I was fresh out of the Army and back at Wicked. He was still a kid, only nineteen. I couldn’t stand to be around him, mostly because he always seemed to be laughing at a joke I wasn’t in on. And didn’t want to be.

When he left, I couldn’t have been happier. Except for the fact that Hazel begged him to stay. I remember her asking me to give him a job in my shop, and I couldn’t say fuck no fast enough. The disappointment in her face would stick with me for years, as if I was the one leaving. I was the one pushing him away when it was her that finally gave him access to his little trust fund, and he couldn’t wait to go blow it in Vegas.

He wasn’t even her kid. He had his own mom, but Ryder was just another one of Hazel’s little pet projects, the one that did not turn out the way she wanted.

I briefly wondered if I did.

“Drink?” he asks as I step into the room. He’s already pouring a second three-finger glass. Raising my hand up, I pass by and grab a glass of water instead.

“Water first.”

Ryder shrugs and sets the second glass down.

“Are we going to talk like adults now?” he asks. He leans against the bar and watches me. Again, I don’t answer him, only rolling my eyes at his sideways accusation.

“I’ll take that as a yes. How’s the shop then?”

“Business is good.” After the full glass of cold water goes down, my throat aches less but still feels like I’m swallowing sandpaper with every breath. “Why? You looking for a job?” It’s my way of teasing him, showing him once again that I’m not the fuck-up. It’s a cruel game we play, but he’ll jump in when the time is right.

“I was never the one who asked.”

“I know. You never did like to work for your money.”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” My head flips up to see the serious look in his eye. He is being sincere, and I am not used to it. He was supposed to quip back with another jab for me, but he doesn’t.

“I’m the asshole?” I ask, slamming my glass down a little too hard. “I’m the one who stayed.”

“Did she ever ask you to?” Now he’s ready to play, knives out.

“If she had, I would have.”

“Has anyone ever asked you to stay?” he says as he steps away from the wall, walking across the kitchen, closer to where I’m standing. I’m not in the mood to get in a tussle, but a little fist across the jaw sure would ease some of this pent up tension.

“Oh fuck off, Ryder.”