Frayed Rope (24 page)

His black eyes penetrate mine and I’m stunned.

Speechless.

It’s the only thing I can think of after the spiel Ryder just fed me. It’s not because the man has a way with words. It’s because he too tells it like it is. He didn't bullshit. He didn't sugarcoat. He laid it out for me.

Respect.

I reach up and bring my hand to his face. Once again he’s not shaved in a few days and his stubble does little to deter me. When my hand connects and runs down his jaw, his eyes soften even further than when he told me I was becoming his life. I run my thumb along his chin and move it to his bottom lip.

I’ve never been this connected with him. Never this hands on
in a way that shows such intimacy. So far I’ve avoided this type of contact with him because of exactly that, it’s too intimate.

After the things he’s done, and the things he’s said, I don't feel like I owe this to him. I feel like I can finally give him this part of me that I’ve been holding back because I understand now he won’t take it for granted.

His lush lips kiss my thumb before his hand still holding onto my neck begins to pull me closer. It’s slow, but steady in pace and he tilts his head to press his lips to mine. There’s no tongue, it’s simply the steady pressure of his beautiful mouth to mine letting me know he understands what I just said through my touch.

It’s amazing what actions can do. And he completely understands that I just gave him the small part of myself I’ve been holding back. The part that might give you a kiss before you leave to get a carton of milk. The part that might put your dinner in the oven to keep it warm when you’re running late at work. And lastly, the part that gives them a little off your load when it’s been breaking your back to carry all by yourself.

He’ll help me carry it.

And if I give up, he’ll take it all.

That’s what just passed between us without words.

That’s our connection.

Chapter Twenty-three

We held each other for I don't know how long before Ryder places a sweet kiss under my ear and leans back into the couch. He reaches his arm out under my legs and pulls them onto his lap.

He settles himself back against the couch and I lean back into the armrest. His hands gently rub from thigh to calf, not in a sexual way, yet, but in a soothing way that calms me and allows the words to flow from my lips.

I take a sip of my wine and stare toward the front window facing the street.

“When I was in my early twenties, I thought I had it all; a few years out of university, many life experiences under my belt and a new fling to fill the gaps between the long hours I put in at work. I didn't always plan on working for my family, but it wasn’t just something I knew, it was something I enjoyed.

“My Dad’s company wasn't huge, but big enough that any architectural development taking place in the surrounding bigger cities was always completed by his company. He believed in restoring the old before demolishing to build something new and I appreciated that. I grew up with a love of architecture and the sentimentality that came with it.

“Who lived there? Who worked there? What happened behind those doors? He started out small, eventually turning his work into recreating and blending the old with the new.

“So in between years of learning how to properly restore floors in an old centurion home, to building a state of the art modern library, it didn't leave me much time for anything else. Other than making time for my best friend Laura, I was a workaholic. I was okay with that.”

I pause to top off my vino and earn a squeeze on the thigh from Ryder to continue when I’m ready.

“Laura was my best friend—is my best friend. She’s been with me through it all. She’s the only other person I’ve met in life that’s enough like me that we don't clash. She tells it like it is, and calls me on my shit. She’s consistently late and incredibly forgetful unless it’s important. All those things are redeemed for what she’s done for me in life, and vice versa. She’s my sister and I’ll never consider her anything less.

“One night while we were at a local waterhole drinking tequila, I met Cory. He looked good; he was easy enough to talk to and so I started my next fling. I knew with him and many others before him that it would never be something serious. He knew the score, as did I. I was always up front with the people I connected with. Not to say there were a lot, just a handful, and never at the same time, but there when a woman needed a release without the complications of a relationship.

“We didn't set dates; we didn't introduce each other to our families. It was two consenting adults that were single and wanted to have some fun.

“Cory and I kept each other's company for about two months, a few times a week. Low and behold at the end of month two, I’m late and carrying.”

Ryder moves his hand from the back of the couch to my shoulder and up to the side of my face. He wouldn't know that Lil’ was my daughter because those are some of the pages missing from my case. I left the part in that three family members died in a crash, but left out the detailed pieces mentioning who they were, aside from two adults and a child. His thumb caresses my cheek softly as he speaks.

“Jesus Elle. I think I’m putting it togeth- ”

The gates have opened and there’s no stopping them now. I feel the wet gather in my eyes but I still press on and cut him off with a choked up voice.

“She was beautiful. A lot of people say that about their children but this one—there wasn't a nurse that didn’t maul her at birth, she was that damn beautiful. The brightest eyes that soon turned the greenest you’ve ever seen. She had brown hair like her Dad.”

