I stare at the number on my caller ID. I don’t recognize it, but with a Long Island area code, it’s likely one of my former patients. A patient I don’t have patience for right now.
I’ve been in Charlotte for two weeks, trying to figure out my next move after Ryder chucked me from his life. It might seem pathetic, but I won’t leave him.
How can I? Despite his terrible treatment of me, I love him and I know he’s hurting. I know he’s terrified. I also know if he’ll take down the wall of anger for one damn minute, he’ll realize I only want to help him.
Ryder is currently at rehabilitation, learning to live unsighted in a sighted world. He’s banned me from having any access to him, but I left my name and address with the nursing staff, in case he changes his mind.
I’m not even sure what I’ve done, save for withholding information about the pit crew until we had all the information. I didn’t do it out of any malicious intent. I just wanted to protect him. Everyone in the world wants a piece of Ryder Gray, and all I want to do is shield him from the onslaught.
I thought that’s what I was doing.
I thought wrong.
Meanwhile, I’m the one who should be livid. He’s the one carousing with his ex, not me. Yet, somehow, I’m the bad guy.
Perhaps I should take the hint and leave. Call it a day. But I’m nothing if not stubborn, so here I sit, waiting in a cheap motel room for a phone call that isn’t coming. Waiting for a man to love me who told me, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t.
Perhaps I’m more stupid than stubborn.
A knock sounds at the motel door, and I swing it open with a sigh, expecting to see housekeeping with clean linen. Instead, Lorna, Ryder’s mother, stands on the stoop, a bag of food in her hand and a rueful expression on her lips. “May I come in?”
Wonderful. Now I’m going to hear it from her, as well. Waving her into the room, I direct her to the sad excuse for a dining area. Then I sit, feeling a bit like a prisoner awaiting her fate.
“You look like you could use this,” she murmurs, sliding the cup of coffee across the table. “What happened, Greer? Why aren’t you with Ryder? Why are you here in this, forgive me for putting it this way, seedy motel when Ryder’s house sits empty? Well, I’m there, but there’s more than enough room. The place is gigantic.”
“Trust me, he wouldn’t want me there. How is he?”
“Ryder is many things right now—belligerent and angry among them. The rehab nurses assure me this is normal behavior.”
My heart clenches at the thought of his fear about this unknown, and unwelcome, new world. “It is normal. He’s scared about his recovery and what life looks like for him now. The anger will subside, not at me, but toward the world in general.”
“That’s why I’m here, to get to the bottom of this mess and get you two patched up.”
“Trust me, that won’t happen,” I groan, planting my head on the table. “I’m sorry he involved you in our mess. My mess, I suppose. I know what I did was wrong, but I did it to protect him. That’s all I want to do, Mrs. Gray.”
“Call me Mom. What exactly did you do?”
“Colton discovered some of the pit crew was inebriated during the race, and he told me while Ryder was still in ICU. He wanted to tell Ryder then, but I asked him to wait until he was stable and knew for certain what happened. Why upset him without all the facts, right? So very, very wrong. He thinks I’m trying to protect Greg, which is not true. If Greg was involved, then he needs to be punished.”
“He’s calmed down about that, especially after his doctor agreed with your take on the situation. That’s not why he’s angry, though.”
Wiping my eyes, I take another swig of my coffee. “There’s another reason? Wonderful.”
“Call it a mother’s intuition, but I think he fears the only reason you planned to stay by his side is because you feel sorry for him.”
Sputtering my drink, I grab a napkin to mop up the mess. “What in the world? I do feel sorry for him, but that has nothing to do with why I wanted to stay. I adore that man, with every breath in my body. But it doesn’t matter. Ryder won’t speak to me or see me. He’s banned me from the rehab.”
“So he informed me. He’s being petulant, but that’s because he’s so desperately hurt by the idea that what you had wasn’t real.”
For the first time during the conversation, my anger flares. I’m tired of taking it on the chin for Ryder. He’s hardly innocent. “Trust me, it wasn’t. I caught him and Mandi together. Twice.”
Lorna’s brow furrows. “When was this?”
“The night before the accident, I flew in to surprise him. When I got to the hotel, I saw them together. They were holding hands and talking. Then in the hospital, I walked in on them kissing.” The tears stream down my cheeks, no matter how often I wipe them away.
