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Ryder follows me, dropping into one of the other chairs. He cracks open a bottle of beer and offers me one. I cock a brow and he chuckles. “Don’t see big brother up here, do you? What he don’t know won’t hurt him.”
I take the bottle and twist the cap. “Thanks.”
“Everything okay? You’ve been up here a while.”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
That same strange look from before flashes in his eyes.
Ryder Montrou is an enigma. He’s been around the club for as long as I can remember but unlike most of the guys who keep their boots firmly planted in Red Ridge territory, he comes and goes, helping his family out of town to care for his younger brother.
“How is Ricky?” I ask.
“Twelve going on twenty, full of attitude and charm.”
“Sounds like someone I know.” I smile and Ryder grins back.
“He’s a good kid, but it’s tough on him. On my folks too.” His smile drops. “Worry about him every second of every day but they don’t want me around permanently and I gotta respect their wishes.”
He blows out a long, steady breath that I feel all the way down to my soul.
“But they let you help out?”
“Don’t have much choice. They don’t have anyone else and they’re not getting any younger. Ricky’s mind is willing but his body, it’s frail. Fuckin’ pains me to see him like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes cut to mine again, the pain swirling there making my chest tighten. “Figure we got something in common.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. “If you ever need to talk, Kat. Vent or just sit around and drown your sorrows. I’m here.”
“I’m not sure D would like that. Us hanging around together.”
“Then it can be our little secret.”
“Why?” I blurt out. “Why would you do that for me?”
“Because you look like you could use a friend. And I know what it’s like… sitting around feeling powerless, waiting for the day you get the call…”
The words hang in the air. Suspended like bullets, waiting to strike.
“I hate it,” I breathe. “I hate that there’s nothing I can do, that all any of us can do is sit and wait for the disease to ravage her body.” I drain my beer, needing something to ground me. To distract me from the pain consuming me.
Mom doesn’t like to talk about it. Neither does Diesel or anyone else for that matter. And I get it, I get that she wants to be strong for us, her children, as long as possible. But it isn’t going away. Mom isn’t going to wake up one day and be magically cured.
“You got any vodka back there?” I ask Ryder with a weak laugh.
“It isn’t the answer, darlin’.”
“No, but it helps.”
“Yeah. Can’t argue with that.” He kicks his long legs out in front of him and slouches down in the chair. “D seems happy.”
“He is. And he deserves it. They all do.”
“But?”
“But nothing.” I shrug, not fully meeting his intense gaze.
