by Harlow Stone
That's what Ryder is, a ride. A damn good one judging by his hands and face but he’s still completely unpredictable and I think that's what intrigues me the most.
Growing up in a small town you learn to create your own unpredictable situations and fun times, because if it weren't for yourself nobody else is going to do it for you. You take more chances and heighten the risks because without them life would be bloody boring.
I didn’t go sky diving with Ryder or any outing for that matter, but the man still blew me away by showing up at Fist the other night and pulling a fast one on me by refusing to leave.
I’ve always worn the pants in any relationship. Not that any lasted very long. I had a few throughout high school and university, and a short term fling that resulted in the most beautiful child I could ever ask for, but unfortunately not with the right person. Most of us always parted on good terms. Minus a creep or two in my early twenties, I just have yet to feel that deeper connection with someone.
What bothers me about this whole thing is that as much as I want to embrace it, there is still a question that won’t stop nagging at my mind.
Is it a case of pity? Pity for the woman who lives alone with her dog that's extremely recluse and never answers personal questions?
Does he want me because I come off as the so called damsel in distress that needs saving? It’s what he does for a living, right? Essentially solves problems and puzzles.
Will the thrill of me wear off eventually when my case has been solved? Will he choose to move on to something, or someone else?
Am I a job to him? He told me he worked missing persons and rescue missions. Will he rescue me, and then send me a metaphorical bill for services rendered in the mail?
The metaphorical bill in this case being ‘thanks, but this isn’t working out’.
I shut off my mind and throw on my robe. I need coffee. I look at the clock and see that it’s now almost noon which means I’ve been laying in here locked in my mind instead of getting answers for almost an hour.
I’m a straight shooter, always have been. I tell it like it is and I don't care what you think of me. Minus the personal details of course. Time to drink up some java and search for some answers.
I stop in the bathroom, not seeing Ryder yet and take care of business and brush my teeth. I don't hear him in the house and figure he must have gone outside.
I head to the coffee pot and make a cup of the wonderful brew. I see no sign of Ryder out back and I quickly realize why when I hear the chair in the dining room.
No.
No no no!
I’m stiff as a statue as I turn my eyes to peer into the dining room. Ryder’s angry eyes stare back at me and he has a handful of paperwork in front of him. My case files. What happened to me, and the mess that’s left that I am trying to figure out.
He could have been staring at me from the time I went to the bathroom but I didn't notice, my mind set on coffee, and my unconscious efforts to avoid that room like the plague unless I’m going in there to work on things. Otherwise, I steer clear, especially before coffee and usually not until I have something containing alcohol in my hand.
He lowers the papers down to the table in front of him and settles his elbows on the table. His head rests in his hands and he loses eye contact. Judging by the mess in front of him he noticed my load of casework not long after he started the coffee. Which means almost an hour ago.
“I wish you would have told me babe. Fuck!”
His voice carries an amount of agony I wasn’t expecting to hear. I don't know how to handle this situation. I don't know what to say to him or what I should do. I know at this point I can’t deny it, but I don't think I can handle the questions either.
I’m sure he’s noticed the wall with all of my sticky notes trying to piece it all together. Then I wonder if he too after reading the case files thinks I’m a nutcase for arguing that there were two people in on my abduction.
I know I won’t be able to handle the rejection if he does believe that. I also know I’ll need to change my name if he does try to ship me back to Canada to solve this mess.
I grab my coffee and smokes and head out back. I don't have a porch, but whoever lived here before me made a small area of pavers which holds a picnic table. I sit down and light up.
Today I need it.
* * *
A short while later Ryder comes and straddles the bench beside me. He doesn't look at my face though; he stares out at the water. I’m not stupid, I understand he needs a moment and I don't interrupt him.
Long after my coffee is finished and I’m on my fourth smoke he finally speaks but doesn’t look at me.
“I’d like to say this doesn’t change anything beautiful, but it does.”
My disappointment couldn't be greater, but I don't dare show it on my face.
I’m tough.
I’ve been through enough of this shit for the past year, and before then when my family was taken from me. You learn to live with the fact that when people learn shit things about your life; they tend to treat you differently.
I can understand that. I don't think less of them for it, but for some ungodly reason I least expected it from Ryder. The man has dealt with this kind of shit. So instead of speaking, I harden my features and nod my head like the cold hearted bitch I learned to be and roll with the punches.
I’m good at that.
