Chapter 11
I hurt. My skin hurts. My bones hurt. Even my hair hurts. It’s painful to blink, to swallow, to smile. And it’s hard not to smile at Ryker. He looks so out of sorts trying to make sure I’m as comfortable as possible while in this hospital bed. It’s hard, definitely not as soft as our king-sized bed back home. And certainly not as comfortable without him in it. I miss having his hard body behind me. Instead, he’s in a hard chair beside me.
He’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t show it. I see his grimace when he wakes and moves. He won’t leave my side. I’ve told him to go get a good night’s sleep at the hotel—that warranted me the most pissed and annoyed look ever.
The doctor came in and said the words we’ve been wanting to hear—I’m being released, but with some strict restrictions. He’s hesitant about me flying, but ultimately understood my want to be at home. The moment he said I could fly home, Ryker was on the phone in search of a direct flight. Price be damned.
When the doctor told us it would be an hour before I’d be ready for discharge, Ryker kissed my hand and rushed to the hotel to gather our things. Once he returned, he helped me change into my favorite pair of yoga pants and one of his t-shirts that swallows me whole. Then he drove like a ninety-year-old grandmother to the airport.
He helped me get onto the plane and into my seat, but not without so much pain I thought I was going to vomit. Instantly, after settling in, I was surrounded by a stack of pillows, like you’d wrap around your grandmother’s fine china on moving day. And then once in the air, I was exhausted from the amount of strength I had to use to move and fell asleep.
He drove home a little bit quicker, like a seventy-year-old instead of ninety, and then helped me into the house. He’s all over the place, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He walks me slowly into the bedroom and helps me get comfortable.
Again, not long after, I’m back asleep.
His deep voice rumbles me awake. The lamp on his side of the bed is on, barely illuminating the dark room. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he sounds ashamed and saddened. The sound of his voice comes closer and then he pauses as he sticks his head into the room.
“She’s awake,” he says, holding the phone to his ear. He steps in, his eyes desolate and filled with regret as he comes to me. “Your dad wants to talk to you. Are you up for it?”
“You called my dad?” I hiss under my breath and through the pain it causes. He nods and hands me the phone. I take a breath. “Hey, Dad.”
“Whitney!” my mother cries out in a sob.
“Whitney? How are you feeling?” Dad asks, being the more rational one.
“Sore, but I’m okay. Really. I’m fine.”
“Ryker, tells a different story. Say’s you’re pretty busted up. Don’t lie to me,” he chides.
“I am, but I’m fine. I’ll live. Ryker’s taking good care of me. Look, I’m really tired. Can I call you back tomorrow?”
His sigh is worried and laced with disappointment. “Of course. Tell Ryker to keep us up to date. He says there’s no need for us to fly out there. Are you sure?”
“Dad. He’s right. There’s no need. I’m fine. I love you.” I hang up and drop the phone. Glaring at Ryker, I say. “Why did you call my parents?”
He shrugs. “You’re their daughter.”
“Did he say anything mean to you?”
He puffs a chuckle. “Why, in the state that you’re in, are you worried at all about me? How about putting yourself first?”
I try to raise an eyebrow to give him a stern look, but my face hurts.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little,” I admit.
“Good. Abby said she’s coming over to check on you. I hope you don’t mind,” he says handing me a pill.
“Did Kyce come by?” I ask.
Storm clouds crowd his blue eyes. They darken as his jaw muscles work. “No. And he won’t be.”
“Why not?” I ask.
He gives me a pointed stare and comprehension settles. “Ryker, don’t be mad at him.”
His gaze narrows. “I told him to stay with you. He didn’t. Now look at you.”
“It’s just as much my fault as his.” I groan trying to adjust and sit up a bit to take my medicine.
He brings the straw to my mouth and I notice how badly his hands are shaking.
“If he had done what was asked of him, you wouldn’t be hurt. Had he thought with the head placed upon his shoulders and not with the little dick of his, you wouldn’t be hurt. Had he walked with you to the bathroom, you wouldn’t be the one busted the fuck up.” With every sentence, he grits out harsher.
“Then it would’ve been him,” I say.
“And not you,” he specifies. He straightens my covers and walks out of the room without another word.
I sigh, resting my head back on the pillow, and shut my eyes. Poor Kyce. This isn’t all his fault.
The thing with pain medicine is it makes me woozy, almost drunk. I vaguely remember Abby coming over and checking all my sutures. I think she helped me to the bathroom and made me take a few bites of food. Either it was her, or I was dreaming.
A blurry memory of her and Ryker standing at the foot of my bed talking is all I can remember although my dreams on this shit have been vivid. Green eyes seem to haunt me.
I woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed and Ryker sleeping in a recliner he put beside the bed. I do remember telling him to join me, but he refused saying something about being scared he’d roll over and accidently hurt me. I know I argued with him about it.
But again I’ve woken up to an empty bed. Apparently, I lost the argument.
