Ryder

forty three

You owe me.

"Hey," Dad said, breaking the tense silence around us as he gently placed a dark brown mug in front of me; on my side of the counter. "Are you cold?"

I swallowed, tried to make my tongue work past the choking dryness, and only shook my head.

He waited a second, three seconds, and then sat down across from me. I looked at him, then around the tiny kitchen, the fridge, and the faded photograph of a huge, fluffy golden retriever stuck right there with a scribbled smiley at its corner, and I blinked.

"That's Crystal. She was a rescue who used to spend a lot of her time here when the owners next door went on trips." Dad spoke and it took me a moment to realize that he'd followed my gaze to the photograph stuck on his fridge. He gave me a small smile when he saw me looking and I stared at the crow's feet at both corners of his eyes. "She was a sweet one. Always ended up here even when her house was filled with guests."

Was. It was difficult but I did finally find the words on my tongue. "I'm sorry."

The sadness in his eyes didn't leave but the smile on his lips did. He cradled another one of his ceramic mugs in his hands. I stared down at mine and finally registered the deep rich scent of cocoa. Hot chocolate.

"Alice--"

"You made hot chocolate." I cut him off, wide-eyed. Maybe because a part of me didn't want him to start asking questions from me, questionsquestionsquestions that I wasn't willing to answer right now, and also because did he know, somehow still remembered that I loved hot chocolate--got excited--felt this warm tight feeling in my chest--ever since I was a little kid?

He stared, but only for a few seconds, before nodding. "Thought you'd like something warm, kid. Especially after the night you've had."

The theater. The concert. The violins. The shatter of glass. RyderRyderRyder--hurt--blood trickling down his forehead--dark blue eyes looking in mine--warning, a promise. And Santiago--with the muzzle of a gun digging into my forehead--a warning--you owe me.

"Are you cold?" Dad asked me again, his voice gentle and cautious and--like he expected me to get up and walk away any second now. It struck me. It struck me so suddenly because I hadn't realized that he was--that he thought I'd leave.

Even when I'd followed him blindly here to his house when Ryder had gritted at me to "leave, Alice," because he'd seen Santiago whipping out the pistol to shoot me in the head, which he hadn't, but Ryder had still seen it, and he'd been livid. The last I'd seen of him and Santiago was the darkness behind the theater and the loud booms of gunshots in the air before Dad had grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of there.

"No." I looked up at him, cradling the mug between my fingers. It was big. It was warm. "Thank you. I...like your house."

Something in his eyes softened and I pressed forward into the counter. "Dad," I said, then tried swallowing past the hot lump in my throat. "I'm sorry that it..."

I trailed off. I'm sorry that it took me so long to find you. Even though what I really wanted to ask more was, but why didn't you find me?

"Kiddo." His eyes creased at the corners again. "There's no need for you to apologize. I don't want you to."

I took a sip because I needed to be doing something with my hands. The warm taste of chocolate was like an envelope of hope over my heart.

"Why did you leave?" The question blurted out of my mouth before I could've thought twice.

Dad blinked, startled, and looked down at his own mug.