“So now’s not a good time?”
I shake my head. “It is.”
Without another word, he gets out of the car and walks around to my side. His fingers find mine as he helps me out. They’re warm, steady, grounding.
We cross the street, and the gravel crunches beneath our feet like it’s announcing us. My stomach twists. This is happening.
“This is Ryder,” I say when we reach them. “My boyfriend.”
My mom arches a brow. “Oh. So you were serious about being done with Nate.”
“Good,” my dad says, without missing a beat. He extends a hand toward Ryder. “What do you do for a living?”
“I operate a family business,” Ryder says, his grip firm.
“Nice.”
My mom’s eyes linger on Ryder a beat longer than necessary. She’s not wearing the tight-lipped smile she used to force around Nate. No tension in her shoulders. No pointed silences. Her expression actually softens—and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’s blushing.
“We look forward to getting to know you better when we return,” she says.
“Likewise,” Ryder replies smoothly.
As they pull away from the curb, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Would you like to give me a tour?” he asks.
“That would be nice.”
We end up in my bedroom, the door quietly shutting behind us. The room still smells like lavender and dust.
Afternoon sun filters through the blinds, laying golden stripes across the faded bedspread. My comforter hasn’t changed since high school. Neither has the cork board above my desk—pinned photos curling at the corners, old earbuds tangled like a nest, key fobs that no longer work.
Ryder walks slowly, his fingers grazing the edges of things—touching the past like it’s fragile.
He stops at my desk and picks up the cracked casing from my destroyed pocket blade and pepper spray. “This looks familiar.”
“I know… I used to carry this everywhere, but I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
“It was a tracker.”
“What?” He arches his brow.
“Kylie gave it to me for so-called protection, but she was listening in and monitoring me sometimes.”
A soft smile crosses his lips, but he doesn’t let it stay.
“She didn’t tell you she worked for the FBI?”
“You knew?”
“Of course, but she’s only a junior-level agent and it shows. She might have gotten a promotion recently, though…”
“If her tracking led to anything that happened to you?—”
“Stop,” he says softly. “You have nothing to apologize for. Someone is always trying to bring me down. That’s the price of being at the top.”