Lorna leans back, a sigh escaping her lips. “I’m certain there’s more to that story, but I agree it looks bad. I know Ryder adores you. Mandi never came close and once he had a chance with you, that was it for him.”
“Doesn’t look that way from my end.”
“Did you confront him about what you saw?”
Sighing, I down another sip. “I planned on it, but I needed a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I was so out of sorts after walking in and seeing her lean over him, their lips pressed together. So, I decided to get us dinner and give me a chance to calm down and try to rationalize everything. I’m a really rational person. Then I got back, and he chucked his sandwich at me and told me to get out of his life. The worst part? Even after everything I saw, I never planned on leaving. At least not until she got her scrawny ass back here to take care of her man. I promised him I wouldn’t leave. I keep my promises.”
“He’s not her man. He’s always been yours, Greer.”
“But he’s not. Don’t you see? He kicked me out of his life. Somehow, I became the bad guy and I’m supposed to know why. So trust me when I say he doesn’t love me. Not now, not ever.”
I adore Ryder’s mom, but I need her to go. An emotional breakdown is imminent, and every passing second leads me one step closer to the meltdown.
“Something happened last night, which solidifies his true feelings. In my opinion, at least. I was at his bedside, and he awoke from a nightmare. He has so many of them now.”
“Nightmares are common after a traumatic injury, particularly one involving the eyes.”
“So the nurses said, but that’s not my point. He called out for you, Greer. Kept calling out for Gigi, and it took everything in me to calm him down. Once he was fully awake, he still asked for you. I had to remind him he told you to leave. The look on his face, the realization that you were gone, it broke my heart.” Lorna reaches across the table, grasping my hands. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Anything.” I mean it, too. I’ll help this woman in any way possible, especially if it will be of benefit to Ryder.
She grabs a pen and paper, jotting down an address. “Meet me here tomorrow afternoon.”
“Where is this?”
“Ryder’s house. He’s coming home tomorrow.”
Sliding the paper back across the table, I shake my head. “That’s a bad idea. He hates me.”
“He loves you and he needs you now, more than ever. Greer Hammond, I mean Greer Gray, you’ve always been fearless. Don’t quit on me now.”
Perhaps I’m looking for a reason to be near him, but something in Lorna’s eyes forces me to believe in myself again. Believe in my ability to help Ryder, even if he’s too embarrassed to ask. “I’ll stop by to help get him settled.”
“Settled? No dear, you’re moving into your new home.”
I launch away from the table as if it’s on fire. That is not part of the plan. “He definitely won’t go for that idea.”
“He needs a nurse. I’m hiring you. That way, you two can work through this nonsense and get busy giving me a grandchild.”
“Great. Another job,” I mutter under my breath.
She skews her mouth, staring at me. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Nothing.” No point in getting into it with his mother. No doubt she’ll have both our heads for acting on such a ridiculous proposition. “Just the second time I’ve been offered a…unique assignment.”
“Well, it’s my way of interfering in my son’s life and ensuring he’s reunited with the woman he loves. A woman who, judging by the tears she’s crying, loves him just as much. Besides, I’m his mother. He can’t disown me.”
“What about Mandi?”
Lorna smirks, shaking her head. “Trust me, he doesn’t want Mandi. Her name has never come up. Unlike yours.” She grasps my hands, and I feel the energy coursing beneath her skin. The determination to repair what Ryder and I have driven asunder. “My son swore off marriage, and believe me, I bugged him enough about the idea. He told me he would only get married for true love. True, unquenchable love were his exact words. He married you. He doesn’t want Mandi.”
God, I want to believe her.
With a sigh, I weigh my options. I can continue to sulk here or I can risk Ryder’s wrath. At least with the latter option, I’ll be of some use. If he doesn’t kill me first. “I’m still not convinced. I’ve never seen Ryder so angry before. But, if it will help him, how can I say no?”
“So, you’re in?”
Lorna opens her arms to me, and I don’t waste a second falling into her embrace. She’s right. I’m no quitter, especially when someone I love needs me. And Ryder, even if he’d rather spit nails than admit it, needs me more than ever. “I’m in, but I’m warning you. He’s going to be furious with us both now.”
“I’ll handle my son. See you tomorrow.”
