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But I am having my own silent tantrum. Which makes me feel even worse. Because he’s right and I know he’s right, I’m just scared that this will be the last time I ever see him and all those fantasies I had today will end up being just that. Fantasies.
My parents are never going to be OK with this. Never. I can’t imagine a single explanation that might sway them over to our side and make them happy at the same time.
And I don’t even blame them for that. I just… want what I want.
Before I know it, we’re pulling into my driveway. My father’s car is there, which I was not expecting since he usually stays at work until at least five. And that means he didn’t go into work today. He stayed home because he was upset with me.
Ryker turns the car off and takes my hand again. “Ready?”
“Does it matter if I’m ready?”
“Of course it does, Aria. All your feelings matter.”
“You just get to make the final decision though, right?”
“If you want to see it that way, I can’t stop you. But I promise,” he says, squeezing my hand. “That’s not what’s happening.”
I pout and frown.
“Just trust me.”
He gets out of the car but I don’t. I sit, refusing to budge. But he just walks around to my side, opens my door, and offers me his hand.
I take it. Reluctantly. And get out of the car.
He holds my hand all the way up the walk to the porch and even though I have never in my life knocked on this door, I feel like I should knock.
I even raise my knuckles to do that, but Ryker pushes my hand down and says, “You live here, Aria. This is your home.”
So I open the door and walk inside. My parents are both standing at the bottom of the stairs like they were waiting for us.
“I called them ahead of time,” Ryker says. Then he lets go of my hand and says, “Please,” as he motions to the front living room, like he wants us all to go in there for a chat. “I’ll only take a minute of your time.”
We all go in to the living room, my mother coming to my side to pull me into a sideways hug and give me a squeeze, my father frowning at everyone, like he’s not in the mood for talking and wants Ryker out of here as quick as possible.
But Ryker takes a seat on the couch and leans back. Hands on his knees. “I know this isn’t what you want for Aria.”
I open my mouth to protest that they don’t get to decide that anymore, but Ryker puts up a hand and says, “Please, Aria. Let me speak and then you can have your say.”
“Fine,” I say. But I pull away from my mother and take a seat next to Ryker. I want them all to know what my decision is. Even if none of them care.
“I’m not going to take your daughter away from you, Mr. Amherst. And I already told her that we can’t date unless we have your permission.”
My father is already shaking his head, already opening his mouth to say something, but before he can, my mother speaks. “Harold,” she says. “You were almost fifteen years older than me when I got pregnant with April at eighteen. And we had to face my parents and your parents in less than ideal conditions as well. So you will shut your mouth and let this man have his say, so help me God, or you will leave the room. He came all the way out here, brought our daughter home, and now we’re going to hear him out. Do you understand me?”
Holy shit. My mom just put her foot down. I have never seen them fight before. Not that she’s even raising her voice, because she is the epitome of grace and manners right now. But they have always presented themselves as a unified front and any and all discussions where they were at odds always took place behind closed doors, so I’ve never seen this side to her.
“Doris,” my father protests.
But she puts up her hand to silence him. “No. Let Mr. North speak.” Then she looks at Ryker and says, “Go ahead, Mr. North. You were saying?”
She winks at me. I blink at her in surprise.
But there’s no time to process that wink because Ryker takes a deep breath and begins speaking again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – RYKER
“I came from a pretty messed-up situation at home,” I begin. “My father left when I was four and never sent my mother a dime to help out.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Doris says. “That must’ve been difficult.”
“It was and it wasn’t,” I say. “My mother and I grew very close in those early years. Like we were a team, ya know? A real family, just the two of us. Just her and me for almost ten years because her parents got divorced early and didn’t pay much attention to her, or me, for that matter. But then she met this man and I didn’t like him. To be honest, there wasn’t much to like about him. He treated my mother like crap and me even worse. But she was tired. Tired of raising me alone. Tired of working two, sometimes three jobs just to stay afloat. Tired of just existing. So maybe he wasn’t her Prince Charming? She often told me she loved my father, even after he left. So Prince Charming didn’t get her anywhere.”
