Chapter 17

chapter

seventeen

The doctor planned to keep him for three more days.

To hell with that.

No way was he going to sit around in some sterile room for three more days while shrinks tried to get inside his head. He could say the wrong thing and end up committed. He knew how it worked, and he wanted to part of it, so he’d yanked out his IVs, put on his clothes, and checked himself out against medical advice.

Now he sat on his back porch, watching without much interest as the sun dipped low over the mountains, setting the sky ablaze with hues of orange and gold. The quiet was almost oppressive, and the air smelled of pine resin and distant woodsmoke, with the faintest hint of salt from the nearby coast.

He usually loved it here.

But, right now, he was boiling with too much rage to care.

He still couldn’t believe his team fucking ambushed him yesterday, turning their visit into an intervention. Like he was some kind of addict who needed to be fixed.

You are , a voice whispered at the back of his mind.

He told the voice to fuck off and took a drink of coffee that tasted more like regret than caffeine, probably because he’d come home and dumped the rest of his bourbon into it. He hated this—this ache in his chest, the crushing weight of guilt that wouldn’t let him breathe—and yet he drank it anyway.

To have them all standing around his bed, watching him with pity in their eyes…

It was more than he could bear. Zak, Donovan, Shane— he knew they meant well, but they didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. They were all heroes to their cores. They were brave. They were strong. They saved lives every day, and they did it without flinching. Without hesitating.

Not like him. He was the weak link, the one who couldn’t handle the pressure when it mattered most.

He took another swig of his spiked coffee, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget. Forget the way he’d failed his SEAL team. Forget how flames had burst at Alejandro’s feet, blowing him apart. Forget Fuse’s scream as the fire consumed him, too. Forget how Mack had looked at him, blood bubbling from his lips as he’d gasped out his last words. Forget the way his own arm had felt, hanging useless and shattered at his side.

Most of all, forget the way he’d hesitated. The way fear had seized him, holding him frozen in place as the ambush unfolded around them. Those few seconds had cost Mack, Alejandro, and Fuse their lives. Cost him his arm and his career.

Now here he was, nine years later, still fighting those same demons. Still trying to prove he was worthy of the uniform he no longer wore. Worthy of the brothers who stood by his side.

He’d let his SEAL team down all those years ago. Had he really thought he wouldn’t ultimately let this team down, too?

The sound of a car in his driveway made his stomach twist. He grabbed the empty bottle of bourbon from the table in front of him and shoved it under his chair. And he waited. The sliding door scraped open behind him. He didn’t turn to see who it was. He already knew.

“Hey,” Rhiannon said softly, her voice carrying that calm, familiar warmth that always made him feel both comforted and exposed. “Care for some company?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” She walked over to the railing and let out a soft exhale full of wonder. “When you first came to Steam Valley, I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand why you didn’t go home to Mom and Dad in Kentucky. But this place is… breathtaking.”

The view was breathtaking, a sweeping panorama of the rolling hills and dense forest stretching to the horizon. A single towering pine stood sentinel at the edge of the deck, its silhouette sharp against the fading light. Most of the trees here remain green year round, but the maples were at peak now, dotting the hills with bright pops of orange and yellow.

This deck with its weather-faded furniture was the reason he’d bought the place when he decided to stay in California. The cabin itself was small and in desperate need of some modern upgrades, but the view more than made up for its shortcomings. It was a sanctuary, a place to escape the noise in his head.

At least, it used to be.

But the noise was so loud now, so relentless, that not even this view could drown it out. Only booze seemed to work, and even that was losing its power because he was well on his way to drunk and the noise still persisted.

He glanced sideways at his sister. She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze focused on the horizon as the sun slipped lower, staining the clouds with streaks of coral and lavender.

“I get it now.” She turned to face him, her expression gentle. “It’s peaceful here. It’s healing. It’s exactly what you needed.”

Rylan’s jaw tightened. “If you came here to lecture me about what I need, you can save it. I’ve had enough of people telling me how to fix myself this week.”

