Page 89 of Broken Butterfly
“Before you say anything, I asked Trevor to meet me here. I’m determined to get those two to talk.”
“I don’t know if Fallon would appreciate the interference, babe.”
“What’s the old saying? If it’s stupid but it works, then it’s not stupid.”
Ryder cracks up and throws a straw at me. I throw a half-melted marshmallow back at him and dissolve into a fit of giggles when it sticks to his chin. Naturally, I nibble and lick it off. Ryder dips my finger in my hot chocolate and brings it to his mouth, sucking the chocolatey goodness off.
“Fucking hell. The two of you are going to kill me,” Fallon complains when he comes back to the table and makes no disguise of adjusting himself before he sits down. “I need to get laid.”
“Thought you were done with the random hookups.”
“Says the man who’s getting some twenty-four-seven.”
“Chocolate is supposed to be almost as good as an orgasm.” I push my hot chocolate over to him with a smile and a wink. “But that might be only for us girls.”
“You’re such a brat, kitten.” But he drinks the rest of my hot chocolate.
“Secret for a secret, Fallon.”
That gets his attention. “You first, kitten.”
“I asked Ryder to marry me, and he said yes.”
Fallon goes stock still. He reaches for my hand once he notices the yellow diamond on my finger. “You did a good job, Ry. It’s beautiful. It suits her perfectly. Like fucking sunshine.”
“Thanks, man. That’s what I thought when I saw it.”
“Fallon?” I inquire as he continues to hold my hand and manipulate the ring. As if coming out of a trance, he lets go of my hand and kicks back.
“You’re going to be a gorgeous bride. Ry, you got your wish man. I’m so fucking happy for you.”
“Thanks. We haven’t told Jay yet, so mum’s the word for now.”
“Like I’d talk to that asshat on purpose,” he replies, heavy with the sarcasm. “I get dibs on the bachelor party. Bachelorette party too.” He grins devilishly.
“Why am I suddenly afraid?”
A phone starts ringing, and we all check to see if it’s ours.
It’s mine but I don’t recognize the number. “Hello?” A man asks for me and identifies himself. As he talks, anger grows and burns red-hot in my veins. “I’ll be right there.”
This can’t be fucking happening.
“Babe?”
“That was campus police. Someone vandalized my car in the student lot.”
We’ve spent the last hour in the public safety building filling out forms and answering questions. Since I had to register my car and license plate for my student parking sticker, the campus police were able to get my contact information, hence the phone call. Whoever vandalized my car did a damn good job of it. All the tires were slashed. The windows were smashed in like someone took a baseball bat to them. The sides of the car were scratched and dented. Whoever did it also left me a message written on the driver’s side door in permanent marker: I’M COMING FOR YOU. Just like the text message I deleted because I didn’t think anything of it. I thought it was a mistake or a joke meant for someone else. I now know it was meant solely for me. Receiving the message twice is not a coincidence—it’s a warning.
I finish signing the last form and slide it across the table to the police officer. He’s young, maybe a few years older than I am, with brown hair cropped close to his head and kind hazel eyes. He taps the sheets of paper on the table to straighten them out and excuses himself saying he’ll be right back. Not having gotten to eat at the café, I’m tired and hungry, and just plain pissed-off. I love my car. When I had no memory, that car was my invisible link to Ryder, and now I feel like someone is not only attacking me personally but attacking my relationship with him.
“What now?” I ask, slumping in my chair and taking Ryder’s hand to lay on my lap.
I take a deep calming breath and start tracing his handprint on my thigh by sliding my finger along the outside of his hand. Ryder has wonderful hands. Long, thick, masculine fingers with neatly trimmed nails. You would expect him to have a lot of grease or oil under his fingernails with the amount of stuff he does with his car every day, but his nails and skin are pristinely clean and smudge-free.
Ryder hasn’t said a word since we arrived. He’s been stoic, silently here for me if I need him. He has kept his arm on the back of my chair, kneading my neck every so often when I tense too much, or rubbing soothing circles on my back to keep me calm. I love him more for that. For not jumping in and taking over. For letting me deal with this situation without interference. For waiting to see what I need without forcing what he thinks I need.
“I’ve already texted Dad to let him know what happened. He’s sending one of his tow trucks here tomorrow to pick up your car and take it back to his shop. Hopefully he can have it fixed and looking good as new by next weekend.”
