Ever.
Numbness rolls through me as I think of our final moments together. The exact moment my father told my mother he was sorry for fucking all of us up. The exact moment he cried, telling her he’d love her forever. The exact second the first bullet rang through the air, followed by the bloodcurdling sound of my mother gasping for a full breath as she looked at me one last time. I saw the demented hollowness in my father’s eyes before he shoved the gun into his mouth, blowing his brain straight out the back of his head. In the middle of our living room, where I used to watch cartoons before school, my father’s six-foot-two, husky frame landed on top of my mother’s tiny body, crushing it.
A thud . . .
My screams . . .
And then nothing . . . nothing but deafening silence.
The memory splinters my soul, but before I know it, it’s gone. The splash of running water snaps me back into the present, my past evaporating into the casket of my heart.
“What are you, Casey?” Ryder asks over his shoulder as he scrubs his hands with antibacterial soap.
“Your little cancer warrior,” she answers with a small smile.
“That’s right.” He dries his hands and turns, a proud grin cracking his mouth. “The bravest one ever.”
I grab Casey’s hand and hold it tight, knowing nothing I’ve ever seen, heard, or felt compares to what she’s facing. This child’s living with a fear I can’t comprehend. One that’d slay all of my fears put together.
“Ready?” Ryder asks, his tone soft and caring, everything it should be.
Casey nods, clenching my hand. My heart swells, anxiety building thick in my throat as Ryder slips on a pair of medical gloves and cleans the area around her port with Betadine swabs.
Casey looks at me, the cool blue of her eyes misting over. “Are you scared of needles?”
“No,” I say, running my free hand along the back of her neck. “Are you?”
“I used to be.” She sighs, a single tear slipping down her face. “But not so much anymore.”
It takes everything in me not to drag her little body off the table and run out of the apartment with her. I wipe the tear from her cheek, my need to hide her away, sheltering her from the sinister storm she’s in the middle of, growing with each unsteady breath.
“A little cold,” Ryder warns before spraying the anesthetic on her skin.
“Hurry, Ry,” Casey pleads, her voice weak yet panicked. “It doesn’t last that long.”
“I have to make sure you’re numb, Case.” Ryder ducks his head and stares into her eyes, trying to keep her focused on the silly faces he’s making. His tactic works.
Casey’s tiny giggles bounce around the kitchen, their musical notes blocking out the sound of Ryder popping the cap off a weird- looking needle. With a small, clear tube like a tail—and plastic wings stretched out on either side—it reminds me of a dragonfly. Ryder presses his gloved finger against Casey’s port a few times, his attention honed in on her face as he says, “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Casey smiles at me, completely unaware that Ryder’s pricked her skin with the needle.
“Aardvark.” Ryder pushes the medicine through the syringe, his attention cutting between Casey’s face and the needle.
“Aardvark who?” she manages, a thin sheen of sweat dotting her upper lip.
“Aardvark a hundred miles for one of your pretty smiles.” Ryder pulls the needle from her chest, and before she can blink, he rests his lips against her forehead, kissing away her remaining fear.
Close to immobile, my heart tugs, the magnitude of what this man means to this little girl—what they mean to each other—scraping tears up my dry throat. I swallow the sound before it can leave me, warmth pinching my stomach into a beautiful knot as I observe them.
“It’s over?” Casey asks, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.
“Yeah, kiddo. It’s over,” Ryder answers, his voice heavy with relief as he applies a small piece of gauze over her port. “You’re all set, warrior. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll get ready to leave.”
With Ryder’s aid, Casey slides off the table and heads for the bathroom, the bounce in her step less tangible as she slips around the corner. Quiet reigns, the events from the last few minutes whispering across my mind as Ryder looks at me with exhausted eyes. Stress lines cut across his forehead, wariness drowning his beautiful features. Overcome, I watch him swipe a tired hand over his face and turn, resting his palms against the counter. As though having no control over my body—a magnet pulling in my gut—I stand and move toward him, each tentative step I take carried out with shallow, quick breaths. I come up behind him, lift a shaky hand and tap his shoulder, my pulse lurching as he turns and meets my gaze. Our connection strikes, a bolt of emotions paralyzing us as we stare at each other.
I touch my fingers to his stubbled cheek, my conscience crying out that my actions are wrong, so very wrong, but my heart mutes the warning as I move my palm to the back of his neck.
His muscles go taut, restraint lighting the fiery blue of his eyes. “Amber, don’t.” The words come out not as a rough warning but a soft plea. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” I whisper, trembling. “You’re . . . amazing, Ryder. What you did for her, everything you do for her . . . I just . . .” I drop my eyes to his chest, my heart galloping as I register his hands gripping my waist. Their heat sears through me, a thrill jumping from cell to cell. “You’re tender, cocky, gentle, and an asshole all at the same time. You’re kind, giving, nurturing. You’re . . . everything.”