Ryder

forty four

"...the person you are trying to call is unavailable. Please try again later..."

Sighing a little aggravatedly, I ended the call and fell back on the spare twin bed. I looked down at my phone, at the numerous attempts I'd made at calling Ryder, but he hadn't answered. It hadn't even gone to his voicemail. Worry slowly and gradually gnawed at me.

Pushing my phone aside as the screen went dark, I dragged both of my hands up my face and winced at the loud boom of thunder. It had started raining heavily somewhere in between Dad's reassuring murmurs as I'd hugged him for as long as he'd let me (which had been a long time) and him showing me the spare room--a warm cozy, unused room--that he'd assured me wasn't anyone's, just a spare that he hadn't known what to do with when he'd bought the house years ago.

"Stay here for as long as you want, yeah?" He'd told me as I'd taken my time to look around--the vaguely large twin bed, the empty shelf, and the arched windows that looked out to the night sky. It was warm.

He'd brought out a thick, huge blanket for me, asked me if I needed more pillows--how many was too much--and shown me where the bathroom was across the hallway--the spare toothbrush, water, the leftovers in the fridge--and I think he was trying his best, doing everything, because he didn't want me to vanish the moment I woke up in the morning. It was a whiplash of tangled emotions because...because I didn't think I had ever been on the receiving end of this.

If only he knew that I didn't want to leave, not when I'd finally found him, not when he was nothing--nothing like I'd expected. Nothing like Mom.

Something tapped loudly against the window and I jumped, startled, only to turn around fast and notice that it was just a large tree branch.

I looked over at my phone again, and felt this tightening ache in my throat, my fingers itching to call Alyssa--Mom--Andy, anyone. Alyssa wouldn't pick up. But maybe Mom would? Why hadn't I called her yet? What was I so afraid of?

Everything.

I squeezed my eyes close and shook my head. No, I told myself, no, I will only worry about Ryder right now. I wouldn't think of anything--anyone else right now. Because I was here, at Dad's house. Ryder had brought me here. He was the one who'd found Dad.

Wincing, I got up from the bed and started pacing again, a floorboard creaking loudly beneath my feet. I stopped and wondered if Dad was asleep or still awake. Judging from the utter quiet of the house, it was likely he'd called it a night. And it was nearly midnight by now.

I walked back towards the windows and stared outside. Raindrops washed down the glass--a touch so cold that I shivered. I blinked, leaned closer and pressed my nose against the cool glass, and watched a shadowed silhouette moving across the small yard and towards the--towards the back door.

I tried to look where the figure went but it wasn't easy, and also the glass was too cold. Alarmed, I pulled away and walked towards the door, pulled it open, and walked out into the hallway.

There was a rattle, a creak, and what felt like an opening of a door. The backdoor.

I walked downstairs, trying not to make any noise, and only had just reached the door, bare feet curling against the cool floor, when I saw a figure slipping past the back door and stepping inside the house.

I stiffened in alarm, recognition, relief--and a relieved noise left my lips. "Ryder!"

He stiffened, fingers curled around the door, and carefully closed it shut behind him.

I neared him, hesitated, and only then noticed his drenched state, which should've been obvious from the loud slashing rain and thunder outside. A flash of thunder and I saw the dark blue of his eyes, hair matted to his forehead and dripping rainwater--