I close my eyes and feel the wet run down my cheeks. There’s no stopping it, I know. I don’t bother to wipe them because this is only the beginning and I know there will be a whole lot more.

“Her Dad and I knew we were never meant to be together, but became close enough friends. I respected him and he respected me, and we made that work for Lil. She was loved, whether she had two parents under the same roof or not. He moved a street over from mine, both of us still pretty rural in the town we lived and we could walk her back and forth in between visits. It worked.”

I can picture her Dad walking her home, coming up the road with an ice cream in her hand and her stuffed cow in the other.

“I had a doctor’s appointment, one that I didn't need to go to but after I had Lil I had some trouble with my uterus so it was my yearly routine check. I didn't need to go, all was fine. But rescheduling would mean waiting another six months to get back in, so I went. We were scheduled to leave for the airport that afternoon with my parents on a trip to Disneyland.

“Lil was four, she loved fish, cows, and wanted desperately to meet Cinderella. I will forever regret not cancelling my Doctors appointment. I got stuck in traffic due to a derailed train and after hours of waiting for it to get cleaned up I told my Mom and Dad to take Lil and go ahead without me. I would meet them at the hotel.”

I stop because my nose and throat are thick with emotion and it’s hard enough to breathe, let alone continue to speak.

Ryder pulls the wine glass out of my hand and quickly wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tight.

I’m not sobbing, more like a constant heave to get my breathing back under control. I’ve never told the story; everyone at home knew what happened. I didn't need or want to repeat it again.

“Breathe babe,” Ryder whispers while rubbing up and down my back.

I take air in through my nose and out through my mouth.

“Wh-whe-hen I -”

I’m cut off by Ryder's lips to my neck before he speaks.

“Babe, a bit at a time. If you don't want to continue that’s okay,” he says in a soft voice filling my ears.

I need to do this.

“When I got to my mom’s, I changed and grabbed my suitcase to leave. That’s when the cops came to the house.”

I press my face into Ryder’s chest and clutch at his shirt.

“My sweet baby girl on her way to meet Cinderella was killed in a car accident after the brakes f-f-failed and the SUV crashed into a tr-tra-transport truck.”

I sob now, heavily. I can’t hold it back. Ryder's arms hold me closer, if even that's possible.

This is the only reason I’m still here. It feels like it’s the only reason I’m still alive, not because I fear the man left out there might do to another woman what he did to me. I would be devastated by that but it’s not my reason.

I’m here because in a sick and demented way I live for the fact that if I could get my hands on the person that ended my little girl’s life I will take pride and pleasure in slowly and painfully taking theirs.

This isn’t just about revenge, this is about justice.

This is about fate.

The fate he earned when he ended the lives of innocent people that were loved beyond measure.

I’ve lived since the attack knowing their deaths were intentional, knowing that my life's new mission was to inflict pain and death on the people responsible for it.

I’ve had nothing left aside from Norma. Laura will go on and would one day understand if I were to lose my own life in the process.

I could live with that.

I’ve had no second thoughts.

Before Ryder.

I can’t let him cloud my judgment, my plan. I’ve spent a long time healing to prepare myself for this. I was too weak right out of the hospital, and I changed my appearance so I couldn’t be found or recognized, giving me more time to figure my own shit out before proceeding.

Should I make it out alive, all the better. I would’ve gone back to my home in North Carolina and slept well at night after taking someone's life. There are no second thoughts, or never were. I’m completely okay and don't lose sleep over the thought of killing someone like that.

Why now is Ryder making me rethink my plan? Not the plan to kill, but the part to make certain I come out alive on the other side of it.  Before, it was a moot point.

I live, I die, don't matter.

So long as
he
dies, I’ll rest in peace.

Now I want to be here.

“They killed my family Ryder,” I release on a breath so low I don’t think he could hear it.

His hands claim my face and pulls me out of his chest. His determined eyes zero in on my teary ones, touching his forehead to mine.

“Fuck babe.”

He presses his lips to mine in a sweet kiss.

“We’ll find him babe, or I will alone if you’re not ready. This will end, Elle. I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but I promise you one day, as soon as I’m able I’ll make sure this shit is dealt with. I promise, beautiful.”

Chapter Twenty-four

I managed a bit of lasagna, and after the carb overload, albeit small, I knew I needed a bath.

My go-to for calm.