She shook her head, her long ponytail swinging with the motion. “That’s not why I’m here. I would never do that to you.”

“Then why are you here?”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she moved to sit in the chair beside him, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “Because I love you. Because I’m worried about you. And because... I think maybe you need someone to just sit with you right now.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

He stared out at the horizon. The last light of day painted the sky in deep purples and blues, a single star winking into existence above the trees. His vision blurred. The bourbon was hitting him harder than he’d realized. Or maybe it was the exhaustion from multiple sleepless nights in a row. He took another sip of his spiked coffee, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat, but then he felt guilty and set the mug down.

Rhiannon watched him with knowing eyes, but still didn’t say anything more. She just sat there in companionable silence, letting nature fill the space between them with the wind’s soft song and the distant hooting of an owl. He wanted silence, but not like this. Not this uncomfortable, heavy silence, full of unsaid words and unspoken feelings.

“Clever, sis,” he muttered, a hot flash of irritation burning up the back of his neck. He recognized the tactic all too well—it was one he used during therapy sessions. And, apparently, he wasn’t immune to it. “Using silence as an interrogation technique.”

“I’m just here, Ry,” she said softly. “No interrogation, no judgment, no agenda. Just… here.”

The sincerity of her words made his throat tighten. He swallowed hard and looked away, blinking back the sudden sting in his eyes.

A moment passed, then another.

The silence was too much.

“How’s Pierce?” he asked finally. He figured her boyfriend was a safe-ish topic. When Rhiannon and Pierce started dating, Pierce had elected to drive to Eureka for counseling instead of seeing Rylan, so he truly didn’t know how the man was anymore.

Her lips curved into a small smile. “He’s good. Busy with some new project he’s been working on with Sawyer and—honestly, I don’t even know what it is. They get together, and they’re two geeky peas in a pod with their own language.”

Rylan huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh. Sawyer couldn’t see, and Pierce couldn’t speak, yet somehow, those two were the best of friends. “If he’s building another doomsday device, I’d appreciate the heads up before California falls into the Pacific.”

She sighed and shook her head in exasperation. “Rylan… be nice.”

“I am being nice. I asked how he was, didn’t I?”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Yes, you did. And I appreciate that, but are you ever going to forgive him for Tectra-X?”

No , he thought but said, “I’m working on it.” To his mind, that device had been worse even than Izzy’s betrayal, and if he couldn’t forgive her, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to forgive Pierce.

But he knew Rhiannon loved Pierce, so he was trying to be civil with the man. For her sake.

“He’s trying too, you know,” Rhiannon said. “To make amends for all the destruction his work caused. He feels terrible about what happened.”

Rylan grunted noncommittally. He didn’t want to talk about Pierce or Tectra-X or Izzy or any of it. He just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and his bourbon-laced coffee. He reached for his mug again, desperate for the numbing effects of the bourbon, but Rhiannon’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Ry,” she said softly, “Pierce told me what happened yesterday.”

He shook off her arm and grabbed the mug, draining the cold dregs, wishing he had more. “Annnd the other shoe drops. I knew it was coming.”

She ignore the biting sarcasm. “I’m sorry they ambushed you like that. They’re just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Her head tilted slightly and her eyes—so much like his own—softened. “You’re not fine. Mom said you haven’t called to check on her in over a month. She’s halfway through chemo, if you’re wondering. She started losing her hair, so Dad shaved his head in solidarity.” She pulled out her phone and showed him a photo on the screen.

Rylan’s chest tightened at the sight of his parents’ smiling faces. Their bald heads gleamed in the sunlight. His mother’s eyes were tired, but her smile was radiant as she leaned against his father’s chest. The love between them was palpable, even through a photograph.

He looked away, shame burning in his gut. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t even thought to ask how she was doing. What kind of son was he?

