Mrs. Delvy darts a quick glance toward her husband before speaking. “We were wondering if we could request Ryder work with Max.”
“Was there a problem with his instructor?” Todd is one of our best, and I’d be shocked if he did something to earn their disapproval.
“No, not at all.” She puts a hand over her chest. “It’s just that Ryder is sort of a hero to Max.”
My heart sinks as I take in her hopeful expression. While I want to make Max happy, and I’m not opposed to the idea, Ryder needs to prove himself capable of it. He’s not there yet. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Quite frankly, he isn’t the most reliable volunteer.”
Mr. Delvy turns to his wife with a sad smile. “I told you it might be too soon.”
“You never know,” she replies. “Sometimes getting out there can be therapeutic.”
“It hasn’t even been six months, Carol. And he’s working behind a desk. I’m sure there’s a reason for that.”
“Too soon?” My eyes dart back and forth between them, searching for clues.
“Too soon to ask him to ride,” Mrs. Delvy explains.
First Carter, now these two? What do they know about getting Ryder on the mountain that I don’t? “It’s literally his job, why wouldn’t he ride?”
Mr. Delvy directs his sad smile to me. “Ryder missed the first two races of the season. He doesn’t look injured, just empty.”
That doesn’t clarify anything for me, so I look to his wife, hoping she’ll be more forthcoming.
“He hasn’t raced since his brother died in a plane crash,” she answers my unspoken question.
His brother died? I don’t have siblings—my cousin was the closest thing to a brother I had—and losing him gutted me, so I get some of what Ryder’s undoubtedly experiencing. I had months to prepare though, whereas a plane crash comes totally out of the blue. Not that watching and waiting for someone to die is easy—I don’t think death ever is—but I did at least have the benefit of being able to say goodbye. Ryder didn’t get that.
Speaking of things coming out of the blue, why is this the first I’m hearing of Ryder’s brother?
“Didn’t you just meet him today? How’d you know he lost his brother?” What I really want to ask is why they know that and I don’t, but I manage to keep my words professional. Sort of.
“They mention it during every race he’s not a part of, trying to explain his absence. That’s why we wondered if working with Max might be good for both of them.” She sighs heavily.
That revelation sheds a little light on things, though it doesn’t explain why Ryder continues to show up hungover when he knows I won’t put him on the mountain in that condition. Unless he has some sort of aversion to riding? Maybe reeking of alcohol is a conscious choice, one designed to keep him indoors. One thing is clear though. Carter thinks Ryder has lost the will to live, and riding might bring him around. Stop him from drinking his life away. That must be how he got his DUI. Ryder’s drowning his grief in booze.
I still think driving under the influence was shitty, and he doesn’t get a free pass for that. But he deserves another chance, just like the clients who come through here. Many of them try to bury their feelings with alcohol too, and they all have dark days as they come to terms with their new normal.
I’ve never considered our program as a healing tool for the instructors, though in this instance I can see why the idea has merit, for Ryder and Max both.
“I can’t make any promises,” I tell the eager couple, whose eyes light up as they see me starting to relent. “Ryder might not be ready for this, but if he’s willing, I’ll let them ride together.”
Mrs. Delvy blinks back tears. “Thank you.”
As they head off to find Max my mind races with what I could possibly say to convince Ryder to consider this, and what might happen if he screws it up. For the first time since taking this job, I wonder if I’m up to the task.
Don’t let me down, Ryder.
Chapter nine
Ryder
I’ve drained half the glass even though the beer in front of me tastes like shit. I’m not much of a connoisseur, especially lately, when quantity not quality has been my primary focus. Still, I don’t remember it tastingbad.
It’s not just the beer either. The sandwich in front of me is basically flavorless, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.
My uncle lost his sense of taste and smell out of nowhere almost a decade ago, and no one has ever been able to explain it. Dude loved to eat—loved to cook too—and now he gets no pleasure from either. Could that be a hereditary thing? Am I going to lose my senses on top of losing Chase and my desire to ride?
That’d be fitting. I can’t even say I’d be disappointed. One of the best things about traveling the world for competitions is tasting the great food, so I’ve learned to become fond of different flavors. But why should I get that pleasure when Chase can’t have it?
