by Mari Carr
Ryder leaned his head back against the recliner, his gaze traveling toward the ceiling as he chuckled miserably. “Fucking remembered it this year.”
Darcy bit her lower lip, uncertain how to respond. She’d never heard Ryder curse. So between him dropping the F bomb and getting bombed, she was floundering a bit.
“I’m sorry,” she said, simply because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Always forgot it,” he said to the ceiling. “Every fucking year. Woke up this morning and it was the first thing I thought of. She would have been twenty-nine.”
Darcy swallowed heavily as a wave of sadness washed through her. She couldn’t imagine dying so young, and as she considered the boys sleeping soundly down the hall, she felt incredible sorrow for the entire family. For the boys growing up without a mother, the husband without a wife, and for Denise as well. She was going to miss so much of her children’s lives—from birthdays, to Christmases, to graduations, and weddings. It just wasn’t fair.
“Ryder—” she started, but he was still muttering, and she was sure he hadn’t even heard her speak.
“Every year. Same fight.”
She considered his inebriated state and hoped he’d at least spent the evening drowning his sorrows with a friend. No one this sad should be alone.
“Where did you go tonight?” she asked, trying to distract him from the undeniable guilt he was suffering.
“Bar near work.”
“Anyone go with you?”
He shook his head, though that was probably not an accurate description. It was more like he flopped it to the left just once before resuming his intense study of the ceiling. “No one…there’s no one…” The rest of his sentence was incoherent as he closed his eyes again, breathing deeply.
She considered nudging him, trying to help him move from the recliner to his bed, but she decided against it.
Instead, she stood up and walked over to him. He was still fully dressed in one of his tailored work suits. He’d loosened the tie a bit, but she was certain he wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping like that, and she was a bit worried about leaving him in his current state.
Darcy glanced toward the front door again and debated going home. If she weren’t here, Ryder would have already passed out, which was pretty much inevitable and probably the best thing for him.
Then she decided against it. Bending toward him, she slowly, carefully untied the knot of his tie, then pulled it from the collar of his shirt.
Ryder grumbled a bit but didn’t stir.
Then she reached for the top button of his shirt. She’d just slipped it free when she realized his eyes were open…and he was looking right at her.
“I thought you’d be more comfortable if I loosened your collar,” she whispered.
“Don’t stop,” he said.
Darcy blinked a couple times, then did as he’d asked—actually, commanded was a better word. She’d never noticed how deep and sexy his voice was. Tonight, it had an almost gruff quality to it that was taking her mind to some pretty naughty places.
She unbuttoned his shirt as far as she could, then tugged the hem free of his pants so she could take care of the bottom two. Her fingers accidentally grazed his bare stomach.
She heard him suck in a deep breath.
“I…miss…fuck. I can’t…” He turned his head away, and Darcy got the sense he’d gone somewhere else, that he was with someone else.
“You miss Denise?” she whispered.
His gaze flew back to hers, his eyes narrowed in a scowl. “No. Yes. I just…can’t…” He rubbed his forehead wearily. “Jesus,” he muttered when his eyes briefly managed to focus on her. “Darcy?”
Darcy cursed herself, afraid she’d overstepped a line. She and Ryder weren’t close. Hell, they were barely more than strangers.
“I’m sorry. I should probably go,” she said softly.
“No. I’m sorry. I…” He squinted hard, as if his head was already starting to hurt. “I don’t usually drink. Too much Scotch.”
“It’s okay. I live above a pub. I’ve seen my uncles and cousins taken down by Jameson more times than I can count.”
The tips of his mouth actually curved upwards, something Darcy took as a win. Ryder wasn’t an unpleasant man at all, but he never smiled, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him laugh.
The second that thought crossed her mind, she realized she wanted to find a way to bring laughter back to him, to this house.
Clint and Vince had spent the last year talking about how much fun Ryder was, about the games they’d played, the funny voices he used to do when reading stories, how he used to make up silly songs to get them to eat or take a bath. It wasn’t until a few months ago that Darcy realized all those stories were about the time before Denise had died. Since then, in addition to rubbing Clint’s upset stomach, she’d taken to making up her own songs and doing her own crazy voices to entertain the boys during story time, though apparently, she was going to have to work on her British accent.
Her heart ached for all of them, and Darcy longed to meet the guy Ryder used to be.
Ryder shifted on the recliner and his shirt parted, revealing more of his bare chest. She fought hard to keep her eyes on his face, rather than let her gaze drift lower. Though she’d seen enough when she was unbuttoning his shirt to wish she had the courage to sneak another peek. Ryder was ripped, like six-pack-heaven ripped. He’d mentioned once that there was a gym in the building where he worked that was available to everyone at his company.
Obviously, Ryder took advantage of that. Frequently.
Ryder distracted her when he attempted to unfasten his belt. His fingers fumbled over the clasp several times before she finally pushed his hands away and took over. She unhooked it and then—like she did with his tie—pulled it free.
Darcy started to set the belt on the coffee table, but he grasped her wrist and took it from her.
“Used to…” he muttered, drifting away from her again as he wrapped the leather around one palm.