Lorna called last night to verify the plan was still in place. She mentioned how Ryder had spoken about me again during dinner and our recent trip to Barbados. In particular, a beach we loved frolicking on during our stay.
Thankfully, she couldn’t see the flush crawling up my cheeks, because we did a hell of a lot more than frolic on that beach.
Now, I’m a bundle of nerves as the limousine pulls up Ryder’s driveway. I arrived early at his palatial home, but it took me fifteen minutes to will up the courage to enter the gate code and drive onto the premises.
To say I’m a bit out of my element is an understatement. The sprawling Mediterranean mansion more closely resembles a resort than a home, complete with manicured gardens, walking paths and a lagoon-style pool just visible from the front entrance.
I beat the limousine driver to the rear door, pulling it open and steeling myself for the inevitable argument with my husband. As soon as Lorna helps Ryder from the car, I place my hand on his forearm in an effort to lessen the shock. “Hi, Ryder.”
So much for that idea. His nose scrunches before a grimace crosses his handsome face. “What are you doing here, Greer?”
“She’s here to help,” Lorna replies, shooting me a grin brimming with confidence I don’t feel. “I have to fly home, so she’s resuming her role as your wife.”
“I don’t need her,” he mutters, those brilliant blue orbs aimed toward the ground.
Taking a step back, I throw up my hands with a helpless shrug. See? I knew he didn’t want me here. Absence has definitely not made his heart grow any fonder—at least not where I’m concerned.
“Don’t let him get to you. His bark is worse than his bite. He’s being difficult, but he knows he needs your help.” Lorna maintains a low tone, aimed for me, but her son and his acute hearing catch every word.
“You can leave too, Mom.”
“I plan on it. In less than an hour, in fact.”
We can stand on the driveway all day, arguing over nonsense, or we can focus on getting the man settled into his home. Suddenly, determination overtakes uncertainty. His mother is right. Ryder is terrified. Angry that his world has been stripped from him with no guarantee of what that means for his future.
From his point of view, he no longer has a future.
It’s my job to prove that he does.
Ryder jerks away from his mother’s steadying hand but doesn’t make it three steps before tripping over the edge of the stair.
In a flash, I catch him, pulling his arm around my shoulder and setting him back to rights. But instead of appreciation, he glowers at me. “I can do it, Greer.”
“I know you can. Just think of me as a backup.” Giving his hand a squeeze, I will a smile from him, but it’s not happening. “I know you’re angry, but could you let me explain before you hurl yourself onto the steps?” Part of me wonders if he’ll recall his sarcastic comment to me that New Year’s Eve, as he grabbed me from tumbling to my death on a Manhattan sidewalk.
The realization flashes across his face, complete with the hint of a smile, before the scowl takes over once again, and he grunts out a reply. At least he isn’t fighting me as I direct him inside, settling him on the couch.
Glancing around, the unease sinks in. I’m way out of my element. This is by far the most expensive home I’ve ever been in, every inch screaming luxury, from the frescoed ceilings to the high-end leather couches.
I’d be ill at ease on a good day as a welcome guest. That Ryder doesn’t want me anywhere near him only ups the ante on the discomfort.
Lorna pulls me into the kitchen, handing over Ryder’s medications and therapy schedule. “They’re coming tomorrow at ten. He likely won’t cooperate, but they said this isn’t their first rodeo with difficult patients.”
“I promise I’ll take care of him, even though he doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t want me,” I manage, those damn tears backing up again.
Grasping my chin, she forces me to meet her gaze. “Love him with that fierce love I know you feel. Take care of my son. No one can do it like you.”
With a final goodbye, she walks out the door, suitcases in tow.
The woman just deserted me with a man who can’t stand me. Let the good times roll.
Then again, maybe she’s right. Maybe all Ryder needs is some time to calm down.
“You can leave, too,” Ryder mutters from the couch.
Maybe not.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Why are you still in Charlotte? I told you to leave over a week ago.”
“And I told you over a week ago that I wasn’t leaving. It’s not happening, Ryder. You’re not the boss of me.” I cross my arms over my chest and although he can’t see the gesture, I know he can feel the energy. I’m an immovable mountain. “Are you hungry?”
