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That was enough warning for me. My hand snaked out, searching for the doorknob in the dark. I twisted and pushed my way inside.

I was expecting blood or worse.

I was not expecting to find him hunkered down and sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and his knees propped up toward his chin. He cradled his head in his hands, sniffing and trembling.

Lifting his head as I opened the door, he showed me his face, his cheeks blistering red and his eyes filled with moisture that glistened as the vanity lights caught his tears.

Eyes growing leery and frightened like a cornered creature, he started to stand, looking as if he wanted to flee, yet there was nowhere for him to go. I literally had him cornered.

“Ryder.” My voice cracked with sympathy as my heart beat in my throat.

I let go of the door handle and rushed inside, dropping onto my hands and knees on the cold tile before him where he’d already slid back down to sit once more.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze, and stared adamantly at nothing over my shoulder. “I don’t…” he said and had to stop to sniff and shudder out a labored breath.

When he shifted his tragic gaze to me, my own tears gushed.

“I can’t…” he tried again, but it was impossible for him to complete a sentence.

Leaning forward, I hugged him. He went rigid and stiff for about two seconds before his body gave a final shudder, then he melted, going noodle limp as he gripped handfuls of the back of the shirt I wore.

I let him grieve his fill, soaking my shoulder with tears as he poured out his misery. He’d already been at this for half an hour and he went for another ten minutes more. When he finally settled to the occasional sniffle, he drooped, completely drained, and wilted against me.

“I don’t even know why I’m so upset.” He wiped at his cheeks.

I helped him, dabbing a few drops he missed with my fingers. “Because you feel duped, stupid, humiliated, betrayed, hurt. Should I go on?”

He let out a breath. “I think I’m more shocked than anything. And I don’t know why. This is exactly the kind of thing Stangman would do. Kiera too. Actually, I should be grateful he took her off my hands. I mean, I didn’t like her that much. We never talked, didn’t even spend time alone together. She only really acted interested when we were with a big group. I think mostly she just wanted to be seen with me for appearance’s sake.”

“So, you’re saying she was using you,” I asked, lifting my eyebrows as I remembered a certain lecture from him about what Todd was doing to me. “And you just let her?”

He paused and stared at me. I could tell the moment he realized what I’d implied because he lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, Ms. Kettle, are you calling me black?”

My insides swelled with joy because he’d actually caught my meaning. “No, I’m the pot. You’re the kettle.”

Together, we burst into huge grins.

But about as soon as he started, his smile faded. “Grace,” he whispered my name.

My throat went dry; I couldn’t answer.

But he went on anyway. “I’m glad I finally know your name.”

Yet that’s not what he meant. From the serious expression on his face, I could tell he really meant he was glad to know me, the person.

I licked my dehydrated lips, feeling the same way. His eyes lowered to watch my tongue. I knew what he wanted and everything inside me wanted it too.

My senses went on ultra-alert. I grew suddenly very aware of everything. The cool of his tile floor soaking up through my clothes and chilling my backside. The warmth of Ryder as I sat pressed against him, our knees touching as we leaned on each other with our feet stretched out in front of us. The smell of his soap and shampoo filling the bright bathroom.

He wanted to kiss me. He was going to kiss me. Beginning to tilt his head down, aligning our mouths, he moved in for the kill. I wanted it, wanted it so bad I found myself tipping my head back and lifting my mouth to meet his. From the first moment we’d met, we’d been working toward this moment. And for once, the person who wanted to kiss me was the very person I wanted to kiss back.

So what did I do?

The old not-interested act.

No, I didn’t actually yank back and say, “Not interested,” I sort of just froze and whispered, “Don’t kiss me.”

He halted three inches away from making contact. I had a very up-close look into his eyes as they crinkled with pain. Worried he was going to cry again, I reached out and touched his cheek, needing to explain.