He takes a shuddering breath. “When I went back for the second guy, he was already gone. Just like that. One minute he was there, scared but alive, and the next...”
Ryder falls silent, his jaw clenched tight. The pain in his eyes is raw, unhealed despite the years that have passed. I want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did everything he could, but I know words aren’t enough to ease this kind of guilt.
Instead, I hold him tighter, offering silent support as he battles his demons.
“You carried them on your back while you were wounded yourself?” I ask. The image of Ryder, bleeding and desperate, hauling his injured comrades to safety is almost too much to bear.
“It didn’t make a difference,” he says, his voice hollow. “The two team members in the back, they didn’t make it. Two excellent soldiers, men who trusted my judgment, are dead because of me.” The self-loathing in his voice is palpable, hanging heavy in the air between us.
“They didn’t die because of you,” I insist, sitting up to look him in the eye. “They died because of an explosive. Because of the people who set that trap.” I need him to understand this, to stop carrying this crushing weight of guilt.
But Ryder shakes his head, his eyes haunted. “You don’tunderstand. If I had made a different call. If I had been faster, more alert...”
His heart is pounding now, racing beneath my palm. “I retired after the injury,” he continues, his voice rough. “I could have gone back, but I didn’t want to. Couldn’t face it. So I sent money to Phil’s widow. It’s the least I could do.”
“When did this happen?” I ask, trying to gauge how long he’s been carrying this burden.
“A few years ago,” he replies, but the pain in his eyes makes it clear that for him, it could have been yesterday.
I plant a soft kiss on his jaw, the rough stubble against my lips. “What about your family?” I ask, hoping to steer our conversation to safer ground.
“What about them?” His tone is guarded as if he’s bracing himself for more pain.
“Tell me about them,” I coax, running my fingers through his hair.
He sighs, a sound that seems to come from the depths of his soul. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just me.”
I lift my head from his chest, searching his face. “Really?” The idea that he could be completely alone breaks my heart.
Ryder’s eyes cloud over with a mix of old pain and resignation. “I’m an only child. Dad was never in the picture—he left when I was a kid. I didn’t bother looking for him.” He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. “And Mom, she passed away from cancer a few years ago.”
His voice cracks slightly on the word mom, and his arms tighten around me. “I enlisted so I’d have money to fund her treatments, but...” He trails off, shaking his head. “It didn’t help.”
The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air between us. “I’m so sorry, Ryder,” I whisper, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
He gives me a sad smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault.”
I return his smile, seeing an opening. “Just like what happened isn’t your fault.”
He doesn’t respond, but some of the tension leaves his body. It’s a start.
He stands and moves a few paces away, creating distance between us. The sudden space feels like a cold draft against the warmth we’d shared. I hesitate but then rise to my feet.
Before he can retreat any further, I close the gap, wrapping my arms around him from behind. My cheek presses against his back, and I hold him tightly, letting him know I’m still here—no matter what.
“I’m bored,” I whine. I have nothing to do until the boxes Beth sent arrive. I can’t believe I’m in Hawaii, and I’m bored.
“What do you want to do? Go sunbathing?” Ryder’s mouth curves into a half-smile.
“No.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t like lying around doing nothing. That’s even more boring.”
“Yeah, you’ve got ants in your pants. I can understand that.”
“I don’t have ants in my pants,” I protest.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t sat still since we got here.”
I roll my eyes at him, but can’t help the smile tugging atmy lips.