I feel better today. More sore, but more me. I don’t feel so weak and I have energy. Slowly, I slip out of the bed, but not without small bursts of flames exploding around my ribs. It sucks the breath out of me. My left eye, still stupidly swollen, is finally starting to retreat and allow my lids to open. It’s better than nothing.
Gently, I make my way down the hall. Hushed voices come from the living room. I grin as I watch Candice scowling at Ryker with her arms crossed. He looks like he’s in trouble.
“Please tell me you haven’t grounded him,” I say.
All talk halts. Both their heads snap my direction and I catch Candice’s fleeting moment of horror.
“Whitney!” She rushes toward me but stops just in front of me.
“I’m not a china doll,” I deadpan.
“You don’t exactly look like one either.” She laughs. “Come on. Let me help you sit.”
I groan unhappily. “I’m fine.”
Ryker chuckles. “Make her sit. She needs to ice up anyway,” he calls out from the kitchen.
I glare at him, playfully—or at least I hope so.
He raises his brow holding two ice bags. “I’m glad to see you’re getting back to normal, but I advise you to sit before I place these ice packs on you. I don’t need you to crumple to the ground when it takes your breath away, nor do I need you to swing at me.”
I sit. Not because I want to, but because Candice sits and coaxes me gently with her. “It’s not that—Holy shit!” I shriek as he lifts my shirt and places the ice onto my ribs. “Cold. Cold. Cold.”
He laughs and kisses my forehead. “Bruises and being busted up are my specialty, but I hate this part too.”
Candice brushes my hair from my face. “You look like hell.”
Ryker glowers at her, but she pays it no attention.
“I’m sure. I need a shower.”
There’s a knock on the door and Ryker flashes a rueful grin at me. “I need to go to the store. I didn’t know Candice was coming or I wouldn’t have called the nurse.”
Right as he opens the door, Abby steps in dressed in scrubs. “I have to be at work in forty-five minutes. Hurry up and do what you have to do.” She pats his chest as she walks past him and straight to me. “How’s my favorite patient?”
“If she says fine, don’t believe her. It’s her go-to statement.” Ryker winks at me and then kisses my forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
I spread my hands to the women. “I’m in perfectly good hands.”
He bends to my ear. “Love you.”
Abby checks my stitches on my lip, looks at my face, and double checks my ribs under the ice packs before she sits. Candice introduces herself.
“Kyce has mentioned you a time or two,” Abby says.
Candice rolls her eyes and flips her hair. “I’m his dream that won’t ever come true.”
Abby giggles. “He says the same about you.”
“You can keep a secret, right?” Candice asks her. “I mean, seriously. HIPPA bullshit and all.”
“Of course,” Abby replies.
“Good.” Candice turns to me. “Kyce wanted me to tell you he’s sorry and he’d be here if he could.”
I sigh. “Yeah. Ryker’s pissed.”
Candice shakes her head. “Whitney, you have no idea. Pissed is an understatement. Kyce isn’t allowed to come around him or you.”
“What the hell do you mean isn’t allowed?” I snap.
“Ryker’s warned he’ll kill him,” she says.
I shake my head. “I’m sure it was said in the heat of the moment. He’ll be okay. I’ll talk to him.”
Abby shifts in her seat, crossing her legs and arms. “I think you underestimate Ryker. He doesn’t do too much in the moment. His thoughts are calculated.”
“But that wasn’t under normal circumstances,” I defend Kyce.
“Circumstances Kyce could’ve prevented. Ryker’s protective of you. He trusted Kyce and Kyce dropped the ball, big time,” Abby says.
“So, he’s spoken to you?” I ask Candice.
Her eyes are pleading with me. “You can’t let Ryker know.”
“Tell him I’m not mad at him. It’s just as much my fault as it is his,” I say.
Abby grunts. “Ryker know you feel that way?”
I nod. “I told him last night.”
Abby digs her fingers in her forehead. “You probably put more dirt on top of Kyce’s body. Ryker knowing you feel like this is any part your fault only adds fuel to the fire.”
“I should’ve stayed. I shouldn’t have left. Kyce told me to stay. Ryker told me to stay. But I didn’t listen.” I’m desperate for someone to understand me. “It’s not just Kyce’s fault. He knows the scene better than me. I should’ve listened.”
“Precisely. Which is why he should’ve never left your side. Those boys know the ropes there.”
“You’re strictly on Ryker’s side,” I argue.
Abby shifts in her seat again. “It doesn’t matter whose side I’m on. Ryker gave Kyce one job—to protect the thing he loves the most—and Kyce dropped the ball. You got hurt and Ryker lost it all because of it.”
I jerk my head to her. “What?” I exhale without a breath.
Her eyes widen and her face drops like she just said something she shouldn’t. “He lost his temper,” she rushes out. “He loves you in an incredible amount. Think what he saw knowing his brother allowed it to happen.”
I don’t say anything else and rest back into the couch, unsure exactly how I feel. It’s pointless to try defending Kyce right now. Everyone is Team Ryker when they weren’t even there.
