Even then, when I’d been a tiny human with a whole world of experience still ahead of me, I’d known he was it. Ryder was the curiosity I needed to understand. Ryder was the one person I needed to see with my eyes. His voice, his laughter, the sound I needed in my ears. And the smell of him—which had changed over the years and yet somehow remained familiar, becoming more than a deeply ingrained knowledge ofRyderand becoming more, becominghomeandjoyandlove—was what I wanted around me at all times.
But a wedding, oh, that was change. A big change. My life would never be the same after, and I had a pretty great life right now. Maybe the best it had ever been.
I met Myra’s gaze. It wasn’t judgement in her eyes, it was…well, not quite pity. Maybe understanding? It was one of those sister looks I only ever got when I was being a dumbass about something.
“He loves you,” she said.
“I know that.” I did. So much so that my heart started pounding faster just hearing her say it.
“He wants to marry you.”
I nodded, slouching further into my chair.
“He wants your wedding to be special.” She dipped her head to catch my gaze. “You know that’s what he wants, right? For your wedding to be wonderful. Perfect?”
“Yes.” But the word was quiet.
“Delaney.”
“I know. I know he wants it perfect.” I blew out a breath then squared my shoulders and straightened. I reached back and split my ponytail in two to tighten the rubber band.
“I know he loves me. I know I love him. I know how lucky I am to be right where I am. With him. Together.”
“Now you’re going to tell me what the problem is.”
“I’m scared.”
“You’re scared. Of what? Ryder?” There was a little less sister and a little more cop in her tone.
“No. He’s not…. You know he’s wonderful. I just…things change.”
“What things?”
I shrugged. “Things.” Then after a moment, “People.”
“Mom?” she asked. Her voice was almost a whisper.
We didn’t talk about our mom much. We’d been pretty small when we lost her. But I remembered Dad before mom had left us. I remembered Dad after she’d left us. He’d never been the same after her death. Our house hadn’t been the same. Our family.
“I think about her sometimes,” I said just as quietly. We were both leaning in toward each other, like we could hold this memory, this pain between us. So we could keep it from spreading like a bruise we’d never stop feeling, the memory of her, the pain of her aching and swelling into the rest of our lives.
“I do too,” Myra said. “Sometimes.”
“Dad was…different when they were married. Do you remember that?”
“I remember him laughing a lot. Singing.”
“They would dance…” I stopped, the memory of Ryder and I dancing in the kitchen catching like a knife in my chest. “They were really happy,” I said. “Really in love.”
Her eyes ticked back and forth, searching me for something, maybe for the memories that were stronger for me, since I was the eldest.
“It’s change,” I said. “I know life always changes but this is big. I like the life I have, Myra. I don’t know if I’m ready for it to change.”
Myra took a breath to argue, or hey, maybe to agree with me at the exact moment the front door banged open.
“What the hell is this about?” shouted the god Odin, who went by the name Odin while vacationing in town because he had an ego as big as Zeus’.
Nothing about Odin said graceful, refined, or artistic. He stood, storm-tossed, his gray hair sticking out in all directions, his good eye, the one without the patch, sharp and accusing. He had on a black T-shirt that really showed off the muscles he usually hid under baggy flannel while he was living the life of a slightly wild unskilled chainsaw artist.
