bars, it still doesn’t feel real. It still feels like Kyle is going to turn up at the door or break in again.

Santos assured us we wouldn’t have anything to worry about, but I still hear Kyle’s voice in my head, so fucking smug telling me I need him when I don’t. I never did. Shutting my eyes, I press my knuckles to my temples, as if I can physically force him out of my mind.

Logan must notice because he shifts closer, stroking my hair back from my forehead, lips pressing gently to my skin. All I want to do is break and fall into him, so I do. I curl into him, pressing my face into his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He’s the only thing capable of grounding me. His arms tighten around me instantly, and his fingers trail along myback. For a moment, it’s just us, breathing and holding each other.

Then, before I can stop myself, the words spill out.