“Do they know I…” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“No. I didn’t want to stress them out. They’ve got enough to worry about right now.” Rhiannon smiled sadly at the picture before darkening the screen and sliding the phone back into her pocket. “Besides, you should be the one to tell them.”

“I’m not telling them.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Because you’re pushing everyone who cares about you away.”

“I wouldn’t have to push if everyone just stayed away from me.” The words came out sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “ You should stay away. I don’t need you meddling in my life.”

“I’m your younger sister. It’s my job to meddle,” she reminded gently. “Especially when you’re sabotaging yourself like this.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered again because it was all he could think to say.

“Rylan. You’re not.” She pulled her chair closer. “Talk to me. Please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve got it under control.”

She touched his shoulder, and he froze. “Ending up in the hospital, getting your stomach pumped, isn’t in control. Checking yourself out against medical advice and coming home to pick up right where you left off isn’t in control. You’re spiraling.”

He shrugged off her hand and turned to face her, his anger bubbling to the surface. Anger was good. It was easier than guilt or shame. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do. I know exactly what this looks like because I’ve seen it before. When you came home from that last deployment, I watched you disappear into yourself. Then when we finally got you back, I watched you destroy yourself with alcohol and drugs. And I can’t—” Her voice broke, and she took a shaky breath. “I can’t watch you go through that again.”

Her words cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He clenched his fist and his prosthetic mimicked the movement, the metal fingers also curling into a fist at his other side. It still surprised him when it did that, when it functioned like a real arm. It wasn’t real, though. It was a hunk of metal and wires and circuits that would never truly replace what he’d lost. A constant reminder than he would never be whole again.

And that pissed him off.

He grabbed hold of the anger and fanned it because it was safer than the ache clawing at his chest. “I’m not that guy anymore.”

“Aren’t you?” Tears swam in her eyes. “Because it feels like I’m sitting next to the same brother who told me to leave him alone when I found him living on the streets in LA.”

“I’m not using.” At least that much was true.

Her gaze flicked to the mug of coffee on the weathered wooden table between them, then to the empty bourbon bottle under his chair. “No, but you’re drinking. Don’t tell me that is someone else’s bottle,” she added as he opened his mouth to do just that. “I smell it, Rylan. On your breath, on your clothes. You smell like a distillery.”

He closed his eyes as shame flooded his chest. “It’s only been a few times.” Or more like every fucking night. But if he admitted that…

He already couldn’t stand the pity and fear he heard in her voice.

“Rylan, it’s never just a few times. One time becomes two. Then three. And then you start using again. You know how this goes.”

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him with that same mix of love and worry he remembered from all those years ago when the drugs and alcohol had been more important than anything else in his life.

His chest tightened at the memory. He’d hurt her so badly back then, pushing her away when all she wanted was to help. And here he was, doing it all over again.

“I’m not using,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “I swear to you, Rhee. I haven’t touched anything harder than bourbon.”

“The sleeping pills?”

“It was an accident.” At least, he wanted to believe it was. Because the alternative meant…

He didn’t even want to think about it.

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I believe you.”

“I’m not that guy anymore,” he said again, but even he heard the lack of conviction in the words. “I’m not… I can’t be.” He slumped back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “I won’t go back there. I promise.”

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently. “I want to believe that’s true. But I’ve heard that promise before.”

Her words stung, but he couldn’t deny the truth in them. He had made that promise before, multiple times, and broken it just as many.

Rylan felt something inside him crack. Everything drained away, leaving only a bone-deep weariness in its wake. “You should’ve left me on the street back then. It would’ve been easier for everyone.”

Rhiannon’s grip on his hand tightened. “Don’t you dare say that,” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

The raw emotion in her voice made his throat constrict. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed there. “Why not? It’s the truth. I’m poison, Rhee. Everything I touch...” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“That’s not true. You’re a good man who’s been through hell. And you’re hurting. But you’re not poison.”

He laughed bitterly. “Tell that to Alejandro. To Fuse. To Mack. To Shane and Jax. Tell that to everyone I’ve ever let down.”