“I can’t be with you like this now Elle. I can’t do this after seeing what I saw on that table. Fuck, Elle I can’t.”
He still isn't looking at me. I’d like to call him a coward and tell him to say it to my face, but I don't. I butt out my smoke and face the man regardless if he will look at me or not.
Numb is back, or should I say I’m back to numb.
“No worries handsome. I didn’t figure anyone could, which is why I keep the fact that I’m a murderer to myself. So you just let me know if you’re going to keep your mouth shut when you leave, otherwise I’ll be moving again.”
His head snaps back to mine so fast I’m surprised his neck doesn't pop.
“What the fuck do you mean, leave? I told you yesterday I’m not fucking going anywhere Elle and I fucking meant it!”
He’s vehement with his words and I don't believe his eyes have ever been so angry.
“Well color me fucking surprised handsome, you just told me you couldn’t ‘do this’, so forgive me if I don't understand!”
Firm hands grab onto my shoulders and he roughly pulls me towards him. His face inches from mine, his breathing harsh through his teeth.
“I can’t do the fucking lies Elle! That's what I can't do! You think I don't want to be with you now? You’re fucking wrong! I want to know everything! The where, what, when, who and fucking why! I don't want to do this if you can't open up to me! I need it Elle, and if you don't give it to me I will make it my business to find out on my own. With or without your fucking help!”
He smashes his lips down onto mine in the most brutal kiss he’s given me yet.
I don't know whether I want to hit him or cry. I do know I won’t kiss him back right now. This man is practically all I have at the moment, but it’s all going to come down to one crucial answer.
I tear my mouth away from his before questioning him.
“How much did you read Ryder?”
I ask with my hands pushed against his chest and my eyes firmly on his.
He leans his face closer to mine before he replies.
“All of it Elle. All of your notes, most of the case file and also noticed everything that was missing about you. Your detail of injuries, as well as most of your statement. It’s cut off where a Detective accuses you of having an imaginative mind in your ‘state’ about there being two attackers. Pages eight through thirty two are missing as well as pictures forty seven through ninety six of your personal case file. Talk to me Elle, because if you don't no fucking joke woman I will find everything out on my own and I’ll fly to Canada to do it if I have to
.
“I’m guessing you don’t want that babe, so my suggestion would be to let me in. Fill in the blanks and let me help you figure this out. Together Elle. ” he pleads.
Flashbacks of those days in the hospital being questioned, and a few times at the station filter back into my mind. I can't go there right now, I can't explain anything, yet I still need to know.
I wipe the snot from my face, and the angry tears off my cheeks before putting my bitch back on to confront him.
“Tell me Ryder Callaghan; from your years in the service to your time spent in security and hostage rescue, what exactly is your experienced opinion regarding what you did see on that table? And don't fucking lie to me, you give it to me straight.”
My voice is firm and so is my gaze into his.
He doesn't waver, doesn't blink.
“No bullshit, no sugarcoating and no fucking lying Ryder.”
I know that he’s assessed and gathered what he needed to before he came out here, he knows his answer and he shouldn’t have to think about it. Ryder is a smart man, not just because of what I’ve seen but because of what he does for a living.
He rests one arm on the picnic table and the other on my thigh before speaking while looking directly into my eyes.
“I think a sick and twisted individual was obsessed with you for a long time. I believe that he spent as long as he said he did planning your abduction and subsequent attack. He was calculated, and he took a few risks. The biggest one being the death of your family which I don't doubt for one second was his doing in a way to get closer to you by preying on a victim with not much left to live for.”
I close my eyes at the pain piercing though my chest. It’s one thing to look at the files as I have been these past few months, and remove myself to think of it happening to someone else, not that I would wish that upon anybody else but it’s made is easier dealing with it as an outsider looking in.
To hear it coming from his mouth is enough to make sad tears form in my eyes, tears I haven't had for a very long time. My breath is stuttering and he wraps an arm around my shoulders before continuing.
“What someone is not factoring in though Elle, is that he held a full time job with a software development company where he worked long hours making code and spent his extra time at the gym. He didn't have much of a social life and no apparent living family which makes me wonder how he was able to take so many photos of you during the daytime at your own work, and out for lunch with your friends.”
I know there are not any photos of the old me whatsoever on that table, but I know the written document of evidence gathered from the basement lists in detail the photos collected from his shrine, as well as what each photo contained.