Ryder stands, his hands stretched out in front of him, desperately searching for anything familiar. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Does it matter? Not like I have a life anymore.” He steps forward, knocking his shin against the coffee table, a hissed curse flying from his mouth.
With a resigned huff, I realize I have two options: continue fighting him or let him win this round and focus on the long game. Moving to his side, I grab his arm, feeling him tense against my touch. “Come on. I’ll help you to bed.”
It’s been a week. In that week, Ryder hasn’t said more than ten words to me, with the exception of a variety of grunts and growls.
He also hasn’t left the bedroom, nor has he showered. His beard and hair are grown out and unkempt and his clothing can stand up on its own.
The only saving grace is that he’s learned to navigate his master suite, so at least he isn’t shitting in a box by the bed.
I’ve stayed out of his way, at his behest, only daring to check on him when I’m delivering his food tray or the stray moments when exhaustion overtakes him, and he sleeps. Then, I slip to his side, quiet as a mouse, the helplessness squeezing my heart as I gaze upon him, desperate to be of value but feeling more useless with each passing day.
He’s refused every therapy visit, but they promise they’ll continue to drop by in the hopes he changes his mind. Hell, at this point they’re bringing me coffee and words of encouragement.
God knows I need both.
I know Ryder is hurting. He’s scared. He’s also built a wall a mile thick around himself, blocking out everyone, including the people who love him. Especially the people who love him.
But I soldier on, though I’m not sure if it’s stubbornness or stupidity at this point.
In the evenings, I sit by Ryder’s pool, though I don’t dare swim. I know I’m not welcome, and the last thing I need is him hearing me having any semblance of fun. That’s why the television has remained off, as well. I fill my downtime researching everything I can find about his condition or cleaning his house from top to bottom.
Hell, even his housekeeper commented on how the place sparkled during her last visit.
Jillian gives me updates every few days on Greg’s progress through rehab. Ryder’s accident threw my brother for a loop, along with his childhood friend cutting him from his life. Apparently, Ryder now detests the entire Hammond clan.
Colton has also stopped by a couple of times, although Ryder refuses his visits, as well. But he’s offered me support, which I desperately need. I’ve worn down over the last week. I’m exhausted and sick to my stomach most days, no doubt because of the enormous stress.
That’s also likely why my period is late.
Stress.
In one of my two jaunts out of the house, I grabbed a test on impulse. Now, if I could only find the guts to use it.
After staring at the box for the better part of an hour, I snatch up the test and rush to the bathroom. I’m still on the toilet when a resounding crash sounds upstairs, and I chuck down the test, taking the stairs two at a time to Ryder’s room.
Bounding inside, I note the glass of water I set on the bedside table is now in a million pieces on the other side of the room.
Wonderful.
“What in the world happened?” I ask the question aloud, although I don’t expect an answer, since Ryder hasn’t spoken directly to me in the last several days.
“I’ll tell you what happened. Colton and the team are headed for Europe. Continuing the circuit without me. My life is over.”
Willing my breath and mind to settle, I attempt to think of something—anything—that won’t further agitate him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, Greer? Using me? Lying to me? Being here? So many choices, aren’t there?”
So much for not agitating him. With a huff, I walk over to the pile of shattered glass. Best to focus on my task and stay out of his way. Glancing over my shoulder, I see his sightless gaze locked in my direction; the anger wafting off him.
My finger rips across a shard, and I drop it with a yelp. “Ouch. Shit.”
“What happened?”
“I cut myself,” I mumble as I assess the damage. Thankfully, it won’t need stitches, but the sucker sure is bleeding. “Don’t move from the bed, please. There’s still broken glass but I need to bandage my finger.”
“Gigi?” For the first time since he kicked me out of his life, he uses my nickname, and his voice is softer, lacking the harsh edge.
“Yes?”
“I wasn’t thinking when I threw the glass. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Nothing a bandage won’t fix. I’ll be back in a minute.”
A small smile crosses my face as I descend the stairs and head for the first aid kit tucked into the main floor bathroom. It’s hardly a declaration of romance, but I’ll take it.
Then my gaze falls on the pregnancy test, tossed aside in my haste, and my breath catches, the cut on my finger long forgotten.
Grabbing up the test, I stare at the results in disbelief.
I’m not stressed.
I’m pregnant.