Mom and Dad.

Aiden Ellison’s family.

Monica, Grace, and Noah Holt.

Izzy…

Fuck, he had let her down, too, hadn’t he? He’d been so focused on his own pain, that he hadn’t stopped to consider hers. The impossible choice she’d been forced to make. The guilt she must be carrying.

“What happened to your team wasn’t your fault,” Rhiannon insisted.

But she didn’t know how he’d hesitated. How when it mattered the most, he froze. And how his team paid the price for his weakness.

Really, he had no fucking business being part of any team ever again.

Why had he thought coming here, joining Redwood Coast Rescue, was a good idea?

He yanked his hand from his sister’s grasp, unable to bear the gentle touch any longer, and stood abruptly, needing to put distance between them. The motion sent his head spinning, and he gripped the porch railing to steady himself.

The last remnants of daylight had faded, leaving the world bathed in cool blue twilight. Stars winked into existence overhead, pinpricks of light in the vast expanse of darkening sky. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the earthy scent of decaying leaves and damp soil.

An owl hooted mournfully in the distance, its cry echoing through the valley.

It was beautiful. Peaceful. Everything he didn’t deserve.

“You need to go,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I don’t want you here.”

He heard Rhiannon’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t turn to face her. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt in her eyes, knowing he was the cause.

“Rylan, please,” she said. “Don’t do this. Don’t push me away again.”

He gripped the railing tighter, his knuckles turning white. The rough wood bit into his palm, and he welcomed the pain.

“You’re my brother,” she continued, her voice softening. “I love you no matter what. Even when you’re being a stubborn, self-destructive idiot. I will never give up on you. Never.”

“I said go.”

“Rylan—”

“I said go!” he growled, still not looking at her. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here.”

Rhiannon’s chair scraped against the wooden deck as she stood. Rylan braced himself for more arguments, more pleading, but instead he heard her soft footsteps retreating. The sliding door opened with a quiet hiss.

“I love you, Ry,” she said softly. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

The door shut behind her.

He should feel relieved. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To be left alone?

But as the sound of Rhiannon’s car faded into the distance, a crushing weight settled on his chest. The silence he’d craved earlier now felt oppressive, suffocating.

With a frustrated growl, Rylan pushed away from the railing and stalked inside. He needed a drink. Something stronger than bourbon-laced coffee. Something to numb the ache in his chest and quiet the voices in his head.

But he was out of bourbon.

He stumbled into the kitchen, yanking open cabinets until he found what he was looking for— a dusty bottle of cheap vodka left by the house’s last tenants before he bought the place. He’d never liked vodka and only drank it back in those dark days after his injury when any alcohol was better than none. But tonight… tonight he needed it.

He unscrewed the cap with shaking hands and took a long pull straight from the bottle. The liquor burned going down and brought tears to his eyes, but he welcomed the sensation. It was something to focus on besides the crushing guilt and self-loathing.

He slumped against the counter, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold tile floor. The bottle dangled from his fingers as he stared blankly at the wall.

What the hell was he doing?

He’d worked so hard to get clean, to rebuild his life after hitting rock bottom. And now here he was, sitting on his kitchen floor, drinking cheap vodka straight from the bottle.

He knew he should stop, knew he was spiraling dangerously close to the edge. But he couldn’t seem to make himself care.

Images flashed through his mind—Alejandro’s blood-stained face, Fuse’s lifeless eyes, Shane’s scarred body. The devastation on Rhiannon’s face when she’d found him living on the streets. The disappointment in his parents’ eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they kept coming. The intervention at RWCR headquarters. The concern and pity on his teammates’ faces. Izzy face when he told her he could never forgive her…

Rylan’s vision blurred, and he realized he was crying. Silent tears streamed down his face as the weight of everything he’d been carrying crashed down on him.

He was so tired.

Tired of fighting.

Tired of pretending he was okay when he was falling apart inside.

Just. So. Fucking. Tired.