by Measha Stone
The door slid open, and a nurse walked in, freezing at the sight of Ryder standing at the foot of his bed.
“Can I help you?” she asked, holding a tablet in her hands.
“I…uh, what happened to him?” he asked, pointing to Randall. “I was here visiting a friend and I saw him. I had lunch with him earlier this week. How…what happened?” He wasn’t sure the excuse was plausible to work—he’d never been good at lying.
She gave him a once over, then shook her head. “Car accident. Took the turn too sharp getting on the Eisenhower and lost control. Went head on into the barrier.” She checked the monitors, then tapped on her tablet.
“Was he alone?” Ryder asked, seeing as she was talking freely.
“No, there was another passenger. He’s down the hall. Not nearly as bad shape as your friend here. The airbag didn’t deploy from what I heard the officers saying.”
“Do you think…I mean…” Ryder moved his gaze back to Randall, not sure how much longer he could keep up the charade of concern.
“The doctors are doing everything they can. We’re moving him to the intensive care unit in a few hours.”
Ryder’s jaw clenched. A silent death was a gift Randall didn’t deserve. He gave the nurse a solid nod, hoping he came across as concerned. She finished fiddling with her tablet and left the room again, pulling the curtain closed once more.
After several minutes filled with the steady beeps of the machines, Ryder moved to Randall’s side. He wasn’t overly large, at least not lying in the hospital bed.
“Big man beating on a woman.” Ryder gripped the rails of the bed.
Randall’s eyes fluttered gently.
“Came all the way up here to scare her? To lay your hands on her?” Bricks of anger built on top of each other, filling Ryder’s chest. Samantha should have been safe. She’d done all the right things, she’d been a good person, she’d been a good girl. Yet, she laid in her own hospital bed down the hall, in pain, broken, and scared.
Randall opened his eyes, the dark orbs locking on Ryder.
“You’re awake. Good.” Ryder leaned over his face. “Do you know who I am?”
“I doubt he does, but I’m aware.” A thick voice came from behind Ryder.
Spinning around, Ryder found two men in sharp suits standing near the curtain. The glass door slid shut, and the curtain pulled tight again to hide them from the hallway.
“You’re Ryder Welding, right? Samantha’s been shackin’ up with you?” The shorter of the two shook a finger. “Sam, now she was a good girl. Sweet. Too sweet for my nephew.” He stepped forward, the solid soles of his shoes clicking on the linoleum floor.
“You’re his uncle.” Ryder fisted his hands at his sides. It had been a long time since he’d gone up against two men, but he wouldn’t count himself out.
“Yeah. That asshole belongs to me.” His gaze darted to the injured Randall, disgust dripping from his expression.
“And that one?” Ryder gestured toward the muscle standing behind him.
Randall’s uncle laughed. “Yeah, this one too. But that doesn’t concern you. What does concern you is that lovely lady in the next unit over.”
Ryder’s chest tightened. “If you fucking touch her—"
“Hey, no!” He put his hands up. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t much care about what she did. She snitched, that’s not great for my family, but you know what? My nephew here has been a fucking wart on my ass since the day he was born. I get him out of prison, and what does he do? Jumps the border and comes after Samantha.” He shook his head and tsked. “We’re family, and for that reason, I can’t let you hurt him.”
Ryder’s jaw ticked.
“I know what I was walking in on here. Your girl’s hurt, and my asshole nephew did it. I don’t blame you. Someone laid a hand on my wife—” He dragged his thumb across his throat. “But like I said, he’s my family.”
Muscle man moved around the uncle to the side of the bed across from Ryder. Randall made a small noise.
“From what the docs tell me, that tube is keeping him breathing. Should it fall out…” Randall’s uncle shrugged.
Ryder stepped back, watching as the muscle man leaned over Randall and wiggled the thick tube from the breathing machine.
He should stop them. Call for help. Something.