“Used to?” she asked, confused until her eyes locked on the way he’d distractedly begun to flip the tail end of the belt against his thigh.
Suddenly, a wide array of erotic uses for the belt sprung to mind, and Darcy began to feel hot. Flushed.
Jesus. Aroused.
Between his bare chest, his sexy, deep voice, and the way he was holding that belt, Darcy was letting her imagination travel to places where it had no business going.
“Um. I should—”
Before she could say “go,” Ryder spoke again, the words still slurred and halting.
“Everything’s…gone.” Darcy was unable to follow anything he was saying, too many of the words mumbled sounds without meaning. “I’m—mumble—wish I could—mumble—she—mumble—now I can’t…” Almost all the words he spoke were indecipherable.
Darcy studied his face, quiet in case he tried to finish what he was saying—his mind clearly bombarded by too many things he couldn’t deal with—but his eyes were closed again. She couldn’t begin to follow his line of thought, mainly because he was losing his battle to remain awake and his slurring was worse.
Her heart cracked as she thought about the pure desolation in his tone. Though an entire year had passed, it was obvious Ryder was still every bit as devastated over losing Denise as he had been the day she’d died.
She longed to find a way to tell him he still had so much to live for. So many wonderful things. This home, the boys, a good job, Leo.
Not tonight, of course. He was too far gone—from the alcohol, the guilt, and the grief.
Darcy had come to love this family very much over the past year. Clint and Vince were sweet, creative, funny kids, while Ryder and Leo were kind, attentive, loving dads. Despite all of that, there was definitely a hole in this home, left behind when Denise died.
She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you.”
His eyes
didn’t open this time, so she went for broke. She untied and pulled off his shoes, then she grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the couch and covered him up.
Ryder slept through it all, breathing deeply, easily.
The alcohol had finally won, finally taken him down.
She took one last look at him before turning off the lights in the family room and quietly walking to the front door.
Just before she left, she glanced back toward where Ryder slept…and her heart gave a funny pang. Darcy had dated a lot of guys the past few years, but she’d never been in a serious relationship. Her sister, Sunnie, teased her, calling her a hopeless romantic, just like Pop Pop. Darcy insisted there wasn’t anything wrong with holding out for the right guy, and she’d always been certain that just like Pop Pop, she’d know the minute she met him.
That was when Darcy felt it.
The twittery stomach.
The racing heart.
The sweaty palms.
“Oh no,” she whispered to the silent house.
Chapter Two
Three years later…
“What are you still doing here?”
Darcy looked up from her computer, slightly bleary-eyed. She’d been staring at the screen for way too many hours.
She blinked a few times before she was able to clearly see Ryder standing next to her desk.
Wow. She must have been in the zone if she hadn’t seen him approaching. Typically, her Ryder radar was much stronger, detecting the man from a million paces away.
She took a deep breath and reached for what she called her Ryder tone—casual, nonchalant, fake as fuck. She’d had three years to perfect it, so as always, she nailed it. “Finishing up a design for Helen. She needs it for Monday’s meeting.”
“Darcy. It’s after nine o’clock. You were here before me this morning. No one expects you to work these long hours.”
She grinned, secretly pleased he’d noticed. It meant he’d noticed her.
Ryder had a reputation—well-earned—as a workaholic. There were very few days he wasn’t the first to arrive and the last to leave the office. Of course, as Vice President of Stadium Operations for the M&T Bank Stadium, Ryder’s list of job duties was endless.
She’d just recently been hired as a graphic artist in the marketing department, thanks to Ryder putting in a good word for her with the manager. She was grateful to him for going to bat for her and determined to prove she could handle her first real—benefits and a 401K—job.
Especially since it meant she got to work on the same floor of the same building with him, every single day, instead of just seeing him on the all-too-rare occasions lately when she babysat.
She had known Ryder Hagen for three years, eleven months, and twenty-seven days. And she’d been absolutely obsessed with him for too much of that.
Not that the man had a clue about her crush.
God, she hated that word.
Today marked the end of her second month on the job and, while she loved what she did, she was still struggling to acclimate to the heavy workload. Helen, her department manager, assured her things would ease up a bit once football season was over, but there were still several months to go until February.
“I’m almost finished,” she said.
Ryder stepped closer, bending over to look at the screen, and she sucked in a deep breath, catching the faint smell of his musky, woodsy cologne. “That looks fine,” he said. “What’s left to do?”
“Fine?” she asked, disappointed, leaning back in the chair and suddenly thinking her design must suck worse than she’d thought. Darcy was her own worst critic, typically stressing over everything from shading to fonts to filters.
Ryder breathed out a long sigh. “Good? Great? Fill in a word, Darcy, then save that and shut down the computer. It’s late.”
“Wow. High praise,” she muttered. “Don’t overwhelm me.”
“Darcy,” Ryder said in a tone he seemed to have reserved just for her. The only way she could describe it was reluctant amusement.
When she’d first started working here, she realized no one in the office spoke to Ryder like he was a real person—no jokes, no teasing, no easy banter, or camaraderie.
