“Noel, I don’t know what to believe, and I’m not being rude, but my primary concern right now is Ryder.”
We both look at my husband, and my heart aches looking at him holding onto himself, staring blankly off into space. His jerky rocking movements attest to his fragile state of mind.
“Try talking to him,” Noel says, swiping his eyes and standing. He hands a set of keys to Mike. “I know you want to throttle me right now, but I promise I mean him no harm. He’s my son, and I want to help. Can you get someone to grab my medical bag from the trunk of my car? I fear he’s having a dissociative break, and I can assist in getting him the care he needs.”
“Zeta.” Mike looks to me for guidance.
I glance at Noel as I kneel down in front of Ryder. There is nothing but genuine remorse and concern on Noel’s face, and I’ve no fucking clue how to help Ryder, so I need him to stay. “Get the bag.”
“Ryder, honey.” I gently place my hands on his face, and his skin feels cold. “Baby, I’m here. What do you need me to do?” He’s still rocking, looking straight through me, as if I don’t exist. “Ryder, can you hear me?” I press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.” He keeps rocking, staring vacantly into thin air, as if he’s no longer aware of his surroundings.
“What do I do?” I beseech Noel.
“Exactly what you’re doing. Just stay with him and let him know you’re here for him. Let him know you love him. I’ll check his vitals, and we can wait a bit to see if he comes out of it.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll need to call in some specialist help.”
I rub a tense spot between my brows as I take Ryder’s hands in mine, working hard to keep calm. I want to scream at Noel. To shout this is all your fault. To rewind time and never suggest we let him in to the house. But I don’t want to do any of that for fear it may startle Ryder.
The longer he sits there in a catatonic daze, just rocking back and forth, uncommunicative and unfocused, the more worried I become. He’s been dealing with so much for so long, and he was already stressed out enough over his recent admission without this adding to the pile. I’m seriously concerned for his mental state.
When Mike returns with Noel’s bag, we share worrisome expressions while Noel performs a few quick tests. “Ryder, honey. I’m right with you. Can you let me know if you hear me?” I implore, waiting patiently for some kind of sign, but there’s nothing. Mike squeezes my shoulder in solidarity while Noel taps away on his cell.
“Zeta.” I look across at Noel. “I think we should consider referring Ryder to this place.”
I walk to his side, accepting the cell and swiping through images of a private psychiatric hospital about an hour away. “Do you really think it’s necessary?” I hate the thought of sending him someplace like that.
“Look at him.”
As Noel says that, Ryder jumps up screaming, and he starts pacing the room, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. “No! No! No!” He slams his fist into the wall repeatedly, and my heart is breaking. “Leave him alone. Just leave him alone!” When he swings around to us, his face is pale, beads of sweat dot his brow, and his eyes are manically searching for something we can’t see. “I said leave him alone!” he roars, running across the room and slamming into the glass wall before any of us can stop him. Falling to the ground, he curls into a fetal position, moaning and crying, and I rush to his side with tears pouring down my face. Blood trickles out of his nose, and a slight lump is swelling on his forehead. He holds onto himself, curled into a ball, rocking on the floor.
“Make the call, Noel,” I say as Mike drops to his knees beside me, barely holding back tears. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, comforting me as I watch helplessly while my husband falls to pieces in front of my eyes.
Several hours later, Ryder has been admitted for assessment at the psychiatric hospital on the south shore. Because he wasn’t lucid enough to sign himself in, I had to do it. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I don’t see that I’ve any choice. Ryder has spent the last few hours alternating between manic and catatonic episodes, and I’m at a loss how to help him, because he’s not in the real world right now. His mind is clearly crashing, and I’ve got to trust he’s in the best place to help him.
Over the course of the next seventy-two hours, I only leave the hospital to go home and grab a quick shower and some clean clothes, and then I’m back by my husband’s side.
They sedated him the first twenty-four hours, for his own safety, and since then, he’s seen a succession of different doctors and psychologists, who have all confirmed he’s in the middle of a mental breakdown. He’s going to need long-term intervention to deal with the symptoms and the causal effects and to help restore his mental health.
Although he’s a shell of his former self, his behavior has stabilized, and he’s aware of his surroundings now. But he’s crying all the time and clinging to me, and I hate to see him like this. Mike and I are the only ones who have been with him. Noel voluntarily went back to Boston, understanding that seeing his son now might trigger another episode. I took his contact details, and I promised to call him soon.
My own therapist has been a lifesaver. She flew down to meet me, and we’ve discussed the options for Ryder’s recovery. She helped me to identify a fantastic facility in Florida offering holistic and experimental residential treatment in serene surroundings especially tailored for patients in need of post-traumatic stress disorder recovery. They focus on the underlying issues, getting to the root of the matter, and help patients work through them via a variety of different programs. It’s set on an extensive estate with outdoor cabins, and there are a lot of physical activities and different therapy options on offer, which I think will suit Ryder.
