Page 87

RYDER

I did something I hadn’t done in years. I scaled the trellis outside Sassy’s window.

The wrought iron felt colder than I remembered, twisted into ornate patterns like something out of a fairy tale.

My palms burned as I gripped the railing and hauled myself up, jostling the wrap on my hand.

Once I made it onto the balcony, I crouched down to open the window.

I knew how to find the latch. I had done this so many times in the past that I could have repeated it with my eyes closed.

A quiet click later, and the window opened enough for me to slip through.

Moonlight spilled in around me as I eased the curtain aside, stepping down onto the window bench.

My shoes came off silently, and I peeled my hoodie over my head, careful not to aggravate the bandage tight around my hand.

It throbbed anyway. She was still asleep, tangled in her comforter, one arm curled around a pillow like she’d been reaching for something in her dreams. Or someone.

I crossed the room and stood at the edge of her bed, watching her.

My gaze drifted to the bulletin board hanging on the wall, filled with snapshots, only she would arrange like that.

Photos of us. Of our friends. Of her entire world, and mine too.

Because she was always the center of it.

There we were as kids, grinning like we didn’t know any better.

Me in a helmet too big for my head, her beside me in a makeshift cheer uniform, pom-poms she’d cut from notebook paper.

She’d insisted on matching me and said if I had a jersey, she needed one too.

She was loud back then. Bright. Always in my corner.

My one-person fan club. My whole damn world.

My eyes drifted to the next cluster.

It was us and all the dances we’d attended together.

Homecomings and proms. For each of them, I’d propositioned her house with a ridiculous sign, flowers, the whole cliché, because even though we’d known long before then, she was going with me as my date, she deserved everything.

The little moments and the big ones. I would never miss a chance to make her feel wanted or special.

Another picture was of us at the county fair.

We were on the Tilt-a-Whirl. Her hair was flying, her head thrown back in laughter.

I had my arm locked around her waist to try and keep her still.

Diagonal from that was us at camping, firelight dancing against her skin, her head resting on my shoulder, both of us wrapped in the same blanket.

That night sky above us stretched on forever.

One thing all these photos started to have in common was the way she looked at me in them.

I tore my eyes away from the board and moved back across the room.

I stopped at the edge of her bed again, bracing my hands on the footboard.

How could one woman be so beautiful? Even half-buried in blankets, her hair a wild halo against the pillow, a faint crease between her brows like she was still arguing with someone in her sleep.

I was down so fucking bad for her.

I loved her so much it made me sick.

She’d seen flashes of it, the cruelty and the possessive streak. She loved me anyway. She was there when the golden boy's shine cracked and flaked off in sharp little pieces.

I turned and sat at the foot of her bed, elbows braced on my knees, the mattress dipping beneath me.

I’d left Ellie’s hours ago. I showered at the pool house to wash the night off me. The sweat, the smoke. The blood.

Then I came straight here.

I needed this.

Not just her body curled beneath the sheets.

Not just the scent of her skin still clinging to the pillow.

I needed the quiet. The piece of myself that hadn’t rotted beneath expectation and control.

The part she kept tethered to something soft and human.

She made it too easy to forget how dangerous I really was.

“Rye?” her voice floated from behind me, thick with sleep.

A slow grin tugged at my mouth. I looked back at her. “Would any other man be in your room this late, Sass?”

She blinked at me, then moved, crawling down the bed. One hand brushed her hair from her face, dark strands tumbling like ink across her shoulder and catching the moonlight as she reached me. She rested her head against my back, looping an arm around my chest, her body molding to mine perfectly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

My eyes closed. Her voice could’ve shattered me or saved me.

“Nothing, just needed to be here.”

She was quiet for a second. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.”

“Come lie down,” she murmured.

She didn’t have to ask twice.

I let her pull me with her, the two of us moving to the other end of the bed and wordlessly slipping beneath the comforter like we’d done a hundred times before, bodies fitting together like muscle memory. Like every night we’d spent apart had been a mistake, the universe was finally correcting.