I lay in the hot water with my soft tunes playing thinking about how it felt to get that off my chest to Ryder. I assumed it could’ve been worse. Telling the story and reliving the emotions was as painful as ever. But Ryder's reaction to it is what I reflect on.

He’s an amazing man to handle me the way he did, allowing me to speak when I needed. He knew when to put a word in and when to be quiet.

A woman would seldom ever describe a man as perfect. I think it’s ludicrous to even think it. People fuck up, people make mistakes and people take shit for granted.

It’s a part of life and one can’t go through it without these things and making many mistakes along the way.

Mistakes are simply that, a mistake. So long as you learn from it. When you make the same mistake twice, it’s no longer a mistake—it’s a choice. If you take it as such, you’re excepting it as a bad habit.

Ryder is not a man who would make the same mistake twice. He’s learned and lived enough that he knew exactly when and what I needed. Right down to rubbing my back, giving me gentle kisses and even returning the wine glass to my hand.

I don't drink to forget. I don't drink because I’m a drunk. I won’t lie, I have been. I once drank for five days straight along with the odd pain med. Laura finally took the pills away because she knew I hated them. She added some soda to my next wine and told me I needed to tone it down before I died of liver failure or possibly became an alcoholic.

That’s her.

She knows me.

Have I used cigarettes and alcohol in time of need?

Absofuckinlutely.

Would I cry if you took my drink away and poured it down the sink?

No.

But sitting in the bath reflecting on my life while gazing at the water, having an extreme come to Jesus with a man I could love, and while having a glass of wine, does not once make me question myself.

Some people like to knit; some people like tea, some people like to fuck their problems away.

I like wine, cigarettes, good music and currently a good rub down by a tasty man named Ryder Callaghan, who knows how to make a woman think about nothing but the act he’s performing.

It’s time.

I get out of the bath and proceed with my usual rub down of coconut oil. Getting everything on my back is a chore but I always continue with a Cirque du Soleil act, arms bending in ways which they shouldn’t to try and tame the mess that is my back, in hopes that one day it’ll fade. The ridges have lessened and the color has gone from bright red to a deep purple.

I lather from top to bottom on my front and put on my robe. I exit the bathroom to a quiet and dark house, minus the bedroom.

Ryder is sitting on my bed, shirtless, leaning against the headboard, concentrating on his iPad. He notices me the minute I cross the threshold of the bedroom and sets it on the nightstand.

He climbs out of bed and pulls the covers down. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers. It takes everything in me not to jump him right now.

I need to feel him out first.

I make my way around to the end of the bed. He walks slowly to meet me there.

I look up at his beautiful face, hoping I’m not making a mistake. I hope he doesn't think less of me, and in a sick way I hope he still sticks around because at the end of the day, I do need his help.

I reach into the pocket of my robe and pull out the container of oil. I reach for his hand while maintaining eye contact and set it in his palm.

“I can’t promise you yet that I’ll be here next week, or next month. That’s not to say I don’t want to be, it’s because honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been doing everything on my own Ryder for a long time, and that's what I’m used to. Me, on my own. I can’t promise you anything, other than the fact I’ll try.”

I close his hand around the oil and try to read his eyes. He doesn't give me much chance before he speaks.

“I know that Elle, you just have to know I don't want you to have to do it on your own. And I’d like to be here to help you to do that. As much as you’ll let me babe. If the best you can do is promise that you’ll try, then I’ll take that. I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

He opens his hand and looks down at the product and back up to me, confused.

I need to clarify it for him. And I look into his eyes to do so. This isn’t a moment to be had while staring at the floor.

“The only other person in this world that has looked at me, at my back, was the doctor and the nurse that helped him put it back together. I do my best to keep oil on it so it doesn’t look so terrifying, but it’s not always easy, especially in the beginning with fractured bones and a dislocated shoulder. I don't like asking for help. I don't like to look at it, much less have anybody else do so.”

I take a deep breath and move my hands to the belt of my robe.

“If you do this, it’s not because I asked you for help. It’s because you want to. It’s because you don’t feel pity toward me, but instead the need to take care of the woman you miss watching drink coffee on her back porch in the morning.

“It’s because you want what's best for the woman who’s cooking for you and who calls you out on your shit. It’s because you want to, never because you need to.”

I loosen the tie on my kimono and let it go. It slips down my shoulders and onto the floor. I remain eye contact the entire time and, props to him, he doesn’t lose it either, despite the fact I’m only wearing what I was born with.

Ryder sets the oil down on the bed and reaches his hands up to my neck. His thumbs caress slowly as he moves them up into my hair.