I’m loath to leave him in a hospital like this where the approach is a combination of drugs and therapy. While that may work for some patients, with Ryder’s drug abuse background, I want to try an alternative method. The Florida facility seems perfect. The difficult part is the fact we’ll be separated while he’s receiving treatment, but I can’t be selfish. I just want him to get the help he needs. I feel guilty that I didn’t see he was seriously struggling and recommend something like this before he had a break, but all that matters is getting him the appropriate help now and supporting him in whatever way I can.
Ryder is hugely reluctant to agree, at first, but he eventually approves it, because he knows he needs the help, and I’m glad that he wants to get better rather than falling back into his usual addictive behaviors.
The day I drop him off is a horrible day. We’re clinging to one another. He’s crying, and I’m trying my fucking hardest not to. I feel like my jaw might break from forcing myself to smile so much. I won’t see him for six weeks, and I already miss him.
The instant Mike drives away from the center, I burst out crying, and I can’t stop. Everything I’ve been holding in the last few days is let loose, and anguished howls rip from the back of my throat. Mike pulls over to the side of the road, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re doing the right thing, and Ryder knows that too. He would never have agreed otherwise. This is the best way to help him.”
“I love him so much,” I sob. “And I feel so useless.”
“Just be there waiting for him, Zeta. That’s the best way you can help him. And make sure to look after yourself too.”
As we fly back to the Hamptons, I think of Mike’s words while I flip through the educational material the kind woman in the center gave me to read before I left. It outlines the four-day family week I’ll be allowed to share with Ryder once he’s gotten the first six weeks behind him. There are special educational sessions for family members to provide tools to enable us to support our loved ones when they return home. There are also group therapy sessions and various other activities we can do together to aid his recovery. The brochures discuss how looking aft
er my own mental health and wellbeing is just as important, and I vow to do everything I can to ensure I’m strong enough to help Ryder through this.
One of the first things I do is organize Luc to come stay. Ryder had been making plans with his sister Kat before he had his breakdown. She travels with him on the private jet Rod organized, staying for a couple of days to help him get settled.
I love having Luc around, and it helps me feel closer to Ryder. I don’t feel as alone with him here, and he provides much-needed comfort. I never forget that Ren is still out there somewhere, and while this place is like Fort Knox, and I can’t imagine anyone getting in, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wake up constantly during the night, feeling lonely and afraid.
Luc also offers me invaluable encouragement because he’s only just come out of a mental health treatment program, and he understands, to a point, what Ryder is going through. We spend hours trawling the grounds of Ryder’s vast estate, and I push his wheelchair along the promenade in town while we talk and catch up.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Luc. I think I’d be going out of my mind without your company,” I admit, as we sit outside on the terrace one evening. We’re both covered under a thick plaid blanket, sipping drinks as we watch the waves crash onto the shore in the near distance. Now that we’re into October, the weather has cooled down, and it’s no longer shorts and T-shirt season. The crowds have significantly died down around the town and a lot of the stores and restaurants have switched to off-peak hours. From what Ryder’s told me, he would usually be back in the city this time of year, only venturing down here on weekends when he had free time. But I don’t mind it like this. I love this house, and I feel very settled here.
“Glad to be of service, ma’am,” Luc jokes, chinking his glass against mine. “This is helping me too. It’s exactly what I needed, and it’s been great to catch up. I missed you.”
I lean in and kiss his cheek. “I missed you too, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
He swats my concern away. “Stop apologizing. There’s no need, and we’ve already discussed this. I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy trying to move past my regrets. It’s a negative emotion and one that has the potential to drag me down, so I’m trying to live more in the moment.”
“And you’re feeling good now?” I don’t want to pry or pressure him into talking if he doesn’t want to.
He nods, smiling slowly. “For the first time in ages, I’m actually focusing on the future. On all the things I can still do instead of fixating on all the things I can’t.” He squeezes my hand. “Please don’t worry about me because I’m good. Ryder should be your only concern. I’m here to ease your burden, not add to it.”
I kiss his cheek again. “You could never be a burden. Never. I love that you’re here with me.”
“You might regret saying that when it’s time for me to leave and I don’t want to go,” he semi-jokes, taking a quick slurp of his soda.
I sit up straighter, looking him directly in the eyes. “There’s no ticking clock here, Luc. You can stay with us for as long as you like. Forever if you want.” I nudge my head in the direction of the guesthouse. “We’ve plenty of room, and I know Ryder would love you to stay, so please don’t worry about that. You are free to come and go as you please.”
“Thank you.” He turns to me with tears in his eyes. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you guys back in my life.”
“I know the feeling well.” I curl my feet underneath me, resting my head on his shoulder. “I’m missing him really badly today.”
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “But it’s only two weeks until you’ll see him again.”
“I can’t wait—even if I know he might not be himself. I don’t care. I just want to hold him and tell him I love him.”
“I’m so happy you guys got married. I always knew it would happen, and you’re good for him, Zeta. You were the only one who ever put a smile on his face.”
