Ryder’s blue eyes lock into mine. “I hope it turns out not to be, but right now, I don’t know if we can be too careful. This guy seems crazy, Cass.”
I sigh. “Do I have to tell Gunner about,” I pause, hesitating on how to describe what it is I don’t want to say. I’ve never used the word abuse to talk about what happened between Sebastian and me, and even if it’s accurate, I’m just not ready to integrate it into my vocabulary today. “Do I have to tell him about everything?”
“You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to,” Ryder says. “But I think the more he knows, the sooner we can make sure you’re safe and get Sebastian out of your life. For good. Can’t divorce someone you can’t find.” He pulls me toward him, hugging my waist. “And I want you all to myself.”
I kiss him on his perfectly beautiful face, his soft facial scruff tickling my lips as they linger. “Thank you.”
He grins. “For what?”
“For caring about me so much.”
And so, for the next hour, I recount for Gunner everything I know, remember, or intuit about Sebastian. Even after he leaves, as I go back to my balance sheets and invoices for the afternoon, when other things spring to mind, I shoot him a text, finally turning all those painful memories into helpful information, my past with Sebastian helping the present become a future without him.
***
I haven’t seen Jamie all week, not since I’ve been staying at Ryder’s place, and as usual my brother has been lazy about responding to my checkin texts, claiming he’s busy or out with friends. At first I was worried that Sebastian might go to the house and try to talk to Jamie, push him to find out where I’ve been hiding, but so far there’s been no sight of my tormentor and no word from Jamie about him, either. I’m not sure if this makes me feel better or worse.
Over the next couple days Gunner becomes a fixture around Altitude, not that anyone would notice. He is a man of very few words. Actually, make that no words. I’m positive he can talk—I’ve just never heard him. I respect that, though. If you don’t have anything to say, don’t say anything at all. He probably learns a lot about people that way. No wonder he does security.
“I may end up needing him in the ring tonight,” Ryder says. We’re sitting at the bar having a post-work drink, watching the happy hour crowd start to trickle in. Well, my drink is post-work. Ryder’s work is just beginning, it sounds like.
“I thought Crutcher was your man tonight?” Cash says as he twists off the top of a Stella and hands it to me.
“He thinks he has a broken rib,” Ryder says. “Crutcher’s the best fighter I have right now, but, you know, he’s green. Still toughening up.”
“How many times did you fight with a broken rib?” Cash says, grinning like he already knows the answer.
“Too many to count,” Ryder says.
“They heal quickly, though,” I say.
“Spoken from experience?” Cash says. As easily as word gets around in this group, I haven’t told anyone but Ryder and Shelby about the physical nature of the problems Sebastian and I had, and I know they wouldn’t divulge such personal stories. So I know Cash is just joking—but, unfortunately, his guess is a good one.
“I could see you doing some damage in the ring,” Cash says. He pours two whiskey shots. “You’re small but something tells me you’re scrappy.”
“Cassie’s got a pretty good jab,” Ryder says.
“You trying to recruit me?” I say.
“Dude, yes, you should. That’s the best idea ever,” Cash says, clinking Ryder’s glass and my beer. “To girl fights.” Cash throws back his shot as he slides down the bar to take a customer’s order.
I shake my head. “He knows that’s already a thing, right?”
“I have found it best not to imagine what Cash Garner may or may not already know,” Ryder says. “You about ready to go?”
“You’re leaving for the warehouse now?”
“Tyler’s bringing by some guys who might fill in if Crutch doesn’t show,” he says. “I want to see how they spar.”
I look down at my jeans and tank top and flip flops. Cute outfit for a day of balancing the budget. Not so cute for fight night, where everyone in the crowd looks like they just stepped out of a fashion ad. “Actually, I probably need to get some clothes at my house first.”
“Oh,” Ryder says, checking the time on his phone. “I can call Ty and tell him I’m running late.”
“You don’t need to do that,” I say. “I’m sure I can get a ride.” I ended up leaving my car at my house yesterday after work, since Ryder’s been driving me most places this week, but I didn’t even think about throwing a dress into the little overnight bag I packed for the weekend.