His truck rumbles the walls when he pulls into the garage. He steps into the house with several bags of groceries and sets them on the kitchen counter.
“Ryker grocery shopping. I bet you were lost,” Abby jests.
“I remember why I hate doing it,” he replies
“Don’t overdo it,” Abby tells me before glancing back to Ryker. “She’s not broken. Allow her to do things.” She says her goodbyes to us and Candice and leaves.
Candice stands and stretches. “I’m out too. Got a hot date with my bed today. Sleep has evaded me. I can’t possibly know why either.” She narrows her eyes and grins widely at me. “Don’t worry about work. I’ve got you covered.”
After she leaves, Ryker sits beside me and kisses the left corner of my mouth. He groans. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ve wanted to kiss you for days now.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Scared I’d hurt you,” he admits.
“It’s worth the pain.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe on your end, but not mine.”
I brush my finger over his knuckles. “Ryker…I want to talk to Kyce. I’m sure he’s worried.”
His nostrils flare. “He knows you’re alive. Past that, there’s nothing.”
“But—”
“Whitney,” he warns.
“I get you’re mad. Outraged. But Ryker, he made a mistake. I did too. You warned me. He warned me and I still took it upon myself to walk away.”
His gaze—not tender or soft—is glued to me as the muscle in his jaw juts out.
“You’re not mad at me and I blatantly didn’t listen to either one of you,” I add.
“What’s done is done. I’m done. He’s done. Now, you be done.” His tone is stern. “If I find out he’s tried reaching out to you, I’ll snap his fucking neck. He’ll wish for his own death.”
I stare at him in disbelief. I’m mad for Kyce. And although I understand Ryker’s cause, this…I shake my head. “Isn’t fair to anyone,” I mutter under my breath setting off a bomb.
Ryker’s blue eyes snap closed. He jerks to his feet, his fist at his side. I can feel the anger riding off him in waves. Both his eyebrows are drawn together. His glare is much more than just a warning now.
“I’ll never fucking forgive him for this, Whit.” He grits though his teeth. “Never!” He roars. “Do you not understand? I could’ve lost you. Things could be much worse than what they are. I wasn’t there to protect you. Me!” He punches his chest. “And I trusted the hands I put you in. Whether or not you stayed where you were supposed to doesn’t matter. He should’ve been there, dammit.”
“I—”
“Do not push me on this, Whitney,” his growl is depraved. “It’s not up for discussion.”
His stare lingers for several long seconds. A world of hurt and shame twirl in it before he stomps out of the back door.
Tears sting my eyes.
Slowly, I push up and off the couch to make my way to the shower because…I just fucking want one. I’m craving the heat from the steam. The cleanliness. And I’m begging for the calm the water will bring me.
I swear it takes forever to get out of my clothes. Being unable to bend and move normally only throws wrenches into my plan. But I manage it. I step under the water, and immediately the heat cascades down around me. I drop my head, allowing the spray to hit the back of my neck and run down my body.
My left ribcage is bruised, a perfect splintered imprint of where that bastard punched me.
His eyes are on me. I feel them. But I don’t acknowledge him. There’s movement behind me, and then he’s in the shower with me. He turns me to face him—all glorious and naked—and I bury my head into his chest.
My dam breaks and I cry. I cry because it hurts, because of Kyce, because I’m in this situation, because that man’s green eyes are forever imprinted into my memory, because Ryker is worried sick. He kisses the top of my head, repeatedly whispering how everything is going to be okay and how he’s sorry he wasn’t there to protect me.
He squirts my purple loofah with my soap and gently drags it around my neck, staring and blinking away his vexations before bringing it down my arms and softly snaking it around the rest of my body. He pauses and places a faint kiss to the bruise on my ribs while that muscle in his jaw ticks.
He grumbles something under his breath as he stands back straight. His eyes are heavy with worry and braided with anger. I kiss his jaw and he exhales.
“I’m sorry, Whit,” he whispers and then moves to help wash my hair.
He won’t allow me to help and moves my hands every time I try reaching up.
When we get out, he wraps a towel around his waist without drying off and then begins drying me off.
“I can do this. You heard Abby. I’m not broken,” I tell him.
He gives me a pointed look and I know better than to argue with him.
We lie together, me snuggled into his chest, him holding me with the softest grip. I inhale the scent of him and soap.
“Ryker…” I start, unsure what I want to say.
“Please, Whit. Please don’t push this. I’m not discussing it anymore. He made a mistake, but a very fucking costly one. Don’t push me on this. You’ll end up hating me. Just respect my wishes. I’m begging you.” His tone sounds so sullen.
I leave it alone and close my eyes. “I hate I missed your fight.”
His body tenses underneath me. He puffs a short breath out from his nose. “You don’t need to worry about it.”
“I bet you were distraught when you didn’t see me there. Did it go fast?”
“Really fast.” He kisses the side of my head. “Get some rest.”