Connor
Three days.
That’s how long it had been since I’d been put in handcuffs on the McGrath Ranch. Three days since I was driven back to Montana State Prison. Three days since I’d been placed back in a cell, the last place I ever wanted to be again.
And all I could think of was Ryder and the fact that I never got to say goodbye to him.
I tried to sleep but couldn’t. The concrete slab they called a bed was somehow harder than I remembered, and the fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed endlessly, flickering just enough to drive me crazy. My cellmate snored loudly on the bunk below me, unbothered by any of it. He was used to it. I had been too, once.
It was funny how quickly seven years of prison routine came flooding back. The specific way to fold your uniform to avoid wrinkles. The exact tone to use when speaking to the guards—respectful but not eager. The careful dance of the yard, knowing where to walk, who to nod at, who to avoid completely.
I hadn’t eaten since I arrived either. I couldn’t stomach the thought of it. The trays came and went untouched, earning me suspicious glances from the guards. They thought I was planningsomething. A hunger strike, maybe, or worse. But I wasn’t planning anything. I was just... empty.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ryder’s face. The way he’d looked at me in the church before everything went to hell. The softness in his eyes when he’d told me he loved me. God, I’d waited so long to hear those words from someone who meant them. And now I’d never see him again.
Pete had made sure of that.
The rage that bubbled up whenever I thought of Pete McGrath was the only thing keeping me going. The man had played me perfectly. Waited until he had me isolated, planted the evidence, and dropped the hammer. Classic setup, and I’d walked right into it like an amateur.
“Martin!” A guard’s voice echoed through the cellblock. “Visitor!”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. I hadn’t put anyone on my visitation list yet. Hadn’t even thought about it.
“Move it, Martin. I don’t have all day.”
I climbed down from my bunk, my body stiff from lying motionless for so long. The guard cuffed me with practiced efficiency, the metal cold and familiar against my wrists. As he led me through the corridors, my mind raced. Who would visit me? Then I remembered. I hadn’t seen Ms. Randall since I was brought in. She was probably coming to tell me what my new sentence was for breaking parole. Just standard practice.
The visitation room was nearly empty, just a few inmates at tables with their loved ones. The guard directed me to a private holding room at the far end. It definitely wasn’t a visit from anyone who cared about me. They only used the private rooms for meetings with lawyers and parole officers. All my hopes slipped away. I really was staying here. Probably forever if Pete had his way about it.
The guard opened the door to the private room and ushered me inside. I expected to see Ms. Randall sitting there with a stack of papers, ready to tell me how many more years I’d be spending behind bars. Instead, I froze in the doorway, unable to believe my eyes.
Ryder.
He sat at the small metal table, his hands folded in front of him, strawberry blond hair slightly disheveled like he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. When he looked up and saw me, his face transformed. I could see the relief, the joy, and the pain all mingling together. And, right beside him was Ms. Randall, a determined expression in her eyes.
“Connor,” he breathed, standing up so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Part of me wondered if I’d finally lost my mind, if this was some hallucination born from three days of not eating or sleeping.
“Thank you, officer,” Ms. Randall said. “I’ll take it from here.”
The guard, to my surprise, unlatched my handcuffs. As soon as my hands were free, he gave Ms. Randall a nod and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long moment, none of us moved. I stared at Ryder, unable to believe he was really there. Three days of despair suddenly shattered by his presence.
“You’re here,” I finally managed, my voice rough from disuse.
Before I could say anything else, Ryder crossed the room in three quick strides and threw his arms around me. The impact nearly knocked me off balance, but I caught him, my arms wrapping around his waist automatically. He buried his face in my neck, and I felt the wetness of tears against my skin.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “When Cole told me what happened?—”
I pulled him tighter against me, breathing in his scent, the one I’d come to love so much. My chest ached with a mixture of joy and pain. I hadn’t let myself hope for this moment.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured into his hair. “Your father?—”
“Is a monster,” Ryder finished, pulling back just enough to look at me. His green eyes were red-rimmed but fierce. “And he’s going to pay for this.”
Ms. Randall cleared her throat, reminding us of her presence. I reluctantly loosened my hold on Ryder, though I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. After three days of nothing but cold concrete and steel bars, the warmth of him under my hands felt like salvation.
“I’m not sure what you did in Hell Creek, Connor,” Randall began. “But whatever it was, you’ve got a lot of people on your side.”
