“Faith—”
“And the threats?” I cut him off, voice rising. “When you’re a cornered animal, you make yourself look as big as possible. It’s survival instinct. You snarl and snap and hope they’ll back off before you actually have to fight. But if they don’t …” I met his eyes. “You do what you have to do to survive.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
I pressed my palms against my thighs, anchoring myself. The fabric of my jeans felt rough beneath my fingers—real, solid. Unlike the words I was about to say.
“I’m ashamed.” My voice cracked on the second syllable. “I’m ashamed of the person I was.”
Ryker didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched me with those steady eyes that made me want to crawl out of my skin.
“I’m ashamed of her.” The words tasted bitter. “She lied. She stole. She hit people.” I forced myself to meet his gaze, even though every instinct screamed at me to look away. “After I aged out of the foster care system, I did whatever I could to become agood person again. I want to be a good person. I want to be as good as my brother, Blake.”
My throat tightened. God, this was so much harder than I’d thought it would be.
“But all that shit from my past?” I sucked in a breath that didn’t quite fill my lungs. “I’m so ashamed of it. I don’t want to tell people about it.”
Ryker leaned forward slightly, his weight shifting.
“I know.” I held up a hand, stopping whatever he was about to say. “I know that sounds irrational to you. That I’d rather risk my life, risk my freedom, than come clean about it.” A laugh bubbled up, sharp and humorless. “But how would you feel? Seriously, how would you feel if the only way to exist in the new version of yourself—the one you built from scratch—was to expose your most shameful secrets?”
The question hung in the air between us.
“I wanted you to love me for the me that I’ve become.” My voice came out quieter now, scraped raw. “I didn’t want you to see that old part of me.”
Silence ticked on.
“Do you remember that night at Blake’s?” I asked. “When you found me outside, staring up at the sky?”
Something shifted in Ryker’s expression. I knew without him saying a word that he’d replayed that moment more times than he’d probably admit. The night he’d walked outside and found me alone in the dark, neck craned toward a starless sky. He’d been heading to his car, but he’d stopped. Stayed.
“You looked at me like you knew something was wrong,” I continued, my throat tight. “Everyone else had been laughing inside, having a good time, but you—” My voice cracked. “You saw through it.”
His eyes hadn’t left my face. That unwavering focus that used to unsettle me now felt like the only thing holding me together.
“Blake had been talking about saving lives that night.” The memory hit me hard. “All these incredible stories about the peoplehe helps every single day. And I just … I couldn’t breathe in there. I felt like a complete fuckup by comparison.” I swiped at my cheek. “So, I went outside to find the Big Dipper. This thing my dad taught me before he died. I needed to anchor myself. But in the city, you can’t see the stars. Which is why I just stood there, staring at nothing. I couldn’t even find my father in that moment.”
“Faith …” Ryker started.
“I was trying to remind myself that I’d changed,” I continued, needing to get it all out before I lost my nerve. “That I was better. That I was someone Blake would be proud of.” My laugh came out hollow. “Guess I’m still working on believing that part.”
It looked like I’d punched Ryker in the gut. He probably replayed that moment, perhaps wondering if he could have said something to make me feel better.
But there was nothing he could’ve said. He did the one thing that I needed in that moment: he’d stayed without demanding explanations, without prying. Just close enough to let me know I wasn’t alone.
“Faith.” Ryker waited until I looked at him. “He is proud of you. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
“Yeah?” I stilled my breath, bracing for the question that had my heart racing. “What about you, Ryker? What do you see?”
“Everything,” he answered simply. “I see everything.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the tension in the room calm a bit.
“Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning?” His voice was quieter now but still edged with frustration. “Why make me find out from Wolfe?”
Fresh tears spilled over. “Because you pulled away.” The confession came out barely above a whisper. “The first time I told you about my history. When we were painting. About foster care. I saw something change in your expression. Just for a second. But I saw it. And it scared me.”
His brow furrowed. “I didn’t?—”
