Ryder shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook by the door. “I needed to figure some things out.”
“And did you?”
He crosses the room until he’s standing right in front of me. Intense and questioning, his eyes search mine. “I need to know something first. Did you delete it?”
My breath catches. “How did you?—”
“I just do, Noia.” His jaw tightens. “Now answer me. Did you delete everything you wrote about me?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yes. Everything. I didn’t want to risk controlling you anymore, even by accident. Even if it meant you would disappear.”
Relief flickers in his eyes, softening the hard lines of his face. “I rode all night, trying to figure out if what I feel is real or if it was just you writing about us.”
“But you…”
“I know it was my idea for you to write about everything. And I also know, except for what you did last night, it’s not your fault if that’s what’s happening. Maybe the universe has other plans.”
He runs his hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh. “But I need to know if what I feel for you is real. I need to know if I’m the one making my own choices.”
My hands are trembling so hard I have to set the spatula down. “What are you saying?”
“I think we need to spend some time apart.” His voice is gentle but firm, his eyes never leaving mine. “Just to make sure that whatever this is between us is real and not just... fictional.”
My heart plummets. “Time apart? But Rye?—”
“It’s the only way, Noia.” He takes a step back. “I need to be somewhere you’re not, somewhere I can assess my own emotions. Figure out if they’re really mine.”
Panic rises in my throat. “But where will you go?”
“I can stay with Jax.” His expression softens. “He’s got a spare room at his place.”
“You don’t need to leave,” I argue. “I deleted all of it. I’m not going to write about you… us, anymore.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not just about that. It’s about me figuring out who I am outside of... whatever this is between us. I need space to think.”
“But—”
“I’ve already called Jax, and he’s expecting me.” It’s obvious the decision is final by how his tone changes almost instantly.
I cross my arms in defense. “How long?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs again. “A few days, maybe a week.”
“A week?” My voice cracks.
Instead of answering, he turns and heads down the hall. I follow him into his room, watching in shock as he pulls a duffel bag from the closet and starts to pack.
“This is crazy,” I say, standing in the doorway. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Yes, I do.” He keeps his eyes on the bag as he zips it closed. “For both of us. I thought you would understand. Or did you forget how you left me here alone so you could go have time to figure your shit out, too?”
Shit. Having what I did to him first thrown back in my face stops me cold.
I let out a sigh of resignation. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He gives me a slight nod.
Five minutes later, we’re standing together at the front door.Duffle bag over his shoulder, his face is blank, but his eyes tell a much different story.
