Wild Embrace (Wilder Irish #11) - Mari Carr Page 0,67

to the point where I just get my eleven-year-old to handle all the computer stuff.”

“Oh, kids are always the most tech-savvy ones in the room.”

“My daughter teases me about it all the time, but without her, I’d probably still be trying to figure out how to join Myspace.”

Darcy laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got a gr—”

Darcy broke off mid-sentence when two hands appeared in her peripheral vision, fists gripping Ron’s shirt and pulling him away from her.

She twisted just in time to see Ryder throw the mother of all punches, knocking Ron to the floor.

“What the f—” she started, but Ryder wasn’t looking at her, his focus solely on Ron.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” Ryder said hotly, bending over, ready to continue the fight. Oliver and Gavin rushed him, each taking an arm and pulling him away from Ron, who remained on the floor, his hands out in obvious surrender.

“Jesus, Ryder,” Oliver said. “Chill out, man. They were just talking.”

If Ryder heard Oliver, he gave no indication. He was still furious, staring Ron down, hard. “Stay away from her.”

“What’s going on here?”

Darcy turned to see her dad coming from the adjoining restaurant, Sunday’s Side. Padraig had already come around the counter to step between the men and to help Ron up.

“You okay, man?” Padraig asked Ron, who simply nodded, his gaze never leaving Ryder’s, which seemed smart.

Ryder was far from cooling off. Completely out of control. His face blood-red, his eyes dark with rage, his expression murderous, as he struggled to break free from Oliver and Gavin’s grip. It was definitely taking both men—who were strong as oxen—to hold him back.

Darcy felt like she was looking at a stranger.

“Ryder. Please,” Darcy said, flabbergasted by his jealousy, searching for a way to calm him down. It was a fruitless attempt, as he never glanced her direction.

Dad stepped between the two men, looking as confused as she felt. “Ryder, son. You need to calm down. Now.”

Her dad spoke with a quiet authority. He was also wearing his police uniform, his badge, and his gun belt. It was his night to work. He always stopped by before clocking in to grab a quick dinner with Mom.

Ryder was breathing rapidly, his chest rising and falling. And while he wasn’t struggling to break Oliver and Gavin’s grip anymore, neither man was letting him go, either. Probably because Ryder genuinely looked like one word would flip the switch again and he’d go back in for blood.

Dad turned toward Ron, taking in the bright red, swollen spot high up on his cheek from Ryder’s punch. He was going to have a black eye tomorrow, no doubt about it. “You okay?”

Unlike Ryder, Ron was calm, almost subdued. “Yeah.”

“Dad…” Darcy started, though she didn’t have a clue what to say. She didn’t understand a damn thing that was going on at the moment.

Dad gave her a regretful look, then looked back at Ron. “You want to press charges?”

Ron shook his head quickly, his eyes darting over to Ryder with something like…

Regret?

Darcy wondered if they knew each other.

“No. I’m good.” Then Ron turned to the other guys he’d been drinking with. “I think I’m gonna take off. See y’all next week at work.”

No one replied, not a single word, as Ron left the pub. It wasn’t easy to render her or her family speechless, but with one punch, Ryder had managed.

Dad turned back toward Ryder, but before he could say anything, Oliver was releasing his hold on Ryder’s arm.

“What the fuck, man? What’s wrong with you? Ron’s a good guy.”

Ryder snorted angrily. “A good guy…” he murmured.

Whatever white-hot rage had been coursing through Ryder started to evaporate, and for the first time since entering the pub, he looked at Darcy.

“Ryder?” she said softly, searching his face for some sort of sign of why he’d snapped so unexpectedly.

His voice when he spoke was wooden, his face completely closed to her. “I told you I couldn’t do this, Darcy. Told you from the beginning.”

His words went through her like daggers because there was no mistaking where this was going. And Darcy didn’t have a clue how to stop it.

“Ryder, wait,” she said, holding her hands up, trying to step closer.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. I can’t do it again. Any of it. I told you that, but you didn’t listen.”

He kept repeating himself, working hard to drive his point home.

“Let’s just take a minute. Maybe we can go—”

“This is over.”

“Please,” she whispered.