Ryder & Ryder |on hold|

Chapter 24|' Did you just talk football to me?'|

Chapter 24|' Did you just talk football to me?'|

  "Is this it?" I ask Roman as we pull up to a pretty, white two story house.

 He nods as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I'm about to open my door when Roman locks it. I look at him, narrowing my eyes, but he stares straight ahead. "Promise me that you won't think different of him when you go in there."

  "What are you talking about, Roman?" I ask him curiously.

  "Just," Roman lets out a breath. "Promise, please."

  I nod slowly, pursing my lips. "Of course. Now come on."

  I get out of the car, waiting for him to come around so we can walk together. His fingers fine mine and intertwine them platonically. I squeeze them back comfortingly.

  I have no idea what I'm getting myself into and it scares me a bit.

  Roman knocks on the door with his free hand and we wait. Not even a minute later, the door opens and my jaw drops.

  "Dr. Mathews?"

  She frowns before chuckling. "The girl whose brother jumped on her wrist! Ms. Ryder Holloway!" She pulls me in for a hug. "How have you been?"

  "I'm fine," I smile shyly. This is Ryder's mom. "Uh, do you think we could talk to Ryder?"

  Dr. Mathews clears her throat. "He is, uh, not here right now."

  "What?" Roman said confusedly. "He told me that he was here."

  Dr.--Ms. Mathews pursed her lips. "Well, maybe he just wants to be alone right now."

  Roman scoffed. "That is utter--excuse my language-- bullshit. No offense, but I've known Ryder since I was three and anytime he says he wants to be alone, he's lying."

  My eyes widen at his bluntness. Okay, not the way to approach the situation. "Please," I beg her. "We really need to talk to Ryder. Its really important."

  Ms. Mathews bites her lip, looking in between Roman and I uneasily. She lets out a breath before nodding hesitantly. "Fine."

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  "I'll wait in the car." Roman says, patting my shoulder likely.

  I nod, giving him a nervous smile. "He won't punch me or anything right?"

  Roman rolls his eyes, chuckling lightly. He reaches over and opens the door for me, letting it hang open. "No. Now get out of my car." I take a deep breath before getting out, trying not to psych myself out.

  The cemetery has always been my least favorite place. It gives off this sad and creepy vibe that gives you the chills.

  Ryder sits on the grass cross legged in front of a tombstone. He hears my feet crunch under the newly fallen leaves, but he doesn't turn his head away.

  I plop down beside him, bringing my knees to my chest and leaning my chin on them. "I'm sorry," I tell him in a small voice.

  "I know." His voice is so emotionless that it makes me feel even worse.

  Instead if trying to respond, I take a look at the gravestone.

  Here lies John Ryder Mathews

  1969–2006

  Loving father, friend, son, and husband