Ryker (The Ride #4)
Read Ryker (The Ride #4) Online
Authors: Megan O'Brien
Ryker
THE RIDE SERIES
Megan O’Brien
Ryker, The Ride Series
Copyright © 2015 Megan O’Brien
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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eBook formatting by Maureen Cutajar
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Contents
Prologue
T
he flashlight created a soothing light as we lay huddled under my covers reading quietly to each other. Ryker looked over at me, his most recent black eye painful to look at even in the dim light.
“You hungry?” I whispered.
He nodded instantly. He was almost always hungry. I was pretty sure sometimes the only meals he got were at my house.
“Don’t worry, I made you a PB&J earlier,” I assured him, pulling the tinfoil-packed sandwiches from underneath my bed.
He grabbed them from me and eagerly took a huge bite.
This wasn’t the first time I’d snuck Ryker into my room and it wouldn’t be the last. His dad was mean; he hit him, a lot. His mother slept all the time and her breath always smelled. When his big brother was around things were better but he got hit too. Ryker’s parents were nothing like mine. Even at eight years old I knew I was really lucky.
“Thanks, Tink.” He offered a shy smile after he’d inhaled the first sandwich and had started on the second. Once Ryker had learned of my obsession with Peter Pan he’d come up with the nickname.
It had stuck.
“Stop calling me that.” I swatted at him playfully. Secretly, I loved that he had a pet name for me.
“Tink, Tink, Tink,” he chanted quietly.
I blushed at his teasing.
“Nicknames are cool,” he assured me, always eager to soothe me. At school if anyone teased me, Ryker was quick to get in their face. We protected each other, always.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, but you don’t need a nickname because Ryker is such a cool name already. My name sucks,” I grumbled.
“Piper is a cool name,” he argued, defensive on my behalf.
“Whatever.” I blushed again, pleased with the compliment. Ryker always made me blush and I didn’t know why.
“Full?”
He crumpled up the tinfoil, tossed it in the trashcan, and nodded. “Yeah.”
I looked at him carefully for a minute. “You okay, Ry?” I didn’t always ask but the bruises were particularly dark tonight and he was quiet.
He looked down at his hands. “Someday I’m going to build my own family and it’s going to be so much better than mine.”
I nodded, feeling like I could cry and knowing he wouldn’t want that. “Want to keep reading?” I managed.
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly.
We settled down into my twin bed, our heads touching as we picked up the book where we’d left off.
I glanced over at Ryker knowing he was swept away in the story, eager to escape his reality. I was happy to be able to do that for him tonight and for as long as he’d let me.
Chapter 1
T
he cold whipped through my jacket as though it were made of Swiss cheese as I left the drug store and walked briskly to my car. It was the coldest winter Nevada had seen in years. Fitting since I’d just moved back from sunny and warm Los Angeles.
Perfect.
I pulled the thin material around me as close as my frigid fingers would allow until I reached my beat-up Subaru. I slipped inside as quickly as possible, revved the old engine to life and headed for home.
Home. What an odd concept.
I’d just recently returned to Hawthorne, Nevada, the town where I’d been raised and where my father still lived.
The small town was nearly deserted despite the early evening hour; the cold had kept many folks indoors. I drove carefully down the icy streets as Dwight Yoakam crooned one of his country classics through the stereo.
It didn’t take long before I was pulling into the driveway of my childhood home, cutting the engine, and watching the smoke billow from the chimney, reaching for the sky in smoky desperation.
The familiar sound of clicking claws and jangling collars met my ears as our two dogs greeted me enthusiastically at the door. We’d had dogs my whole life. I couldn’t remember a time when we hadn’t had at least two. My parents had adopted these two, a pit mix and boxer mix, after I’d moved to LA, but we’d become fast friends since I’d been home.
Tank, the pit mix, was a big black hulk of a dog—hence the name—but he was a total softie and really mellow. Roxie, the boxer mix, was also sweet but she had way too much energy. I swear that dog could run for hours and not get tired. I’d learned this as I’d basically adopted them since being home.
“Piper, is that you?” my dad called from somewhere in the house when I stepped inside. His voice had an eerie way of echoing from everywhere. As a kid with mischief constantly in the back of my mind, it had been seriously spooky. Now I just shook my head fondly and answered.
“Yeah,” I hollered back, removing my boots and coat before moving into the kitchen where I was fairly sure I’d heard him call from.
“Hi, sweetie,” he greeted from his place at the kitchen nook, as he sat staring unseeingly out the window.
“Hi, is there dinner?” I asked hopefully. I’d had a sandwich at lunch and that had been hours ago. I was starved.
“I saved you some frozen pizza.” He nodded.
I’d take it.
“Thanks,” I replied, ducking into the fridge and pulling out the tinfoil parcel to heat up.
“How was work?” he asked, clasping his large hands together across the table.
I shrugged. “I didn’t get barfed on,” I replied with a smile.