Instead, the other employees were all business around him. It wasn’t that Ryder was an unreasonable or unkind boss. He didn’t yell or scream. In fact, he was very fair and straightforward, but he didn’t grab a sandwich with other people in the office or join in on the occasional happy hour or even gab by the coffeepot for a few minutes each morning.
Instead, Ryder put out “keep your distance” vibes. Though Darcy wasn’t sure he was aware he was even doing it. It was actually those vibes that called to her because she felt like there was something behind them—sad or wounded. And there was something in Darcy’s genetic makeup that couldn’t stand to see him always alone at work, because she didn’t get a sense that was what he truly wanted.
“I just need another minute or two to—”
“Don’t you have a party or something tonight?”
“Shit.” Darcy bounced out of her chair so fast, she nearly coldcocked Ryder with the top of her head. Luckily, he moved away fast, or she would have given him a black eye.
“Oh, Ryder. I’m so sorry. Um. What time did you say it was?”
“Nine,” he repeated.
“Oh my God. Sunnie is going to kill me. I’ve got the vodka for the punch.” Darcy pulled a liquor store bag from her bottom desk drawer.
“You have liquor in your desk?”
She laughed. “I ran out and grabbed it on my lunch break. And it’s not like it’s in a flask.” Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she joked, “Just to be clear, a flask in my desk would be frowned upon, right?”
“It would,” he deadpanned.
He didn’t laugh, but Darcy was used to that and didn’t take it to heart. Hell, she took it as a challenge and had for years. On the rare occasions she’d managed to make him chuckle, she honestly felt like she’d won the Olympic gold.
She quickly saved her work and shut down her computer. Then she noticed Ryder had his briefcase.
“You done for the day too?” she asked.
He nodded. “I was just leaving when I saw the light on in here. I’ll walk you to your car. It’s late.”
That sealed it. She was working this late every night for the rest of her life. She smiled, hoping she was managing to project an air of coolness. “Let me guess. You aren’t coming to the Halloween party.”
Ryder shook his head. “No. I’m not. Long week. I’m tired. Though I appreciate the invitation.” His tone didn’t suggest he appreciated it at all. Instead, she got the sense he wished she and Yvonne would stop inviting him to stuff so he wouldn’t have to keep coming up with excuses.
And while she wasn’t surprised he wasn’t attending, she was disappointed.
Ryder still shared a house with Leo, and now Yvonne. Leo and Ryder had put an addition on their home to accommodate them all so Vince and Clint, thirteen and eleven, were still together in the same home. Yvonne had just had a baby girl, Reba, a couple of months earlier, so the unconventional yet wonderful family continued to grow.
“You know, you could try to surprise us every once in a while. Rather than being so predictable.”
“I prefer consistency.”
Yvonne and Darcy had invited Ryder to countless Collins parties over the years, but he always turned them down, claiming he had too much work to do either here at the office or at the house. From what Darcy could see, the man worked twenty-four-seven, his cell phone constantly in his hand. She suspected he probably slept with the damn thing under his pillow at night. And when he wasn’t working, he was with the boys.
Ryder had zero social life, a concept that seemed downright foreign to Darcy, who lived for her family’s crazy, fun parties.
Tonight was their annual Halloween party, and it kicked off what Darcy referred to as “the social season.” The holidays were her absolute favorite time
of the year, and the Collins clan did it right. This year, like every year, they were hosting get-togethers for Halloween, Friendsgiving, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve, either in the family’s pub or above it in the Collins Dorm, the apartment Darcy shared with her cousins, Colm and Oliver, as well as Oliver’s foster brother, Gavin.
To make the season even crazier, they’d added an extra party, a Boob Voyage party for Darcy’s godmother, Bubbles, who was having breast reduction surgery in December.
It was going to be two months of madness starting tonight, and Darcy couldn’t wait. She put her coat on, and then grabbed her purse and the vodka.
Ryder waited patiently, looking as hot as ever in his tailor-made black suit and pressed, crisp white dress shirt. Today, he’d at least attempted something whimsical and completely out of character by wearing a black tie with tiny orange jack-o-lanterns on it. In the boring world Ryder chose to exist in, the tie was downright madness, and she loved it.
Darcy silently chastised herself for her never-ending fascination with the man. She was two of the world’s worst clichés. The woman who had a crush on her too-hot-for-words boss, as well as the babysitter with a crush on the dad.
Jesus.
Darcy wished she could kick her feelings, but they clearly weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. So here she was. The twenty-four-year-old virgin with—fuck—a crush on her older boss.
Sadly, Ryder didn’t see her as anything more than said employee/babysitter.
To him, she was stuck solely in some sort of limbo land where she was more than an acquaintance, but not quite a friend; someone special not because of his feelings toward her, but because of his sons’ feelings for her, and a bit more than just an employee because of a longer, more personal association.
Basically, she was a whole lot of nothing.
About the best thing she could say was that he didn’t seem to view her as a kid-sister type, because that would have driven her insane. She already had a big brother and too many overprotective male cousins. She didn’t need one more of those.
