Chapter 120 Ryder's return
Sage's POV
I didn't hear from Ryder for the entire day.
After he left my Dad's office with that mysterious phone call from Diesel, he just disappeared. I tried calling him twice in the first hour, then three more times after that. Every call went straight to voicemail. Every text I sent sat there unread, the little checkmark staying gray no matter how long I stared at it.
By evening I was pissed. Then I was worried. Then I went back to being pissed again.
I had spent the whole day going through the files on my dad's computer alone, finding more encrypted emails from RC, more evidence of the federal cooperation, more secrets that seemed to lead nowhere useful. And the entire time I kept thinking about those initials. RC. Ryder Christopher Kane.
The thought wouldn't leave me alone no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
What was so goddamn important that Diesel needed Ryder to drop everything and disappear for an entire day without even a text to let me know he was alive? What kind of club business required radio silence for twenty-four hours?
By the time night fell, I had given up trying to work and I left the room, making sure to put everything exactly the way it was so that Jaxon wouldn't know I was there. I moved to the couch with a bottle of wine I didn't remember opening. The TV was on but I wasn't really watching it, just letting the noise fill the empty house while I drank and wondered where the fuck my boyfriend had gone.
Ryder actually did not call me back or text back till the next day.
I was watching TV again in the morning and I turned on the news channel at eleven. It was a local channel with a pretty anchor with perfect hair talking about traffic accidents and city council meetings. I was about to change the channel when something she said caught my attention.
"Breaking news tonight. The body of a young man was discovered in the restroom of a downtown nightclub earlier yesterday evening. Police say twenty-four-year-old Mark Webb was found dead at The Pit, a popular club on Seventh Street. Initial reports suggest the death may have been accidental, with witnesses saying the victim may have slipped on the bathroom floor and struck his head on a sink. However, police are still investigating and asking anyone with information to come forward."
My hand froze on the wine glass. The Pit. That shithole club where people liked to drink when they were trying to forget their problems.
Mark Webb. I didn't recognize the name but I felt very sorry for him, losing his life in such a tragic manner.
The news showed footage of the club, police tape blocking off the entrance and cops going in and out. The pretty anchor kept talking about the tragic accident, about how the victim had been a local man with not much of a history with law enforcement and about how the investigation was ongoing.
I was still staring at the screen when I heard a truck pull into the driveway.
I looked out the window and saw it was Ryder.
Relief and anger hit me in equal measure. I muted the TV and sat there waiting, listening to his footsteps on the porch, the sound of his key in the lock.
He walked in carrying a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, my favorite, and wearing an expression that was half apologetic, half exhausted.
"Hey," he said, his voice rough like he hadn't slept. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back. My phone died and I—"
"Where the fuck were you?" I cut him off, not bothering to hide the anger in my voice. "You disappeared for an entire day, Ryder. You left me alone to go through those files, you didn't answer your phone, you didn't text. What the hell was so important that you couldn't even let me know you were alive?"
"I know. I'm sorry. Diesel needed help with something and it took longer than I thought it would." He put the ice cream down on the coffee table and sat down next to me on the couch, keeping some distance between us like he knew I was pissed. "I should have called. I should have at least sent you a text to let you know I was okay."
"Yeah, you should have." I took another drink of wine, not offering him any. "What did Diesel need help with that was so urgent you had to drop everything?"
"Club business. Nothing you need to worry about." His eyes flicked to the TV screen, to the muted footage of police tape and emergency vehicles. "What are you watching?"