Randall’s uncle stepped up to the bed, locking eyes with Randall as he gasped for air.
“You’re a fucking prick. If it weren’t for your mother, I’d let this guy tear your fucking throat apart,” his uncle said with disgust.
Randall struggled for breath, his fingers wiggled, but he had no use of his arms. He was completely helpless, laying there praying for air that wouldn’t come. And Ryder watched with a clear conscience and wanting heart.
Machines started beeping, but Muscles was prepared. He flipped off switches and folded his arms over his chest, staring down at Randall’s last breaths.
“The guy with him? Anderson?” Ryder said after Randall’s chest stopped rising and falling, and his eyes glassed over. He was gone. Too nice of an ending for him, but he died knowing his uncle—his own family—couldn’t tolerate him living another minute.
“One of my guys. He informed me of my nephew’s stupidity. He’s the reason you’re walking out of here right now, so I wouldn’t get too curious about anything else.”
Ryder nodded in the silence of the room.
“You should get out of here before the nurses come in to check on this dirtbag.”
Ryder turned a narrowed gaze on him.
“Samantha—”
“Not my concern.” He wiped his palms together. “Hey, I said you should go.” He jerked a thumb toward the door.
Ryder took one more look at the beaten-down, empty shell of Randall lying on the bed.
“He deserved worse,” Ryder said, reaching for the curtain.
“He did. But he’s family,” Randall’s uncle said with a shrug. Ryder gave a curt nod and exited the hospital room, sliding the glass door closed behind him. The nurses were still working at the station. No one seemed alarmed about the patient in room 47.
Ryder slid his hands into his jeans and made his way back to Samantha’s room. She’d be safe now. She would never have to worry about Randall again.
Chapter 29
“Let me help you.” Ryder hurried around the car to Samantha’s door. Every move ached. Deep breaths were the worst. But she had to get out of the car.
He bent forward and slid his arms beneath her armpits.
“Just take it easy. I’m going to help you out, okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. Gently, he eased her out onto her feet. She inhaled slow, taking only a small breath before the pain shot through her chest again.
“Easy does it.” He brushed a loose hair from her face. “We’ll be upstairs in a minute, then you can lay down and rest, okay? Do you want me to carry you? I should—”
“No.” She shook her head and took a small step toward the elevator. “It will hurt too much if you pick me up. Just…just give me a second.” She unwrapped her arms from around him and took another step away from the car. The door slammed shut behind her. She only made it four steps before his hand pressed against her back.
“I’m okay, Ryder,” she assured him as the elevator doors opened for them.
He jammed his finger into the call button. “No, you’re not. You have a broken rib and several bruised ribs. Your face looks like you doubled as a punching bag this afternoon. You are definitely not okay,” he said in a hard tone.
“I’ll be okay,” she corrected. Since leaving the hospital, his mood swung from angry to overprotective.
“I’m—” he stopped and cleared his throat. His hand fell away from her back. Silent pressure built in the small space of the elevator as it glided up to his floor. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back before they could betray her. Crying wouldn’t help the situation.
He followed behind her to his
apartment and only slid in front of her to unlock the door. She brushed past him inside, stopping momentarily as another jolt of pain seized through her torso.
“C’mon, let’s get you into bed. I’ll get your medicine and some water, then you can sleep.” His keys dropped onto the front table, along with the paper bag from the pharmacy. If they gave her more of what she’d had at the hospital, she’d be asleep for days.
A welcomed deep sleep.
Samantha started to turn into her bedroom when Ryder’s hand wrapped around her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room,” she said, tugging back gently. He released her, probably not wanting to hurt her.
His brow wrinkled, and his lips pressed firmly together while he stared quietly at her. She couldn’t read his expression. Was he angry with her, or disappointed in her, or just wanting her to get out of his apartment already?
“I didn’t realize it was Randall when I opened the door,” she stated, calling out the big fat elephant in the room. Obviously, she should have checked the peephole, but she hadn’t. And she had plenty of pain to remind her what an idiot she’d been.
