Ryder and I look at each other at the same time and roll our eyes.
As Dean wraps up his speech, Ryder’s phone lights up from where it sits on top of the table.
He squints as he reads it, a furrow to his brow.
“What is it?” I whisper.
Without hesitation, Ryder slides his phone over to me, so I can read the text.
Mitch:I really wish you would’ve responded. Probably could’ve saved yourself the headache coming your way. I can send you a weighted blanket if you need. I hear your type of people like those, right?
He’s disgusting. “What is this supposed to mean?”
Ryder’s teeth are clenched and he taps his fingers nervously over his knees. He’s unsettled, and probably has more than a few thoughts racing in his head.
I cover his hand on his leg with mine. “Don’t let him ruin your night. You deserve this.”
He holds my stare for a long pause, almost as though he’s taking my confidence for his own. Ryder nods and kisses my knuckles, but he doesn’t let go of my hand for the rest of the banquet.
Soon enough, the property is quieter. People have started to leave. Wren left with Skye and Ever, and Tate followed soon after, clearly anxious to get home to his own family. Parker, Drake, Griffin, and Dax are left, standing with us in front of the building.
The night is over, but I can’t stop staring at the twinkling lights. A knot of emotion balls in my chest. It’s beautiful, and next week it will be filled with kids who are yearning for a sense of community.
Drake grips Ryder’s shoulder and gives him a fast shake. “You did good, man.”
“Thanks.” A satisfied smile settles on Ryder’s face. He glances at his teammates. “Thanks to all of you for the help on this.”
Parker tries to shove his head. “It’s been awesome, my guy.”
We take another twenty minutes to say goodbye and drive away from each other. I lean my head on Ryder’s shoulder, sitting as close as possible the entire drive.
I wish the night would never end. The entire evening has been like floating on a cloud, whimsical and breathtaking. One of those nights that almost seem too good to be true.
I should’ve known with such a beautiful thing, something ugly would come and try to ruin it all.
The text comes in when I’m half asleep, staggering into my kitchen for coffee the next morning. I rub my face and squint at my phone.
Drake:Dax sent this to me. I’m going to kill the guy. I really am.
My heart goes still when I click on the link to a popular sports podcast hosted by a foul-mouthed, controversial guy that aired late last night. Blood turns to ice in my veins. I can’t breathe. I can hardly register what I’m seeing as the clip plays.
The host leans forward in the microphone. “What I don’t get is why you’re speaking out now.”
Mitch Huntington tilts his head. I press a hand to my mouth. There is a sunken look to his face. He’s despicable, always looking out for himself, always using his connection to Ryder when it suits him. Ryder shut him out, he finally denied him power, and now here he is, retaliating.
“We used to be tight like brothers,” he says into his mic. “He was bullied a lot for being autistic.”
“Whoa, whoa.” The host holds up his hands. “He’s autistic? I thought people like that couldn’t stand sounds or . . . talk.”
“Depends on the severity, I guess. I sort of became his protector.”
“Liar,” I whisper.
“But he’s got some problems, and even if you love people, sometimes you’ve got to call them out on their bull. Especially when they struggle with stepping outside of themselves to see it.”
They have a good laugh together, like they’re the best of friends, and I hate them. I hate them so much.
The host goes on, “So you think this fancy charity house for messed up kids is what? Like a scam?”
