word, he remained. So damn loyal. So damn fearless.
Not her.
She was a coward.
But she couldn’t face the alternative. So cowardice it was.
But as she went back to the camper and looked around at the tiny place she had not called home now for over a week, she knew that it was more than cowardice. Whatever she was doing required that she leave her heart behind.
But she was afraid of it. Because it hurt. Because it was shattered.
But if she left it behind, maybe she could keep on breathing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
IT WASN’T UNTIL Ryder woke up the next morning and saw that the camper was gone that he truly believed what Sammy had said.
She had left him.
She had left him.
His wife. His love.
Sammy.
She hadn’t taken all of her things out of their room, but she had taken her jewelry. And as the sun rose up over the mountains, he didn’t go out and do his work. Instead, he prepared a bowl of fruit like he had done every morning and left it in her spot. Then he went out to the front porch and sat in one of the wooden chairs. And just sat. Sat until the sun was far too high up over those mountains. Until the sun had lit up the world around him and illuminated it in stark reality, made it impossible for him to pretend that maybe it was a dream.
He’d said that he loved her, and she’d thrown it back at him.
She’d told him that he never had a choice.
But he did. He could’ve chosen to stay in his fear, to stay in his grief, and he had chosen bravery. But those words hadn’t been there. Not then. Because all that had been there was shock. He had believed that nothing could break them. But it turned out that she could.
And he was turning it all over in his head, trying to figure out where he might have let it break.
It was Logan who found him. Damn his friend.
“I was expecting to see you out in the fields.”
“Well,” Ryder said. “I’m not in the fields.”
“I can see that.”
“Yep. Now get on with yourself.”
“Why exactly aren’t you out working the fields?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Something happened with Sammy, didn’t it?”
“And how the hell do you know that? Always so fucking insightful, aren’t you? Asking me if I’m in love with her. Telling me I’m in love with her. Now you know something happened.”
“Not because I’m particularly insightful, but because her camper’s gone. What the hell did you do?”
“Loved her,” he ground out. “I fucking loved her. I gave her everything that she could have asked for. But she didn’t ask for it. Never once. In fact, she gave it back. She doesn’t want me to love her. She says I don’t have a choice but to take care of her and I don’t know what I want. Like I’m a kid. I haven’t been a kid since I was one. You want to talk about dealing with shit? I lost my parents, and then I had to become a parent. I am a hell of a lot more in touch with my feelings than most. And a hell of a lot more in touch with them than I would like to be, I can tell you that.”
Logan nodded slowly. “Look. I don’t actually know anything about relationships. I’m as bad a bet as there even exists. I know so little about love it’s not even funny. But I know you. And I know her. And I know that she must feel like she’s taken an awful lot from you for someone who wasn’t blood. Because I know that I sure as hell feel that way. And indebted to you. In a way that... I can’t even put into words.”
“I don’t want you to owe me, not any of you.”
“But of course we do. Look at you. This is your life. You didn’t do anything else. You didn’t go anywhere else, because of us.”
“Neither did you.”
His friend looked at him, long and hard.
“Well, what the hell, Logan? Is this some kind of indentured servitude?”
“This was the most stable, secure family experience I ever had. Staying in it isn’t a hardship. But yeah, I owe you one. I’m glad that Jake and Colt felt like they could move on. But I never did. Maybe because we’re not blood. Maybe I thought I owed you a little bit of a stronger oath for that reason. I think Sammy is just scared.