His lips descend on mine and he kisses me deeply. I open my mouth in invitation. He takes it without hesitation.

No holds barred, nothing held back.

One hand moves down along my torso. He curves it around my ass before pulling me close to him.

It’s hard, but not rushed.

Gentle, but firm.

He pulls my face into his chest and moves his hand down the back of my neck. It slowly makes its way past my shoulder blades and begins to touch the awful markings reaching deep into my soul.

“Your beauty reaches deeper than these marks do, remember that beautiful. If you don't, let me know and I’ll remind you.”

I nod my head and he presses a sweet kiss to my temple. I can feel him against my stomach and I’m impressed with how well he can hold himself back.

“Lie on the bed babe, on your back,” he whispers into my ear.

I’m confused, seeing as I brought the oil in for him to do just that, my back; an offering that means more than my virginity as far as I’m concerned. He halts that train of thought.

“Trust me babe, we start slow.”

He gives me a gentle nudge and I sit on the bed. As elegantly as I can, I crab crawl backward toward the pillows.

I settle down and lean back while he still stays planted at the foot of the bed.

Ryder leans down and grabs the oil while his eyes roam my body. I’m more toned than I used to be, with all the training I’ve done with Brock. To be honest, it’s hard work well earned. It’s paid off in more ways than one and if the way Ryder is looking at me is any indication, then I’m pleased.

I just hope he remains pleased when I turn over.

He puts a knee on the bed and climbs on, making his way toward me. My legs are stretched out, slightly bent at the knee. After a moment, he straddles me.

“Gonna start at the top babe, and make my way to the bottom. Then, you’re going to turn over and I’ll repeat the process.”

I have nothing to say so I simply nod and watch him remove the cap and gather the oil in his hands.

Rubbing firmly, his eyes come back to mine while his hands move toward my shoulders.

His firm hands touch my skin. Regardless of them being in a non-erogenous zone for me, I break out in goose bumps.

He notices.

“Glad you respond to me that much, beautiful. It’s the same for me with you,” he says sincerely, remaining eye contact. I know what he means as I see the bulge in the front of his boxers. His hands move down my arms.

Every finger is given the same attention before he moves downward to my thighs and calves, completely ignoring my bare chest and center.

Many mewls and moans are softly let loose from my mouth. When he reaches my feet, I’m gone.

Any woman that has ever been pregnant and lost sight of them will forever appreciate a good foot rub, and he doesn't disappoint. No toe is left untouched and when he lowers his mouth to begin kissing the arch of my foot, with his eyes on mine, I’m lost.

His fingers work deep in between my toes.  He moves his hands up my calves, under my knees and eventually they come to a rest on my bottom. He leans down and places a kiss above my belly button, one to my chest and then settles at my lips.

“Time to turn over, beautiful,” he softly says.

Judgment Day.

I hold his eyes and reach my hands up to cup his beautiful face. The scruff is still there, the dark eyes stare back at me, and his thick dark hair falls down around his face.

“If it’s too much, or you can’t handle the sight of it. You talk to me or you stop, Ry.”

I won’t be disappointed in him if it’s too much to handle up close. I’ll be upset, but that's a natural feeling when someone you care about sees a part of you that you keep hidden.

His strong hands hold me tight while those dark eyes implore mine.

“I told you I’ll take it all, now turn over babe.”

He kisses my forehead and releases his firm hold, letting me know it’s up to me. He’s still straddling my body and I take a deep breath and release with my eyes on his. I nod before turning over.

I may have imagined the low growl that came from his chest, or it may have been real. However, the only thing I can currently feel are his lips at my neck and the continuation of them slowly making their way across my back.

His hands frame my ribs and his forehead soon rests at the center of my back, his breath is warm against it.

His hands don't move, his grip gets tighter and for I moment I fear that maybe, regardless of what he’s seen and been through, it’s too much.

“Ry? You don't have to handsome,” I whisper softly. I knew it might be too much for him. Maybe this was a bad idea.

His lips press firm, making their way back up along my spine. Not sexually—just reassuringly.

“I knew there was no turning back before you made me lunch the day I cleaned your gutters. This doesn't change things,” he says as his hand runs down my back.

“Just makes me upset, and makes me want to inflict some serious pain on the man who did it.”

His hands continue their journey around the road map that has become my back.

He knows enemy number one is eliminated; he’s seen that in the files on the kitchen table, but he doesn't know how. Unless curiousness prompted him to search on his iPad.