Ryder’s brows lifted. “You think I’m mad at you?” The words came out soft, heavy with regret. “I’m mad at myself. You should be pissed as hell at me. I didn’t—” He cleared his throat again. “I didn’t protect you, and I should have. I shouldn’t have left you here alone until Kendrick’s guys had come over to secure the place. I should have asked George to take you to the interview instead of letting you go alone.”
“That’s not—no, of course I’m not mad at you. This isn’t your fault.” She waved a hand over her ribs. “This was Randall. And Anderson. I wasn’t thinking when the bell rang. I was lost in—” No, she couldn’t talk about the apartment listings yet. Maybe when she was better. Maybe when she was half packed. Not now. Talking hurt; crying would be so much worse.
“What? What were you lost in thought about?” More concern laced his tone.
Why was he being so nice? So cautious? Didn’t he understand the more he tended to her, the worse it felt knowing he wanted her gone? He was done with her.
Wasn’t he?
She grimaced as she took too large of a breath, which had him shaking his head.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. It’s late and you need to rest.” He reached for her and cupped her elbow, leading her away from the guestroom and back to his bed. “My bed is bigger and softer. You’ll be more comfortable,” he said. “I can take the guestroom if you want.”
She swallowed. Did she want that?
“Let me help you with your shirt.” He worked the buttons of the blouse open and slid the material off her shoulders. She watched his face as he took in the bruises already forming on her chest. A solid wall of fierceness. “Your bra too, sweetheart.” He reached around her and unclasped her bra with one hand, easing it off her with the other. She winced and stepped back too fast, sending a sharp pain coursing through her chest.
“Shit.” She heaved a breath, which only made everything worse.
“Easy,” he said, working her pants off. “I’ll get your jammies.” He jogged from the room, leaving her to stare at the open door, waiting in only her panties.
Her jammies.
She gritted her teeth to keep her head from wandering down that road. In the morning. She could talk to him in the morning, when the meds wore off more, when the pain wasn’t so harsh…when she could figure out what the hell she was going to do now.
Ryder wouldn’t throw her out, especially not after what happened. He was a good guy, and good guys didn’t do things like that. He’d be kind, and patient, and all around wonderful because she was injured. And she’d be taking full advantage of him now that she knew what he really felt. What he actually wanted.
George had warned her he wasn’t the settling down sort of guy. And Ryder never promised her anything.
“Here we go.” He rushed back into the room carrying her lavender nightgown with a Care Bear print and her pharmacy bag. She closed her eyes at the rush of embarrassment overwhelming her.
“Easy now,” he slowly dressed her in the nightgown, careful not to move her arms too fast. Once she had her night shirt on, she climbed into bed beneath the thick quilt. “Does it hurt a lot?” he asked once she was snuggled into the pillows.
“Only when I move…or breathe,” she said, keeping her eyes fixated on his chin. White dust laced his beard. He’d come straight from work to see her at the hospital. He had to be tired.
He pulled the pill bottle from the bag, worked a pill out, and handed it to her. “This will help.” He grabbed the bottle of water and twisted the cap. “Down the hatch.” He smiled, but beneath the easy upturn of his lips was worry.
“Am I going to have to talk to the police again? I heard one of them say something about another statement?” She tossed the pill to the back of her throat and gulped down the water.
“I don’t think so.” He took the bottle back and put it on the nightstand. “They’ll call if they need something else.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the blankets up higher to her chin. “Does your jaw hurt?” He lightly touched the bruise with his fingertips.
“No, not really. But my ribs hurt so much, I think they’re drowning out anything else. I’ll be okay. I won’t—” She paused a beat. She needed to put out his concern. “I won’t be a bother for long, I promise. I should be able to move out in a week, maybe sooner.”
