Ricochet (Renegades #3)(80)
Author: Skye Jordan

She lifted her hand and held it out in a stop gesture. “Don’t, Josh. You’re not being fair. You haven’t been fair to Ryker from the start, and it’s becoming a problem. I’m not going to stand by and watch you dig into a wound that’s already been ripped open again.”

His lips pressed into a stubborn line of determination.

“I know that look. And let me just tell you right now, if you don’t put your self-involved issues away, I’ll call Precision.” She had no idea what she’d say, but he didn’t know that. She lowered her chin and bluffed. “And you won’t like what I tell them.”

His shoulders fell. “Rach—”

“Jax, Charlie and Ryker are on their way back now. Ray is out of surgery, but they won’t know anything for a few days.” She turned and started for the door. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” She paused at the door and looked back one last time. “Don’t forget what I said.”

She was shaking when she stepped out of the dining room. Shaking with anger, with fear, with heartache. In her room, she undressed and pulled on sleeping shorts and a tank, then settled into the rocker and watched out the window. It seemed to take forever for the truck’s headlights to appear. Trying to keep her mind from replaying the night’s horrible event, she thought back to the night before and the way it felt to have Ryker beside her as she’d fallen asleep.

“What if…I didn’t volunteer to extend my tours and came back to the States in between? Would you see me again?”

His words skittered through her heart, creating both excitement and apprehension. He was clearly a troubled man. A troubled man returning to the melee that had created that shadow on his soul. That couldn’t be healthy. It was one thing to fall off a horse and get back on. It was another to throw yourself into a pen of wild horses and expect to ride every one without getting hurt. And if his returning to Afghanistan wasn’t healthy for him, it was twice as unhealthy for Rachel, because she would not only take on his struggle but battle her own at the same time. Agreeing to a long-distance relationship with Ryker was simply setting herself up for heartbreak—the very thing she promised herself never to do again.

Headlights finally appeared down the long drive leading into the ranch, and Rachel’s breath caught. Her gut tightened. And her heart ached. She may not be able to take care of him after he left, but she could be here for him now.

The truck slowed and dropped Ryker off in front of his bunkhouse. Rachel crossed her arms and fisted her hands as Jax and Charlie continued down the drive and out of sight. She scraped her lower lip between her teeth when the light in his cabin didn’t go on. She glanced at her cell, but she hadn’t missed any texts or calls. Maybe he’d just dropped into bed.

“This triggered something bad for him,” Charlie had said.

Thinking about him alone in that room, probably blaming himself for Ray’s injuries, pushed her to her feet. He could send her away if he wanted, but she couldn’t just sit here, sleepless another night, knowing he was hurting.

Rachel slipped on her flip-flops by the door and crossed her arms against the chill air as she hurried across the drive to his room. At the door, she found herself breathing too hard for the quick jog and tried to catch her breath.

She bit her lip, raised her hand, and closed her eyes for a moment, second-guessing her decision to intrude. He might want to be alone. Even if he didn’t want to be alone, he might not want to see her.

“Too damn bad,” she murmured and let her hand fall against the door three times.

20

When no one answered, Rachel knocked again. “Nathan? It’s Rachel.”

Again nothing. Unease trickled through her gut. She turned her ear to the door, closed her eyes to isolate sounds, and heard the shower running. She exhaled in relief and tried the knob. It turned in her hand. She pushed the door open and peeked in. The bathroom door stood open, the light on, the shower door closed, but Nathan’s big, tanned body showed behind the wavy glass. He was facing the spray, both hands on the wall, head hung.

The stance was so defeated. So…broken. And Rachel’s heart twisted.

She closed the door behind her, took a few steps toward the bathroom, and called, “Nathan? It’s Rachel.”

“Not a good time.” He spoke without moving, and he sounded horrible, his voice rough, exhausted, and dark.

“That’s why I’m here.”

He didn’t respond.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” She eased toward the bathroom until she was standing in the doorway. Her gaze lowered to the pile of clothes on the floor—and all the blood still staining them. The almost full, uncapped liter of vodka sitting on the floor beside them.

“No,” he muttered. “I’m not okay. Which is why you need to leave.”

Unease and sorrow gripped her at the same time. He sounded like a completely different man. Hard and cold. But she knew that wasn’t the real Nathan. At least not the Nathan she knew.

Then she remembered all she’d learned about the Rangers and realized there had to be some part of him that was very hard and very cold to kill the way Rangers reportedly killed.

She swallowed and took another two steps into the bathroom. Still, he didn’t move behind the glass. She wanted…needed…to help him. But she’d experienced the painful attempts of others trying to help her when she’d discovered Nicole and Dante’s relationship, and wouldn’t presume to know what he needed at a traumatic time like this.

“I want to help,” she said. “I just don’t know how.”

He slid the shower door open with a swipe of his hand. A motion so fast and fierce, the glass slammed against the wall and Rachel jumped. When he turned his head, stormy gray eyes peered out from beneath dark, wet hair, dripping water.

“You want to help?” he asked, clearly challenging. “Then get in here.”

For a long moment, she didn’t know what he meant. Then Troy’s words trickled back in again. “He’s been doing it with a different woman every night for the last month in New Orleans. He was spiraling.”

So he’d been using sex to keep the horrific memories—whatever those were—at bay. It made a twisted sort of sense. Rachel buried herself in her work to forget. Nathan buried himself in women—literally.

“That’s what I thought.” He closed the shower door with another slam. “Leave the lights off on your way out.”