Page 83 of Ryder

CRYSTAL

“Aidan James Cane!”I yell at my son. He’s just turned five, and he’s a handful and a half.

He stops, his cute little face — just like his daddy’s — looks up at me with the same green eyes. Yes, they’re full of mischief, but also totally adorable. I’m a sucker for both the men in my life.

“Did you do this?” I point down at the cat, who now has pink marker pen all over her white coat. He shakes his little head. “No? Who did then?”

He blinks a couple of times, and I can’t wait to hear the excuse. He’s a mastermind, I swear to God.

“Not me.” Ade continues to shake his head.

“No? I don’t see anyone else here except you. Aidan, what have I told you?”

He looks down at his toes, then back up to me. “Not to draw on Milo?”

“That’s right. Markers, paint and crayons are for your coloring book, not for the cat, the walls or anywhere else, young man.”

My God. Ryder will think it’s funny when he sees the cat running around with a Mohawk-like stripe down her back, but Idon’t see the humor. Poor Milo. She loves Aidan, but she’s also used to getting out of the way whenever he has a weapon of mass destruction in his hands: like markers.

“Sorry, Mommy.” He reaches for me, and I know I shouldn’t pick him up when I’m telling him off, but he’s just so stinking cute. His bottom lip wobbles and I’m a goner.

Aidan has been known to ruin more than just our cat. When Audrina — Huster’s ol’ lady from the MC — was babysitting him not so long ago, he ruined her vintage Valentino blouse. It cost more than my first car. Ryder said it wasn’t Aidan’s fault people spend so much money on clothes, especially inappropriate ones — like white blouses — while babysitting kids. Still, it’s no excuse. I was so embarrassed.

He’s also swallowed one of Luna’s earrings— she’s Tag’s ol’ lady. Not that she wanted it back once it was down the hatch, but the hospital assured us it was small enough to pass without any difficulties. This child, I swear to God, is a terror. He’s a lot like me, not that I’d admit that out loud, and gets away with murder. I can’t even blame Ryder because he was a Boy Scout compared to this little demon. But he’s my demon.

My mom says it’s payback for the hell I gave them, and I’m only now starting to understand exactly what that means. You really don’t know until you have your own kids.

My parents have been onboard with me and Ryder from the time we told them we were officially in a relationship. I’m glad. Having rival families growing up may have stunted the past, but it won’t shape the future. The future is whatever we choose to make it, and I stand by that motto.

I fold Aiden into my arms and cuddle him. He looks so sad. “No more painting the cat. She doesn't like it, and we don’t want to make her unhappy, do we?”

Ade shakes his head. “No, Mommy.” And and I am

I kiss his forehead and set him back down. “Go wash up and then we’ll find Milo and give her a bath.”

He runs off to the bathroom. He has a little step he uses, and is quite the independent little man.

A few moments later, I hear Ryder at the front door. I’m quite the tradwife these days, not that I set out to be, and Ryder pulls his weight. Though, he works so hard at the mechanics and pulls all-night shifts doing security when the club calls on him. The least I can do is keep our house as tidy as I can — impossible with a five-year old — and have some kind of dinner on the table. I like making our home a haven. I started around the time I was pregnant with Aiden; nesting, apparently. I just never stopped.

As soon as I see Ryder’s expression, however, I know something is wrong. His face looks drawn and pale, his eyes cast downward. There’s a sag to his body and his shoulders are slumped as he drops his keys on the kitchen counter.

“Ryd?” I say, alarmed. “What’s wrong?” My heart beats a fraction of a second too fast and I stare at him.

“It’s my mom.”

My eyes widen. “Is she… is she okay?”

He shakes his head. “She… she died.”

I put a hand over my heart. “What? Oh, my God.” He swallows hard as I move toward him, folding myself into his arms. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “I’m fine.”

“How did you?—”

“Stu.”

“Oh.”

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