Page 112 of The SEAL's Duchess
“What?”
“Done feeling sorry for yourself?” Caleb folded his arms, eyebrows lifted.
Ryder’s jaw burned. “I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being a coward.”
Ryder blinked, heat flooding his neck, and pushed himself more upright despite the pain that engulfed his shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Caleb jabbed an accusing finger at him. “You jumped onto a collapsing rig in a storm, tore your shoulder apart keeping her alive—and now you’re telling me she’s better off without you?”
Ryder looked away. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple.” Caleb walked around the bed, closer. “Did you tell her how you feel about her?”
His throat closed up. “No.”
“Did you ask her to stay?”
“No.”
Caleb threw his hands in the air. “Why the hell not?”
“Because—” The words were like glue. Ryder forced them out. “Because what if she says no? What if I ask her to give up her whole life, and she looks at me and realizes I’m not worth it?”
Caleb was quiet for a long moment. Then he straightened up and grabbed the wheelchair from the corner of the room.
“What are you doing?” Ryder asked.
“Getting you out of this bed before you make the biggest mistake of your life.” Caleb rolled the chair up beside him. “Get up.”
“I just had surgery.”
“I don’t fucking care.Get up.”
“Caleb—”
“Ryder, I’m telling you right now—if you let her get on that plane tomorrow without telling her how you feel, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” Caleb gripped the bed rail. “So get your ass out of this bed, or I will physically put you in this chair myself.”
Ryder stared at his brother. His shoulder was screaming. He was wearing a hospital gown and nothing else. He probably couldn’t walk more than ten feet without passing out.
And Caleb was right.
“Help me up,” he said.
“That’s more fucking like it.” Caleb slid an arm around Ryder’s good side and helped him swing his legs off the bed. The room wobbled. Pain detonated through his shoulder, white-hot and blinding. Ryder gritted his teeth and rode it out.
“Easy,” Caleb said. “Let’s not pass out before we speak to her, eh?”
Ryder grunted in reply. By the time he was seated, he was breathing hard, and sweat was running down his spine. But he was upright. Mobile.
Caleb shoved the IV stand into his hand. “You hold this. Okay, let’s get this thing in gear.” He rolled the chair forward into the hallway.
The corridor stretched in both directions—fluorescent lights, linoleum floors, the smell of antiseptic. A nurse looked up from her station, her mouth popping open, but Caleb waved her off. “He needs some fresh air.”
“There.” Ryder pointed.
Ivy was at the far end of the corridor, almost to the elevators. Her hand was reaching for the button.
