Mitch sighs dramatically. “Look, it’s a great idea. But this is more about money than helping at-risk kids. If people send their kids, thinking it’s going to be this therapeutic place, think again. Guaranteed in a few months there will be a signup fee, or something that adds to his bottom line. Ryder isn’t good at—how should I say this—caring about other people, you know?”
“Seems like there are better ways to make a buck, you feel me? This probably cost a pretty penny.”
Mitch chuckles. “This is for the public eye. He wants to be a hero. I’m not perfect, not even close, but his mom cut our side of the family out. We only reconnected in college. I hate that he was raised in the manipulation because it was so different for me. He was raised to look out for number one.”
“What did you say about his early years in college?”
Mitch leans back, almost like he’s hesitating. If he decides to have a heart and think of his cousin, it’s too late.
“Okay, this is an example about how he can detach.” Mitch adjusts in front of his mic. “Ryder called me up freshman or sophomore year, wanting to reconnect since I lived in Washington state at the time, and he was there for school. We hadn’t spoken in a while, but started rebuilding. During one conversation he told me how he left a pregnant girlfriend behind. He wanted to succeed in baseball, and with autism, sometimes ideas stick so much he couldn’t think of anything else but playing ball. He cut ties with the girl.”
“That’s cold,” says the host. “What happened to the kid?”
Mitch shrugs. “Not sure if the mother kept it or not. He never brought it up again.”
I’m frozen. I’m furious. A thousand wretched emotions tumble through my head.
“So, what’s your point with this?”
I have the same question.
With a smirk, Mitch says, “I don’t know how else to reach him. He started this bright, shiny charity thing everyone keeps talking about, and I want him to fulfill everything he’s promised. He could do a lot of good if he’d look outside himself. But I also want people to know who they’re investing with. That’s all. I’m just trying to get through to him.”
Tears drip on my cheeks. I feel the same as my brother; I’d like to reach through the screen and throttle the man. The clip ends, but I scroll through some of the comments. How can people take this fool at face value? There are so few who are questioning, most who saw the clip are calling for investigations, or saying cruel things about Ryder, or calling for boycotts for the Kings.
I fumble with my phone and dial Ryder’s number. It goes straight to voicemail.
No. Not again. I want to vomit. No one can get into his head the way Mitch can.
He’s not going to pull away again. He won’t.He won’t.
I try to call him five more times before I hug my middle, close my eyes, and the first tear falls. A tear of anger, of hatred, of love for Ryder, and a tear for the heady fear of what happened once, will happen again.
Ryder
I’m not really surprised.Parker was the one who sent me the clip, rightly confused about the things Mitch spewed. They deserve to know my side, but not yet. I need to gather my thoughts first.
The podcast is basically a sports tabloid. Of course, the extremes will be discussed on there, but I know it has nothing to do with gossip. This has everything to do with me ignoring Mitch, and him trying to knock me down a notch.
The words hurt. Part of me wants to crawl back into those familiar places where I believed the cruel things he used to say, but I hold off.
This is on him. He’s cruel. He’s angry. He’s a man I don’t respect.
I never did. And I hold no value for the opinion of a person I don’t respect.
A notification signals. The sound for when one of my teammates does something online. We’re alerted to each other when one of us posts on social media, a strategy we use so we can get into back and forth conversations promptly and engage more with fans.
First is a video from Griffin.
I blink through an annoying sting I’ll never tell him about when I start to watch. He’s disheveled, likely straight out of bed.
“Here’s the thing.” Griffin pauses, he scrubs his face. “We all play roles in each other’s lives. There are few men I consider my brothers. Ryder Huntington is one of them. I don’t care what some douche pickle says on some loud-mouthed . . . what are those called, Birdie—”
“Podcasts,” Wren’s whispered voice comes off camera.
“Podcasts,” Griffin says. “I don’t care what they said. Ryder has been working on this house for two years, not to mention footing the bill with his own wallet. Like I said, we all play roles with each other. For me, Ryder is my steady place. A foundation that doesn’t move. He’s steady and freaking loyal as they come. You talk bad about him, then you don’t know him, and you’re an idiot. Just saying the facts.”
The next alert is Skye, using Parker’s account. I understand why when she goes on the live. Parker is pacing with Ever, but he’s angry. If there is a man who has no patience for manipulative men, it’s Parker Knight.
