Blood rushes to my head as I stare at him, waiting for him to say something that makes sense. My mind searches for a memory of Ryder’s dad. Hasn’t he spoken about him or shown me pictures? They can’t be the same guy.

“That’s not possible,” I bark. “That man is in prison. Has been for fifteen years.”

He stares at me, his nostrils flaring, but the serious expression on his face has me shaking.

“What the fuck,” he mutters. Then, he rushes past me, repeating it under his breath the whole way.

Left alone with Savannah, I want to punch a hole through this desk. Instead, I grab Ryder’s papers and start rifling through what he has. Ryder was never a foster kid. His mom raised him, and I know she did it alone, but that was hardly rare.

I remember the day Hazel brought him home, giving his mom a job in the small market Hazel owned on the island.

“Is this possible?” Savannah asks.

I don’t answer as I continue scanning pictures and documents in his pile. They’re mostly football pictures from high school, a few shots of his unfortunate bleach blond days, and then at the bottom, a handful of pics from his childhood. Underneath it all is an envelope with my name on it in Hazel’s handwriting. A letter to me in Ryder’s box.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

“What is it?” Savannah asks, kneeling down next to me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

I pull open the envelope and there, no surprise to me, is a photocopy of Ryder’s birth certificate. I start to feel sick as I read it. Under her birth father’s name: Michael A. Richardson.

“I don’t understand,” Savannah whispers. “Who is that?”

“My biological father. Murphy was my step-dad. Ryder took his mother’s name.”

“Jesus.”

My head falls into my hands.

“There’s a letter,” she says, pulling the pages out of my hands.

“Read it.” I can’t even look at it, and Savannah does what I ask.

Murph,

Don’t be too angry with me. All I ever wanted for you was a family. By the time I found him, your walls were up. I knew you’d figure it out when the time was right. Maybe the time is never right.

Love you darling.

Hazel

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble, taking the letter and crumpling it in my hands. I need a fucking drink, but there’s no chance of going out there where Ryder is. No way could I face him, not now. There won’t be any tearjerking family reunions. This doesn’t change the fact that I want to break his jaw more often than not.

“Talk to me,” Savannah says gently.

“I need a drink.”