Frayed Rope (23 page)

I know there aren’t 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 it’s physically impossible to be in two places at once.”

I heave a sob since he’s first person other than Laura to state the same conclusion suggesting my attacker probably wasn’t alone. Strong arms wrap around my body as 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, I took a long shower to rid the dry tears from my face, while he went to make lunch.

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 we need someone to talk to.

No, sometimes we need the silence. The stillness and calm of not having to carry on a conversation you didn’t 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. Now he’s in the shower while the lasagna bakes in the oven and I take 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’ve met him. It 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 comes crumbling to the ground.

That’s the thing about loss, isn’t it? 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’re still living, about all the glorious things we’ll do to embrace life and pretend that even though we’ve lost, we’re going to hold on to life’s horns and ride that bitch into the sunset with a smile on our face, thankful 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 me. 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’d need mental help.

The kicker is I would never intentionally kill myself; I just went through a point in my life where I didn’t 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 that as long as I die, and not some innocent person with something left to live for, at 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 or the people in my life?

Would I be able to feel comfortable living, knowing it wasn’t 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 only a close-knit family can. I lost my family, therefore I lost part of my life, and part of my purpose.

What is my purpose now?

What I had was wonderful. My family was 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 last 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 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’m willing to put out there.

I just finish topping up my wine glass when Ryder strolls to the fridge in the kitchen. He grabs a beer and slowly makes his way to the couch. His hair is extremely dark, due to the fact that it’s still wet, and he’s wearing a dark t-shirt and loose worn out jeans.

Barefoot.

When he reaches me he bends down and plants a kiss on my forehead before settling on the couch with about a foot between us. He turns toward me and puts his arm across the back of the couch and takes a long swig of his beer. I lean back into the armrest with my feet tucked under me half facing him. I know this is the time to talk; I just don't want to be the one to break the ice.

I study his handsome face for a while as he studies me from top to toe. Being home warrants the usual attire, I didn't change because he’s here; loose drawstring pants, tank, and light cardigan with my hair in a messy knot on top of my head.

Ryder’s whiskey voice calmly breaks the silence.

“Gave you space today beautiful. I know that’s a lot of shit for you to go over in your head since from what I understand, you’ve been alone for a while and haven’t talked about it. But I’d appreciate it if you could give me a little more.”

He reaches down and gives my thigh a reassuring squeeze before continuing.

“If you can’t right now, I’ll understand. But it’s like ripping off a band aid, babe. Today, tomorrow, eventually it’s going to come to us sitting in this place about to go over what we should be going over. I’m saying it’s better now to get it over with, not just for me, for you Elle. It’s time to get this shit out there and over with, and I need your help to do that.”

Those eyes don't leave my face and I know I have his undivided attention. Once again, remaining eye contact, something I have always respected. It says something about a person when they keep their eyes locked on yours. They’re confident, they have nothing to hide and they’re actually interested in what you have to say.

There are also the cases where it’s an intimidation tactic, but this isn’t one of those cases. This is him, respecting me, and genuinely interested in not just what may come out of my mouth, but me as a person. Or at least I hope. Time to rectify that.

“Do you need my help, or do you
want
to help, Ryder? Because I need to know that you’re here because you want to be, not because this is a job to you. You’re curious by nature, top that with what you do for a living I can’t help but wonder if you’re still here simply because I’m another puzzle for you to solve.

“I’m not asking you to feel the emotions I do, or be as emotionally invested as I am. But clearly this is personal for me and the last person I shared my shit with that had no emotional or personal connection to me royally fucked my case. Hence why I’m not only living in a different town, but a different Country.”

He’s about to speak but I put my hand up to stop him before he gets the chance. 

“I don’t take this lightly Ryder, and I will not share what was once my life with someone, if they simply view it as a job. It’s not a job.
I
am not a job. This
about
my
family, and this is
my
life.”

I’m proud I didn't raise my voice throughout my rant, remaining relatively calm. If this conversation happened a few months ago it would not have.

As much as I want to push him away sometimes, I know he’s incredibly intelligent and level-headed and that it’s best I stay the same to get through this. It also helps that I’ve been pouring over all the details since I’ve been in Indy, so this isn’t too big of a blow to the head.

Ryder sets his beer on the table and returns to grab my hand that isn’t currently keeping a death grip on my wine. His eyes aren’t exactly hard, but determined. This is one thing dare I say I love about him. His eyes are so expressive when he’s with me, or maybe they just connect with mine in a way that we
see
each other.

His warm hand envelops mine, firm but not too hard. He brings it to his lap and turns further to face me directly before he responds.

“Not one day Elle, not one where I was driving across the country trying to find you, did I ever once consider that this was a job. I didn’t set out knowing there’s wrong in someone's life and knowing it’s my civic duty to right it.

“I set out knowing that the woman I enjoyed spending time with, the one I miss seeing on her porch in the morning, was no longer there for me to see drinking coffee.”

He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from my face. His fingers trail down the side of my cheek before continuing, leaving his hands connected to me and his eyes glued to mine.

“I went through more than one tank of fuel in a day driving up and down the streets of this town, knowing that regardless of the lack of sleep I had and the shit places I slept in, that if I got to see you alive and well, it would be worth it. I pushed off jobs, Elle; I got one of my men to take over the daily work shit so I could devote one hundred percent of my time to making sure you were okay.”

He leans in so his face is just inches from mine and curls his hand around the back of my neck. I can feel the warmth of his body in close proximity to mine and the energy that connects us. It’s euphoric, the emotions and feelings this man brings out in me I’ve never felt before.

We’ve all felt love, we’ve all felt lust. Put those two and every other emotion together and you get this incredibly deep connection that could never be described, only felt from top to toe and deep into your bones.

It’s everything.

“I will never, not once Elle, consider you a job. You’re the first woman who’s ever called me on my shit. You’re also the first woman who’s ever refused my help with something like cleaning gutters and a water line blowing when most women would run the other fuckin’ way.

“I told you once you were different Elle, and I meant that in a good way. You’re my kind of different, beautiful, and you didn’t have a hope in hell if you thought you could run without ever letting me see you again. I didn’t lie when I said I want to see where this goes, and babe, this is me seeing where this will go. The only difference now is I’m that much more invested because of the puzzle that’s become your life.

“I won’t lie babe, it’s shit, and I hate that that happened to you and I wasn’t there to help you through it. But I’m here now beautiful, and if you’ll have me I’m not going anywhere. Before, or after we figure this shit out. You’re not my job Elle, your becoming my life.”