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I lifted the bottle to my lips but Ryder took it from me. “And this whole hobo drinking in the park look is not really working for you. Come on, let’s do this the easy, less embarrassing way, shall we? You don’t have to talk yet. I just need you to get in the car behind us, come back to my place, shower, put on some clothes, maybe shave, and we can go from there.”
I stared at Ryder, knowing full well fighting him was pointless. I had no doubt that my disappearance and my current state of being had called for the guys to step in. And I knew Ryder was telling the truth. If I didn’t go with him and at least clean up, I’d be picked up by some mental health resort guys in a white jacket and hauled off to “recover.” I did not need that in my life. I didn’t even want to talk to Ryder much less people I didn’t know and didn’t need trying to help me.
Besides, after moving my body for the first time in many hours, I definitely got a whiff of myself and was hurting my own feelings.
I got up from the picnic table and looked back, finding my normal driver standing outside of the car, giving me a nod. I knew Ryder didn’t just find me. For all I knew, the driver had been watching me the whole time, reporting back to the guys. How else would they know what kind of shape I was in. I wanted to be mad, but in reality, it meant the guys actually cared. At that point someone had to care.
Ryder slapped me hard on the back. “Good. Let’s go. I got your shit at my place.”
I shrugged and made my way over to the car, cringing at the sound of Ryder throwing the bottle in the trashcan. When I got inside, the driver shut the door and I found a bottle of water and three aspirin sitting on empty wet bar. My driver glanced at me in the rearview but didn’t say anything as he pulled off.
Ryder’s place was nice, definitely darker than mine but it was pretty cool. He had a top floor condo in one of the high rises in San Diego. Carefully suspended from the vaulted ceilings was a 1920 vintage Harley Davidson model J, Ryder’s most prized possession. He had black leather furniture, crisp white floors, and dark eclectic art hanging on the walls. It was the man’s apartment. He didn’t say anything to me, he just led me to the bathroom and slapped a two towels in my arms.
I shut the door and pried myself out of my wetsuit, stepping into the oversized shower, the rainforest shower head spanning across the whole thing. As the hot water washed over me, I pressed my hands to the warmed shower walls, letting the dirt and grime circle around the drain. Once the soap got going, I remembered how much I hated being gross and dirty. Sandy was one thing, Tijuana estuary dirty was a whole level above. I knew Ryder was right, just cleaning up would help me feel a little better, but I still could feel the intensity of the emotions circulating through me.
It was the worst feeling, not knowing what to feel. Feeling bad for being so angry. Feeling guilty for missing Sicily but hating her at the same time. Feeling terrible for not talking to Harper for three weeks. I didn’t know which way was up, but by the end of my extensive grooming, with a clean body, a shaven face, and fresh clean clothes on, I at least felt like my heart was still beating somewhere in my chest.
Part of me didn’t want to leave the bathroom though. I didn’t want to face the inevitable moving on with life part of things. At least while I floated on that surf board the world pretty much stopped for me. But the moment I exited the bathroom looking like the man Ryder knew, I would be expected to do something other than just take up space on the planet.
Truth be told, I was acting like a child.
But I felt like an adult, facing real world issues, broken, confused, and downright a shell of a human being. So, I took a deep breath, knowing full well I was not going to be allowed to take up residence in Ryder’s bathroom, and walked out, feeling the cool of the air conditioning wash over my warm skin.
Ryder was sitting at the table in the dining room, reading a magazine, one leather boot up on the table. He nodded toward a cardboard box of things at the end of the table. “That’s some stuff of yours. You’re gonna house with me for a bit.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not dangerous to myself. I just…”
Ryder put his boot down and leaned forward. “I don’t think you are. But eventually, whatever has happened. Whatever you have bottled up inside of yourself, the things you are torturing yourself with, will need to come out. And I don’t want to have to get my ass on a bike to come find you when you’re ready to talk. So, you’re going to stay here. I brought over a bunch of your clothes, your work laptop, and some personal stuff from your place.”
“I forgot I gave you a key,” I replied, walking over to the box.
I sat down at the table and took the laptop out, sitting it in front of me. I took a deep breath and opened it up, glancing up to see Ryder nod and put his foot back up, leaning back in his chair. “Chase took care of your emails. There are a few in there that only you can answer but they think you’re on vacation. Just pull up the last three weeks of reports and review so you know where we are. Dip your toe back in a bit.”
I nodded and opened up the shared file, pulling up the figures from the last month. Just two hours before, the thought of focusing on work sounded like torture. But as soon as I opened up those sheets and started to read, I could feel my brain send a sigh of relief to my shoulders and back. Finally, something to think about other than Sicily.
Was I better? No. Not even close. Was it better than where I was? Leaps and bounds. A diner bathroom floor on a Saturday night was probably better than where I was.
Ryder cleared his throat and glanced over his magazine. “And by the way, next time you decide to have a mental breakdown, can you at least remember you’re a fucking billionaire? I don’t even think I’ve heard of the whiskey you were drinking. Was it even whiskey? It smelled like someone washed out the whiskey barrels and bottled it.”
I smirked, the first real emotion other than pain I had allowed myself to feel or react to in weeks. “I honestly don’t even know where I got it. I mean I know I bought it but I was deep into a bottle at the bar last night before wandering over to the liquor store.”
Ryder chuckled. “Remember, rich people have classy breakdowns.”
It wasn’t a breakdown. It was the most extensive disappointment I had ever experienced. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break free from Sicily’s memory in my mind.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sicily
“Hey, emotional baggage,” Amber yelled, knocking on my bedroom door. “When do you pick up the kid?”
I uncovered my head and peaked out, cringing that there was still sunlight filtering through the blinds. “I don’t. She’s staying the night at my parent’s tonight. Thus why I am moping and taking advantage of laying in this incredibly comfortable bed that cost you more than my first car.”
The door opened and Amber stood, hands on her hips. “Yeah, no, that’s not gonna work for me. You’ve spent the last two weeks either faking happy for Harper or hiding from life in this bed. Get up. Time to get the blood moving. We’re gonna work out. Get dressed. You have fifteen minutes or I’m coming back with a bucket of ice water.”
When she turned and walked away I groaned and slammed my face in the bed. I knew she wasn’t bluffing. She had done it to me when we were teenagers and I didn’t have a date to homecoming, spending the next week and a half moping around in a drama filled pity party. But this wasn’t a pity party, a breakdown, or anything like that. I just felt sad. And not normal sad, but a sadness that sucked every inch of energy out of me. Time seemed to creep by when I didn’t have Harper around, but at the same time, it was the only quiet moment I had to deal with my own emotions.
The only time Harper mentioned Daniel was two nights before, asking when we were going back because she missed him. I gently reminded her that we lived in Ohio now, but I was sure we would visit there really soon. She didn’t like that answer, but Amber was swift in her distractions, handing the kid a cherry chapstick to apply like lipstick. I didn’t know what I would do without Amber, even though most of the time I just wanted her to leave me alone in my pit of despair. But I knew and she knew that wasn’t where I needed to be or where I could stay. Like it or not, the world kept moving. I just wasn’t sure how to move along with it.
