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“Being the rebel.”

He stares at me.

“Everyone already decided who you were. You got to stop figuring it out for yourself.”

His jaw tightens.

I wonder if I’ve gone too far.

Then he says, quieter, “I don’t know who the fuck I am if I’m not the guy who should’ve died.”

My chest hurts.

I don’t tell him he’s wrong.

I don’t tell him Cole would want him to be happy.

I don’t tell him his father loved him.

I just reach down and take his hand.

Ryder looks at our joined fingers. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“No inspirational librarian speech?”

“I charge extra for those.”

“Twenty grand wasn’t enough?”

“That only bought you.”

His thumb brushes my knuckles. “You overpaid.”

“I’m beginning to think so.”

His mouth curves.

There he is.

Just a little.

I squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to figure out who you are today.”

“Generous.”

“But maybe stop letting an eighteen-year-old version of yourself make every decision.”

His eyes narrow. “You get mouthier every day.”

“Bad influence.”

“Definitely.” He pulls me closer.

My breath catches.

His hand settles at my waist. “Careful, librarian.”