“I hope he’s happy with the work we’ve done on the charity.”
“Of course, he will be. He’ll be proud of how well you’re coping. It’s not easy dealing with the fans and the media, writing Torment’s biography, helping me set up the charity, and running a magazine from here.”
I take a sip of my wine. “I’m not the one running a magazine. Harrison Meadows is.” When I called the CEO a few weeks ago to advise him to hire someone new in my position, I could tell his nose was out of joint at the fact Ryder transferred ownership of RockOut to me. I did my best to reassure him, confirming I had no plans to return at this time or to interfere in his competent management of the business, and once he updates me weekly, I’m good with that for now. I’m not sure whether I’ll want a more hands-on role once Ryder is back, but my priority is helping him readjust, and I just want to be here for him.
I’ve made great progress on the biography these last few weeks, and I’ll have my first draft for the editor ahead of schedule, which takes some pressure off me. I want to be able to give Ryder my undivided attention once he’s back home and I’m going to do whatever is needed during our separation to pave the way for that.
After what feels like eternity, but is actually three months in reality, Ryder is finally coming back home. As I stand on the asphalt of the private runway, watching Ryder’s jet crawl to a standstill, I’m bursting with excitement and happiness at the thought of having my husband home. I look down at Luc, and he raises his hand for a high-five, just like he used to do when we were in juvie. I throw back my head, laughing as our palms connect.
I’m watching the plane like a hawk, desperate to see my husband’s beautiful face. Although I got to visit him twice, for two four-day family stays, I have missed that man more than I ever thought it was possible to miss a person. In some ways, it reminded me of what it was like when he left me after juvie, and I hated the old feelings it resurrected. But I got through it because I could see how much it was helping Ryder. The facility worked wonders for him, and he’s in a much better place even if there’s still a lot more he needs to process. It’s why he will continue with a treatment program locally with my full backing and support.
My pulse spikes when the door to the jet opens, and I hold my breath as I wait for a glimpse of my love. The instant his booted foot lands on the top step, I take off running, my heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through my body. He’s running toward me too, and we meet halfway, crashing into one another.
Cupping my face, he smashes his lips to mine as my arms curl around his neck. Our kissing is ravenous, hungry, needy, and we cling to one another, afraid to break apart in case it’s not real. The gentle whirring sound of Luc’s approaching wheelchair reminds me we’re not alone, and I break our kiss, keeping my arms wrapped around my husband as I turn us to face our friend.
“Young.” Ryder grins, reaching down to do the whole man hug thing. “Great to see you. Thanks for looking after my girl again. I owe you.”
“It’s my pleasure, but let’s not aim for a third time, right?”
He presses a fierce kiss to my temple, hugging me closer. “I’m never leaving her again.”
Ryder rolls down the window on the SUV as we leave the airport, waving to the legion of fans lining the road.
Although we tried to keep details of his treatment from the media, someone leaked the news, and I felt the need to address it. After consulting with Rod and Ryder, I took over Ryder’s social media accounts and posted regular updates. I didn’t disclose anything private, but I let his fans know he was doing well and asking for them. The outpouring of love bolstered me on bad days, and I know Ryder will be blown away by all the messages and posts and the mountains of fan mail and gifts he’s received.
“It’s fucking great to be home,” Ryder says once we’re back at the house. “I’ve missed you so much,” he adds, pulling me into his a
rms. “And we’ve so much lost time to make up for.” He discreetly nudges his hard-on into my belly, and my core pulses with need.
“That we do, dear husband.” I can’t contain my glowing smile as I think of the happy news I have to tell him. I called his therapist at the center before he left, because I was concerned the timing was all wrong, but he believes this is exactly what Ryder needs to focus forward and look to the future instead of remaining trapped in the past.
After we demolish the pot roast I made, Luc retreats to his room, knowing we need some alone time. Ryder all but sprints to the bedroom, and I’m laughing as he pulls me inside, shuts the door, and pins me up against the wall. “I know we’ve lots to talk about, but I need to be inside you, baby, because you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do today.” He cradles my face. “I cannot begin to explain how much I’ve ached without you. I might as well have chopped off a limb. Being away from you was the worst kind of physical and emotional wrench, and I’m determined to avoid that again at all costs.”
His hand slowly slides up my thigh and under my dress, but I clasp his wrist, gently nudging him aside. Taking his hand, I walk us over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and patting the space beside me. He frowns, looking a little hurt, and I can’t help but smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be naked and moaning underneath you soon enough. I just have something I need to tell you first.”
“Okay.”
The frown is still in place, and I rub my thumbs across his furrowed brow, smiling as tears burn the back of my throat. “This is a good thing, honey.” Or at least, I hope it is. We’ve spoken about starting a family before, and I know he has some concerns, but he never said he didn’t want kids. I kiss his gorgeous mouth, and when I pull back, a sneaky tear has crept out of the corner of my eye. “I’m pregnant, Ryder. We’re going to have a baby.”
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