Chapter 48: FORTY EIGHT

RYDER

The day just nosedives from bad to downright miserable.

Heads whip around. Crew members scatter—two get shoved aside like props in the way—before Thomas is right up in my space, fists knotted in my shirt while Annabeth’s voice cracks in a scream.

“Thomas, let him go!”

“I’m gonna kill you,” he spits, breath laced with whiskey. “First you take my wife, now you put your filthy hands on my daughter?”

“Christ, Thomas,” I growl, shoving at his grip. “I didn’t take your damn wife! When are you gonna drop this tired grudge, you delusional bastard?”

Annabeth’s yelling for him to stop. Somewhere off to the side, someone’s shouting for security.

“Think about what you’re doing,” I warn, voice low. “You don’t want to cross this line.”

“She’s a kid, Ryder. You used her.”

“She’s a grown woman who makes her own choices. Maybe if you weren’t drowning yourself in a bottle every night, you’d see that.”

He doesn’t answer—just slams his fist into my jaw. A hot sting shoots through my face as the crack of bone meeting bone echoes across the set. Suddenly there’s chaos: crew swarming, trying to pull him off me, Annabeth crying, shouting at him to stop. He’s hurling every insult he can find between wild swings, most of which barely land.

I don’t throw a punch back. I just block where I can. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s guilt. But deep down, I think part of me believes I’ve earned this beating.

And, of course, a handful of people aren’t helping at all—they’re filming, eager to turn this train wreck into tomorrow’s headline.

Copper floods my mouth. My nose is probably bleeding. Still, I let him keep swinging. If this sorry excuse for a man needs a victory, I’ll hand it to him.

“Dad!” a voice I know better than my own rips through the noise. “Dad, stop!”

My chest locks tight.

Eve.

Through the blur of movement and shouting, I scan the crowd, desperate to spot her. Thomas’ fists keep finding me, but the second I see Eve push her way forward, my gut twists. I want to yell at her to stay back, to not get involved—but she’s already between us, hands raised, trying to rein in her father like he’s some spooked animal.

He’s too far gone to hear her. His arm swings wild, and he almost clips her. She lets out a startled gasp.

And that’s it.

Hitting me is one thing. Coming that close to hurting Eve? No chance in hell.

I put every ounce of strength I’ve got into one clean punch. My knuckles crack against his mouth, sending him stumbling. Blood blooms instantly, his lip split, his teeth stained crimson.

“Stop!” Eve’s voice is raw, shaking. “Both of you, stop it!”

But I’m past listening. My pulse is a war drum in my ears, and now that I’m actually fighting back, Thomas doesn’t stand a prayer. Two hits later—a jab to the nose that makes him crumple—he’s on the ground, flat on his ass, dazed.

Eve drops to her knees beside him. “Oh my God, Dad—what were you thinking?”

“He came at Ryder,” Annabeth fires back. “He was defending himself.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, sucking in a breath. “Somebody call an ambulance.”

Eve’s shaking her father, voice tight. “Dad? Can you hear me?”

The guilt hits hard, coiling in my gut. I drag a hand through my hair, my bruised knuckles throbbing. “Eve… I didn’t mean—”

She cuts me off with a shake of her head. “Save it.”

“He charged me,” I say, softer this time.

“Just help me get him to the hospital,” she snaps, not looking at me.