“Mitch Huntington knows nothing about me. Now, people are free to believe what they wish, but there are a couple more accusations he leveled against me.”
I hold my breath. We made the decision together to talk about this. It’s no one’s business but ours, but I couldn’t go on thinking people believed Ryder could be so callous and cold when he is the opposite.
He looks to me again, lowering his voice. “He accused me of abandoning a pregnant girlfriend. This is only partly true, and the unfeeling way he spoke of one of the most difficult times in my life deserves to be corrected. Not only for me, but for Ava.
“It’s true there was a pregnancy that unfortunately ended in a miscarriage. The experience was traumatizing for two kids who hadn’t truly experienced life yet. He said I left because I valued baseball more, and could not care about anything else because of a diagnosis of autism. Those comments are offensive to neurodivergent people everywhere, and I couldn’t stay quiet. Especially for our young fans who might have their own challenges. I couldn’t let words like that discourage them from trying to reach difficult goals.”
Ryder lifts his eyes, like he’s speaking right to any kids listening. “You can do what you set out to do. You can find the people who accept you for who you are. I was diagnosed, but that isn’t all I am. I’m a son, an athlete, a friend, and most recently became a fiancé.” A cunning smirk tugs at his mouth. He flicks his gaze back to me. “The girlfriend Mitch Huntington says I left behind agreed to marry me.”
Questions barrel at him at that. I don’t move from my hiding place. The spotlight sounds horrible, but I do keep my attention on Ryder as he eloquently answers a few questions. Before leaving, he repeats that people can believe what they want, but he had to make a statement to set a few things straight.
Dallas steps out and handles the crowd, enough to let Ryder escape.
The second he’s close enough, I trap his face in my palms. “How do you feel?”
“Unsteady. Overwhelmed. Relieved,” he says in one breath. “I’ve never spoken against him. After all he’s done, that was the first time I’ve ever really stood up for myself.”
“You deserve respect, Ryder.”
“How are you?” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I know it’s not always easy to talk about.”
“It’s not,” I agree. “But I’m okay. We’re okay.”
“We’re perfect, Tweets.” His eyes simmer in a dark heat, something rich and warm and safe. When he kisses me again, I know as messy, as chaotic, as passionate as this is—I’d never want anyone but this man.
I’ve always chosen him.
I always will.
Epilogue
RYDER
Ava is being weird.
I’ve known the woman since I was ten years old and have been married to her for four years. I know when she’s off.
“Are you cleaning the table legs?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They get dusty,” Ava says, putting a little more oomph into her scrubbing.
“But . . . you’re cleaning the foot of the leg. It’s on the floor. All the time. How—”
“Ryder.” She lets out a sigh, then uses the arm of the sofa to stagger back to her feet. “Does my cleaning offend you?”
“When you’re contorted in a weird position and it looks like you’re going to snap in half, it does. Let me do it.”
If the woman wants the hidden ends of her table scrubbed and polished, I will get on my hands and knees and polish them until they freaking sparkle.
“I’m fine. What you should be doing is figuring out what you plan to make for dinner. Your night, lover.”
“It’s three thirty.”
She huffs and points to her round belly. “We’re hungry at three thirty, would you like to argue the point?”
