Ryder and I don’t tell anyone, not Carter, not Lennox, not my therapist. It feels too fragile, too new, too likely to shatter if we expose it to scrutiny.
We steal moments between PT sessions and his classes and my shifts at the library. Quick kisses in empty corridors. Long conversations in his apartment about everything and nothing. The careful negotiation of two people learning how to be together while still figuring out how to be themselves.
But secrets don’t keep forever.
Carter figures it out first, walks into Ryder’s apartment without knocking and finds us on the couch, Ryder’s good arm around me, my head on his shoulder.
“Oh,” he says. “I’m going to kill you.” He snaps, and I see the red ready to kill someone.
“It’s not—” I start.
“We’re just—” Ryder tries.
“You’re dating my sister,” Carter says flatly.
“Technically we haven’t defined?—”
“Ryder. You’re dating my sister.”
Ryder looks at me. I look at Carter. Carter looks between us with an expression I can’t read.
“Yeah,” Ryder says finally. “I am.” He pulls me in front of him so Carter can’t get to him, and I shake my head.
“You’re using me as a shield?” I look over my shoulder at him.
“I’ve seen what he can do on the ice, this is a just in case, his my best friend, but you’re his sister.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Carter snaps.
“We were going to?—”
“When? After you broke up? After something went wrong?”
“Carter—” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Listen man, I was going to tell you, but you’re my best friend, and she’s you little sister, I was working out how to tell you, so you didn’t kill me. I’m sorry.” Ryder tells him, but he also takes a small step away from me, and I know why. If Carter wants to punch him, I’ll be out the way of it.
“No. Let me process this. My best friend is dating my sister who I found nearly dead in a bathtub eighteen months ago, and you thought keeping it secret was the best plan?”
The words land like a slap.
“That’s not fair,” Ryder says.
“None of this is fair. Maya’s fragile?—”
“I’m right here,” I snap. “And I’m not fragile, I’m recovering. There’s a difference.”
“You tried to kill yourself?—”
“Eighteen months ago. I tried to kill myself eighteen months ago. I’m still here. I’m in therapy. I’m getting better and you don’t get to use my worst moment as a reason to control my life.”
Carter’s face crumples. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? From being happy? From having someone who understands what I’m going through? From trying to have a normal relationship?”
“From getting hurt when this falls apart.”
“So, you just assume it will fall apart?” I snap.
