Tell her that Ellie adores her. That you?—
But what kind of life was that? Asking a woman who almost died on a collapsing oil rig to stay? Asking her to take on a single dad in a foreign country on the other side of the world with a wrecked shoulder and a three-year-old and a job that would put him in danger again and again. He couldn’t ask her to take that kind of risk.
She deserved better. Someone who could give her stability. Safety. A life in England with her family.
“When’s your flight?”
She sucked in a sudden breath and didn’t look at him when she answered. “Tomorrow. Afternoon.”
“Right.” His ribs didn’t feel like they could move. “That’s good. You’ll want to get home.” He hated how it sounded. Like a goodbye instead of a mistake.
“Yes, George has been texting nonstop. He’s worried.”
“I bet.”
“The oil development’s off, obviously. George is relieved, actually.” Her fingers twisted together. “I’m taking a more in-depth look at wave power. Tidal energy. More sustainable. Lower risk.” A pause. “It’s a better fit for what we want long term.”
Long term.The words hung between them.
“That sounds good,” he said. “Smart.”
“Yes. Well.” She looked down at her hands. “Something productive from all this, at least.”
More silence. This one hurt worse than his shoulder.
Ivy reached out slowly, as if checking to see if it was allowed, and rested her hand on top of his. Her fingers were warm against his skin.
His throat closed. This—her touch, her presence, her choosing to reach for him—this was what he wanted. Every day. Forever.
He looked down at their hands and tried to memorize what it felt like.
“Ryder—”
“You should rest.” His words came out too fast, too sharp. Panic talking. “You’ve been through hell.”
She withdrew her hand, and the air between them felt colder for it.
“Right.” She stood up. “Of course. You need rest too.”
She tugged the ridiculous hoodie hem straight and tucked her hair behind her ear.
Don’t go. Stay. Please stay.
“I’ll come back this afternoon. To see Ellie. If that’s still okay.”
“Yeah. She’d like that.” He stared at the sheet covering his legs, too chicken to meet her gaze.
Ivy started toward the door. Stopped. Turned back.
“Ryder, I?—”
His heart stopped.Say it. Whatever it is. Say it.
A soft sigh escaped her, as if whatever she’d been about to say had died on her tongue.
Ask her, you fool. Ask what she was going to say.
But fear locked his jaw.