“A man who worked ten to fourteen hours a day and spent six hours a week at the gym doesn't have that much time unless someone at his work was covering for him, or he had help, seeing as its physically impossible to be in two places at once.”
I heave a sob since the first person other than Laura states the same conclusion to suggest my attacker probably wasn’t alone. Strong arms wrap around my body and he pulls me into his lap. I straddle him and shove my face into his neck and cry like I haven't cried in a really long time. His hands alternate between squeezing and running up and down my back in a soothing gesture.
He believes me.
Chapter Twenty-two
I sit on the couch with a glass of wine and my blues/rock music mix on in the background. Not because I had a bath, but because today has been one of those days where you sit back and reflect on where your life is at. It’s a mellow moment with a lot of brain activity and the music helps calm my nerves.
After the conversation with Ryder at the picnic table where he held my sobbing sorry self for a while, he then went to make us some lunch while I took a long shower to rid the dry tears from my face.
It’s been a quiet day, mostly with Ryder hovering around or out in the yard with Norma. I know he’s giving me space, time to think about how this is going to play out, and I appreciate that. It’s not always in life that when we have a bad or shitty moment that we need someone to talk to.
No, sometimes we need the silence. The stillness and calm of not having to carry on a conversation that you did not wish to have in the first place.
Sometimes you just need yourself, some wine, and cigarettes.
I managed to put lasagna together, not because I felt like cooking but because it kept me busy enough that my mind wouldn't wander too far. Ryder decided to mow the lawn for me while he was outside, and now he’s in the shower while the lasagna bakes in the oven and I take some more time to reflect on my life with a glass of wine on the couch.
So much has changed for me. Not just in the last few years but since I have met him. Its seems like yesterday he was jogging down the street being drooled at by an old woman, but then sometimes it feels like it was a lifetime ago.
My new life here with people like Brock and Sam, although we are not close has made a huge impact on my life in a positive way. I’ve put most of the past on the back burner unless I want it to be up front and center, in which case I head to the dining room and work on the case.
When Ryder is around, everything feels front and center. He makes me remember all that I had, all that I lost, and what potentially could be found with an amazing man such as himself.
Things change, as do people. I can’t help but wonder what life would contain with him in it and whether that would lead me to the better, or further into destruction if what we were to have come crumbling to the ground.
That’s the thing about loss, isn’t it? That when we’ve lost most of what's dear to us, we don’t sit around and wax poetic quotes pertaining to what our life will be now that we are still living. About all the glorious things we will do to embrace life and pretend that even though we’ve lost, we’re going to hold on to the horns of life and ride that bitch into the sunset with a smile on our face thankful that we’re still breathing.
No.
We regular folk sit around and think about the shit hand life has dealt us, and how we’ll do whatever fucking possible not to experience that pain again.
We keep people at a distance and do our best to wake up and shower each morning.
I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with someone like myself. I can hear the words coming out of said therapist’s mouth now.
Denial
Depression
Anger
PTSD
The list goes on.
When I think about not giving a shit whether I lived or died, I can completely understand why I would need mental help.
The kicker is I would never intentionally kill myself; I just went through a point in my life where I did not give two fucks if someone did it for me. Hopefully it would happen in some heroic moment where at least it meant something, like sacrificing myself for someone more worthy. But at most points in my life I truly believe so long as it was me ended and not some innocent person with something left to live for, than I least my death would serve a purpose.
Would living life now with a man like Ryder give me more purpose? Should I care whether I lived or died more because of the man in my life, or the people?
Would I be able to feel comfortable living, knowing that it was not for me, but for someone else?
Is that a life worth living?
Did I live for my family? Did I live for my daughter Lilly? Or was I living the whole time just with the added benefits of some pretty amazing people in my life?
No, I understand now.
They were not my purpose for living, they were my life.
We complimented each other in ways that only a close knit family can. I lost my family and therefore I lost part of my purpose.
What is my purpose now?
What I had was wonderful, my family fantastic. And ultimately at the end of the day losing a man like Ryder should not compare to losing the family I had. If I can live through the mess that's been the la
st few years of my life, I can live through anything, right?
Can I survive the life and times with Ryder Callaghan and come out alive on the other side.
Can I handle more loss?
Yes.
But do I want to?
* * *
I hear the shower shut off and I know it’s time to make a decision. He’s been wonderful today seeming to know exactly what I needed, when I needed it. Not many women can say that about the men they keep company with, and I need to decide just how much of myself I am willing to put out there.