It was only when she shifted closer that her fingers brushed my hand.

She paused.

Brows pulled in, lashes low as her hand reached again—more deliberate this time—curling gently around the bandaged skin. Her thumb ghosted over the edge of it like it might unravel if she pressed too hard.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep, soft and serious.

“Nothing bad,” I assured her.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Rye—did you do something?”

I held her stare, the lie itching behind my teeth, begging to be swallowed whole. I couldn’t give it to her. I pulled my wrist from her grasp and brought my hand to her face instead, cupping her cheek with the same palm she’d been cradling.

“I promise I’m not in trouble,” I said quietly. “You don’t need to worry.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Just stared at me, her lips parted like the words were there but stuck, caught between suspicion and trust. Like she was chewing over whether to push or let it go.

Eventually, she chose the latter.

She scooted closer. Her leg slid over mine. Her hand slipped beneath my shirt, fingers spreading wide across my ribs like she was trying to anchor me there. Her nose brushed the curve of my neck, breath warm against my skin.

She inhaled.

Breathed me in.

Her lips grazed my throat—just the faintest touch, soft as a sigh—but it scorched through me like fire.

My jaw flexed. Eyes slammed shut. Her breath fanned over the place her mouth had touched, and I swore.

“Did you just shower?” she asked, running her fingers through my hair.

“Yeah.”

She studied me then. Her brow pinched. Eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to read a page she already knew by heart—but the words were changing.

“Where were you all night?”

“Out with everyone.”

Too simple.

And dismissive, far more than I ever wanted to be with her. It was the best I could give her right now. You didn’t casually tell your girl you were out killing in her honor. That had to be handled with care and finesse later down the road.

“Rye… ” Her voice came softly. Hesitant. “I love you. Okay?”

Fuck.

Three words. That’s all it took to get me to my knees. I’d never get tired of hearing her say them. Not when they came out like that—unarmed, unguarded. All that fierce loyalty wrapped in something that still made my chest ache.

“You love me, Sass?” I asked, my voice dropping to a rough whisper.

I could see the walls she’d built, the ones she’d been hiding behind for so long.

They were crumbling, falling apart right beneath me. I wasn’t stopping until they were dust. I knew better than to think it’d all be easy. Her mind was a maze of memories and second-guessing, but right then, she wasn’t holding back.

She nodded. “I might adore you too,” she teased me.

That earned her a crooked grin. My nose brushed hers, fingers trailing up her thigh, slow and possessive, like I needed to remind her she was mine. “I love you too, more than you can imagine.”

Then I kissed her.

My mouth slanted over hers. My fingers dug into her hips, dragging her against me as I took everything she offered—and more.

She tasted like something I didn’t deserve and would never give up.

Her hands fisted in my shirt. My tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her, my teeth teasing her bottom lip before I sucked it gently between mine.

She whimpered, hips shifting beneath me,

“Rye…” she whispered, her voice all breath and want.

I pressed another kiss to her lips and then pulled back, reaching for the hem of my shirt. She held on for a second before she let go, letting me pull the fabric over my head. I tossed it to the floor, never breaking eye contact.

Her eyes raked over me, slow and greedy, and when they dipped lower, a crooked grin tugged at my mouth. Every late night. Every grueling morning. All those hours training, pushing, punishing myself… worth it. Just for this. Just for her to look at me like I was her favorite sin.

“Your turn.”

I gripped her top and gently dragged it up. She lifted her arms for me. Trusted me. I peeled the shirt off and tossed it somewhere behind me.

And there she was.

Laid out beneath me like something holy. My eyes dragged over her collarbones, the slope of her shoulders, the delicate straps of her bra.

“Fuck,” I whispered, heat lacing every syllable.

She shifted, almost self-conscious, but her eyes never left mine.

Like she was waiting for reassurance. I had been trying to work out if she didn’t see it because of something someone had said to her or if my girl naturally had doubts about how gorgeous she was.

Either way, I would work through it, but I would like to know where this came from.