I’d been helping out at the day care a few days a week. The rest of my time had been devoted to getting our family business back on track. I wanted to be busy. The less time in my own head the better.
He offered a small smile, more than I got a lot of the time. “That’s good, honey.”
“How was your day?” I asked carefully, my eyes watching my plate revolve in the microwave.
“Okay.” He shrugged dismissively.
“Did you get out at all?”
“Not today,” he answered.
I didn’t press. I never did. Instead I dropped his prescription on the table without a word and dove into my pizza as though it were five-star cuisine.
We sat in relative silence as I ate and he stared at the newspaper in front of him as though he could force answers from the pages if he looked hard enough. The silence stretched through the space that had once brimmed with so much life.
My mother.
She’d been full of it. Even when she’d been sick. I looked across the dimly lit space, feeling a hollowness take hold that I’d grappled with since I’d been home.
It had been a year since she’d passed, and yet being back under the roof where she’d raised me, it felt like just yesterday.
If she’d been here, every light would have been on. Music would have been playing from somewhere. Something delicious would be lingering in the air. But the most life would have come from her. She was always a chattering, cheerful ball of energy.
She’d have been tittering around getting my dad another glass of something, heaping my plate with something more. She’d be asking about my day, wanting to know every detail.
Instead, the silence stretched as we both tried to survive a loss this big.
“Night,” I murmured sometime later, unable to stand it any longer.
“Night, honey.” He nodded, giving me a quick glance before his eyes returned to the window and the darkness beyond.
I trudged upstairs to the bedroom where I’d grown up and tried to find some small comfort in the familiarity of it.
Instead it all felt so strange.
I crawled into bed and felt the familiar lump build in my throat. It was like an old friend by now—one of the rare constants in a life suddenly filled with turmoil.
Sleep was a welcome distraction and I invited it to pull me down into its warm embrace, where my mother still welcomed me home; where she still lived.
Chapter 2
T
he next morning I made the short drive downtown with the dogs panting happily in the back. I didn’t like them being cooped up all day and Dad didn’t seem to notice them anymore.
The term “downtown” was a generous one, considering it was really just a single street of shops with a few dotting the surrounding area. When I was younger I’d found Hawthorne so stifling; it was too tiny, too plain. Now, after years away, I saw something entirely different. I saw quaint shops along a tree-lined street with a backdrop of dramatic snowy mountains. I saw the raw vastness of the desert whose warmth still shone through despite the chill of winter.
I saw home.
“Okay guys, let’s see how much we can get done,” I muttered, as the dogs shot from the car, leading the way to our destination. They knew where we were going since I took them nearly every day.
I looked up at the out-of-date signage hanging over the door. My parents had owned Dixie’s since before I was born. The small boutique, named after my parents’ first dog, a dachshund given to them as a wedding present, had been my mother’s vision and dream come true.
She’d run the shop while Dad sold insurance, but he always supported her as much as he could, including contributing one key element: furniture he made himself. I’d spent hours in our garage watching him craft a block of wood into a shiny, smooth rocking chair or bedside table.
I’d worked at the store all through high school. It was a family effort to make it a success, but it was my mother’s real love. Which was why I was so hell-bent on getting it back in running order.
When she’d gotten sick the first time, right before my senior year of high school, I’d upped the amount of hours I spent at the store, spending an entire summer and evenings once school had started back up. I fought like hell to keep it open, thinking in some small way it would help her to get well. My dad, in contrast, stopped helping at the store altogether and the woodshop in the garage started to gather dust.
There was only one person who kept me from drowning, who provided joy in an otherwise desperately sad time.
Ryker Black.
Without Ryker, I don’t know how I’d have gotten through that time. He’d put in as many hours as I had, maybe more, so I could help take care of my mom and keep the shop open. He’d been my rock, offering unwavering support even though I knew it was just as hard on him. He loved her too.
I walked into the dark store, the smell of clothing, candles, and furniture polish enveloping me like a familiar cocoon.
The store itself was in decent shape but the merchandise was out of date and the finances were a mess. My business degree from USC was being put to good use as I worked nightly to get it back on track after a year of mismanagement followed by complete abandonment. I knew my dad was struggling, but the fact that he’d closed the boutique without even telling me was alarming.
When the bell jangled not an hour later I looked up and smiled as my longtime friend, Ettie, walked in bearing coffee. Her curls bounced, a constant beacon of her exuberant personality, as she made her way toward me. Despite her petite frame, Ettie had always been larger than life.
“I thought I could help.” She shrugged, looking around the chaotic space. Ettie and I had been friends since grade school. Though we’d lost touch over the years, our friendship seemed to have picked up right where we’d left off.
“That’d be great, thanks,” I replied.
We were soon rummaging through boxes in the back room, trying to make sense of the inventory.
“Have you seen him?” she asked quietly after a time.
The mention of Ryker caused my entire body to tense. “Not since he came to pick up Mason at day care last week.” I winced at the memory. The look of surprise and hurt that had flashed across his face at seeing me had kept me up at night ever since.
