Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Do I want us to keep going?
Is there even a point?
Because I can’t be in a relationship with someone who shuts down. Someone who doesn’t let me in.
Except then I think about how rewarding it is to get a smile out of him. How my heart flips when he laughs. The way that he listens to me and shows me no judgment, only acceptance.
I quickly dry off and throw on a pair of flannel pants and a hoodie. It’s the least sexy outfit ever, but the way he admires me when I walk out makes me feel so stupidly pretty.
I sit next to him, drawing my knees up and hugging them.
“My father’s name is Luke.”
It’s not at all what I expected to hear.
I furrow my brow at him. “It is?”
“My mom named me after him.”
“So you’re a junior?”
“Not exactly. I don’t have his last name. They weren’t married, so Ryder is my mother’s maiden name.” He looks sick. “I’m glad I don’t have both his names. Christ. Then there’d be no escape from it at all. At least I have Ryder.”
“Why do you need to escape it? You’re not close to your dad?”
“He shot my mother in the head and killed her.”
Shock slams into me.
I’m given zero preparation and have no idea how to react.
I gawk at him, blinking. Until I realize he’s just shared something so deeply personal and harrowing, and I’m here staring at him like an idiot.
“W-what?” I stammer. Again, not the most coherent response. But at least my voice works now. “Your dad killed your mom?”
Ryder nods.
“How old were you when it happened? Did you…?” I trail off.
My brain can’t comprehend this. It literally cannot wrap itself around the fact that Ryder’s mother was murdered by his own father.
“I was six. And yes, I saw it happen.”
I reach for his hand and find it cold. I entwine our fingers, infusing his with warmth, urging him to continue.
His eyes grow strained. Features tight with pain.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I finally say.
That gets me a dry laugh. “Really? Because the whole reason I’m here, the whole reason you’re upset with me, has to do with me not sharing. So, what, now it’s okay not to share?”
“I just mean, you don’t have to give all the details. It’s enough that I know—”
“That my father’s a murderer?”
I feel horrible now. I barely spoke to him for four days because he refused to tell me why he doesn’t want to be called Luke. And now I know the answer and it’s fucking heart-wrenching. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him to talk.
“It’s fine,” he says, noting my dismay. “I’ll talk about it. It’s just… there’s no point. It’s in the past.”
“A past that affected you. Severely enough that you can’t even use your own name.”
Ryder’s answering exhale is unsteady. He’s quiet for so long I think he’s done talking. But then he speaks.
“He wasn’t a violent man. I know, it’s ironic to say that, considering what he did to her in the end. But he didn’t beat us. Never laid a hand on her, at least not in front of me. I never saw bruises or bloody noses. Sure, he could be an asshole when he drank, but it’s not like I lived in fear of him.”
“So he just snapped?”
“I don’t know. I was six. I didn’t know the inner workings of their relationship. I know they argued a lot. I don’t think she was happy, but she would put on a brave face for me.” Ryder rakes a hand through his hair. “Hell, maybe he was beating her and she just hid it really well. Honestly, I don’t know. The night it happened, I remember waking up to shouts. I snuck out of my room, poked my head into their room, saw the suitcase. It was half-packed, so I think she was planning to leave him. And I guess, yeah, he snapped. When I came to the doorway, he’d already pulled the gun on her. He was telling her that if she walked out the door, he was going to put a bullet in her brain.”
My heart starts pounding. I picture a six-year-old boy standing there, watching his father point a weapon at his mother, and it’s unimaginable.
“Neither of them saw me at first. But then he noticed me and shouted for me to go back to my room. But I was frozen in place, too scared to move. She tried to go to me, but he ordered her not to move. And then they started fighting again. She told him that pointing a gun at her only proved why she had to leave. That he was too jealous and possessive and unstable. She said she couldn’t do this anymore. He asked her if she still loved him, and she said no. That’s the part that’s etched into my brain. Like, why did she say no?”