His brows snapped together in record speed. “What does that have to do with anything? You aren’t a bother.” He leaned closer to her, lining up his gaze with hers. “Do you hear me, little girl. You are not a bother, and where you live isn’t an urgent situation. You rest until you’re better.”
She swallowed back her argument. Her head was getting fuzzy, and he’d brought out his Daddy voice.
“We can talk later.” She yawned and wiggled further under the blanket.
He pinched his lips together with notable frustration.
“We will.” He nodded and got to his feet. “Sleep for now. I’ll stay in the guestroom—”
“No.” She reached for his hand. The need to feel his touch, the warmth of his grip, overwhelmed her for a brief moment. The moment her fingers touched his, the tears she’d been trying to hold back flooded.
“What is it, sweetheart? Your chest?” He gripped her hand tighter.
She shook her head. “You don’t have to stay in the guestroom, that’s all.” She released his hand.
He stood over her, staring down at her with confusion and hurt. “Okay, I’m going to go get cleaned up, then I’ll be in. You just rest.” The bed dipped when he leaned forward with his hands on the mattress. He planted a kiss to her forehead. The kiss lingered, as though he were trying to memorize the moment.
“Okay,” she whispered when he moved away again.
He stopped at the doorway, looking back at her with a loaded expression. Like he wanted to say everything and nothing at the same time.
In the end, he flipped off the light and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the bedroom.
Along with her thoughts.
One of the most dangerous places to be.
Chapter 30
Ryder placed the plate of pancakes slathered in nondairy butter and maple syrup on a tray next to a cup of tea, loaded with sugar. If this breakfast didn’t make her eat, he wasn’t sure what would.
Three days since Randall had attacked his little girl, and he still couldn’t get a handle on what was making her so sad. Picking up the tray from the counter, he decided he would make her talk. Being sweet and nice wasn’t working. The gap between them widened each time he checked on her, leaving the room less knowledgeable than when he’d entered it.
Samantha sat on the edge of the bed when he walked in, her feet dangling over the side.
“What are you doing?” he asked, placing the tray on the nightstand.
“I need to get up. I ca
n’t keep laying there like this,” she groused.
“Let me help you. Did you do the breathing treatment yet?” he asked, picking up the plastic tube the doctors had given her. “If you don’t—”
“I know, I know. I could cause an infection. I know.” She waved him off.
He pressed a hand to her shoulder to stop her from getting up. “So, is that a yes or a no?”
She raised her saucy glare to him, but he wasn’t backing down. He’d let her have her privacy and mope for the past three days, but no more.
“I did it.”
He dropped his hand and smiled. “Good girl. Do you want to take a shower or a bath?”
“Shower.” She pushed off the bed, a sour grimace crossing her face. His chest twisted seeing her in so much pain.
“Go slow, Sam,” he ordered when she started to march across the room.
“I’m fine.” She waved again and walked out of the room.
He let out a long breath. “Breakfast first,” he called after her.
“Not hungry,” she yelled back, and the bathroom door shut.
He glared down at the pancakes drowning in syrup. Enough was enough.
He made his way to the bathroom and flung the door open, only mildly surprised to find it unlocked. Samantha stood in the middle of the room, her nightgown pooled at her feet, inspecting herself in the mirror.
Dark, ugly bruises played across her ribs, matching the large mark on her jaw. His teeth snapped as he took her in. His heart pounded harder the longer he stared at her.
“Did you want something?” she asked with a generous heap of snark when she caught him staring.
He took a deep breath. “I’m going to help you,” he declared, shutting the door behind him.
“I can handle—”
“It’s not about what you can do, it’s about what I’m going to allow you to do. And I’m not allowing you to bathe yourself, little girl. That’s my job,” he snapped at her.
Her eyes widened a fraction, as though she hadn’t expected it and wasn’t quite sure how to react.
“Can you take off your panties, or do you need help?” he asked, brushing past her to the shower and turning the nob until warm water ran.
