Page 16 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires

“If you come near my house, I’ll fucking knock your teeth out.”

I want to pull the card of“my brother is an MMA fighter and is down the street.”Fear clouds my thoughts, knowing Jeremy isn’t really here, nor is anyone that I’m close to.

I’m alone, just like Creepy George likes it.

Wielding my mace, I point it in his direction. “Give me any reason, and I’ll use it.”

Our gazes meet. My voice must have more bite than intended, as he doesn’t move.

My lips falter with silent murmurs, trying to decide what profanity to shout next, when the sound of laughter echoes down the street—a large group rounds the block. Creepy George scowls, hurrying away. He’s always such a damn coward when there’s more than one person.

My hand is trembling when I frantically look for my Uber. I stare at the little car icon on my screen as it nears, glancing up to spot the headlights before it pulls up. Pocketing my phone, I stride with purpose to my ride. Every negative emotion stains my heart, and I rub my arms as if worms are crawling on my skin.

A woman drives the car, which doesn’treallymake it better, but it does give me small comfort.

Once inside, breathing in the scent of car freshener, I close my eyes and lean back.

I need to move.

I need to pay my student debt.

I need Joey Ryder to win that damn Warlord tournament.

Or, at least, place in the top three so Jeremy’s gym picks up. The twenty guys on the roster pay the bills for our small-town gym, but we will need alotmore if I’m ever to hope for something better. It was fun scraping by when Jeremy and I had a plan, the tight budget a temporary, but necessary, hindrance.

But with him gone, I struggle to see, or fight for, the dream. Warlord’s outcome will mean everything for my life.

Which means I’m completely relying on Ryder.

* * *

Traci’s—a favorite bar in the area—is full of conversation and clinking glasses, a classic vibe emanating from the dim lighting.

As I scan the room for my people, I freeze at the entrance.

Not because I see Tiffany—whom I haven’t seen in six months—but because I recognize the maddeningly handsome profile ofRyderat the bar, socializing with another man.

For fuck’s sake.

He’s going to think I am following him now.

But when I spot the familiar blonde named Tiffany Hill, something deeply emotional chokes me, and Ryder disappears from my worries.

The last time I saw her was at Jeremy’s funeral six months ago.

She gets down from her high-top table when she locks eyes with me. I wade through the dark place, skirting around occupied chairs until she and I are embraced in a tight hug.

Tiffany smells like a very fragrant floral lotion—something that Jeremy bought her once, and she’s worn it ever since. I release a single sob, her body stiffening in our shared sorrow as she firmly holds me.

Quietly, she says, “I’m so sorry, Julie. We should have kept in touch—Ishould’ve kept in touch.”

“Hey, it’s alright, Tiff.” Tears blur my vision as we part, both trying to remove the wetness from our eyes without ruining our make-up. I smile at her, touching her arm. “He loved you.Somuch,” I say with a heavy shake in my voice.

An expression of absolute loss and suffering fills those hooded green eyes, a broken depth reflecting a grief parallel to my own. She wipes her round nose, sniffing.

“I miss him,” she confesses, like she’s trying to cover why she’s been so quiet. “I’ve never stopped missing him.”

I grab her shoulder, staring into her watery eyes that are now red. “Me too. Now let’s go get some wine, or fuck it, a margarita. I have an Uber taking me home, so we can drink and catch up. It’s what he would want.”