Chapter 2 The ride home

Ryder’s POV

I saw her before she saw me.

Sage walked through the airport terminal like she owned the place, all smooth movements and expensive clothes that screamed Manhattan sophistication. Her red hair caught the fluorescent lights, longer now than when she left six years ago, and the black dress made her look like she belonged in a fashion magazine. Her heels clicked against the floor with each confident step.

But her eyes told a different story. They were swollen and red rimmed from crying, and when she stopped walking to look at me across the crowded terminal, something in my chest tightened painfully. Six years of wanting her, six years of staying away because she was Vincent's daughter and Jaxon's sister, all of it hit me at once like getting kicked in the gut by a steel-toed boot.

She was more beautiful than I remembered, though. The girl who left Millbrook had grown into a woman who could stop traffic, but the pain in those green eyes made my hands clench into fists.

"Ryder." Her voice was softer than it used to be, polished by years in the city.

"Sage." I stepped forward and reached for her suitcase. "I'm sorry about Vincent."

She nodded without trusting herself to speak, which was smart because breaking down in public wasn't something Romano women did.

The walk to my truck was silent, and I threw her designer luggage into the back like it was nothing while she climbed into the passenger seat without a word. The truck smelled like leather and motor oil and cigarettes, everything her fancy New York world wasn't.

I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, and the silence stretched between us until she finally asked, "How did it happen?"

"Three bullets to the chest in the clubhouse parking lot. Someone was waiting for him."

Her breath caught. "Who?"

"We're working on it."

"That's not an answer."

I glanced at her, seeing how she was staring straight ahead with her hands folded in her lap like a proper lady, but I could see the tension in her shoulders and the way her jaw was set. The princess was angry.

"It's the only answer I've got right now."

"Don't treat me like some civilian, Ryder. I grew up in this world too."

"Yeah, and then you ran from it the second you turned eighteen."

The words came out harsher than I meant them to, and she flinched like I'd slapped her. "I had my reasons."

"I'm sure you did."

We hit traffic on the highway, and the stop and go gave me too much time to notice things I shouldn't, like how she smelled the same with that vanilla scent mixed with something that was just her. Like how she kept wiping her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking, and how the seatbelt pressed against her chest in ways that made me think about things I had no business thinking about.

"Is Jax okay?" she asked after a long silence.

"He's holding it together, barely, and the club's angry and scared and looking for someone to blame."

She was quiet for a moment before asking, "Do they blame me?"

"Why would they blame you?"

"Because I wasn't there. Because I left and never came back, not even for holidays. Because maybe if I hadn't run away, things would be different." Her voice broke on the last word, and I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that her dad's death had nothing to do with her choices, but I couldn't make my mouth work.

"The club doesn't blame you," I said instead.

"But you do."

I didn't answer because I couldn't. Part of me did blame her for leaving, not for Vincent's death, but for taking herself away from where she belonged, for making me watch her disappear and pretend I didn't care.

We reached another red light, and I hit the brakes harder than necessary, making her grab the door handle to steady herself. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

But it wasn't fine, and nothing about this was fine. Vincent was dead, Sage was sitting barely a foot away from me smelling like heaven and looking like every fantasy I'd ever had, and I was supposed to drive her home like a good little soldier and keep my hands to myself.

"Tell me about New York," I said, trying to fill the silence with something safe.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. What's your life like there?"

She glanced at me like she was surprised I asked. "It's normal. I have an apartment on the Upper East Side, I work at Nordstrom buying fashion for their stores, and I go to yoga classes and wine tastings and gallery openings."

"Sounds boring."

"It's peaceful."

"Peaceful and boring aren't the same thing."

I turned to look at her properly. "Is that what you wanted? Peace?"

"Yes." The word came out like a whisper. "I wanted to be normal, to date men who didn't carry guns and worry about whether they would come home alive, to sleep through the night without listening for gunshots. I wanted..." Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hands to her face.

"Sage..."

"I wanted to stop being scared all the time," she finished, the words coming out broken.

The light was still red, traffic wasn't moving, and Sage Romano, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, was falling apart in my passenger seat.

"Did it work?" I asked quietly.

She looked at me through her fingers. "What?"

"Did you stop being scared?"

For a moment, she just stared at me, and then the tears came for real. Not the quiet ones she was trying to hide, but full sobbing that shook her whole body. "No. I was scared every day. Scared someone would find out where I came from, scared I didn't really belong in that world, scared I was lying to everyone, including myself."

Without thinking, I reached across the space between us, and my thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away the tears that kept falling. Her skin was soft and warm under my touch, and she went perfectly still with her breath catching in her throat. Those green eyes looked up at me, wide and vulnerable and full of pain.

The air between us changed, got thick and heavy like right before a thunderstorm, and her lips parted slightly while I found myself leaning closer without meaning to. Six years of wanting her crashed over me, six years of staying away and pretending I didn't notice how she moved or how she laughed or how she looked at me sometimes when she thought no one was watching.

She was Vincent's daughter, Jaxon's sister, forbidden in every way that mattered. But Vincent was dead now, and she was here, and my thumb was still touching her face.

"Ryder," she breathed my name like a prayer.

I was going to kiss her right there at the red light, with cars all around us and her father not even buried yet. I was going to lean over and claim her mouth and damn the consequences.

A car honked behind us as the light turned green. I pulled my hand back quickly and stepped on the gas while Sage pressed herself against the passenger door, putting as much distance between us as the truck would allow.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice coming out rough.

"Don't. Just don't."

But the damage was done, and the air in the truck crackled with want and all the things we couldn't say. Every mile that brought us closer to home brought us closer to something that was six years in the making.

I gripped the steering wheel harder, trying to focus on the road instead of the woman beside me, but I could still feel the softness of her skin and still see the way her eyes went wide when I touched her. I could still hear my name on her lips.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder with a text from Jaxon and I replied it with one hand.

"Ryder?" She was still pressed against the door, still keeping distance between us, but something in her eyes had changed.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for coming to get me."

"Jaxon asked me to."

"Still. Thank you."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else because what I wanted to say was that I would drive across the country to pick her up, that I would do anything she asked, that six years didn't change how I felt about her. But I couldn't say any of that, so I just drove.

"I forgot how dark it gets out here," Sage said softly.

"City girl now."

"I guess I am."

"Are you?" I looked at her again. "Because you came back pretty fast for a city girl."

She turned to face me. "You don't know anything about me anymore, Ryder."

"Don't I?"

"No. You don't."

"We're almost there," I said instead of arguing.

She looked out the window at the passing trees. "I know."

"You ready for this?"

"No." Her voice was honest and raw. "But I don't think I have a choice."

"You always have a choice."

"Do I?" She turned back to me. "Because it feels like all my choices led me right back here."

"Maybe that's not a bad thing."

"Isn't it?"

I wanted to tell her no, that coming home was the best thing she could do, that this was where she belonged with her family and her brother.

With me.

But I didn't say any of that. I just couldn't.