Ryder
I wasn't good with words the way the others were. Adrian had built an empire on his ability to persuade rooms full of skeptical executives. Mason could talk a scared five-year-old into laughing through chemo. Caleb spoke in the careful, precise language of a man who chose every word deliberately. I'd spent most of my life saying as little as possible, letting actions carry whatever weight words usually handled for other people.
So the vow thing worried me more than I let on.
I found myself out in the garage most evenings that winter, working on my bike less because it needed the attention and more because the familiar motion of wrench against metal gave my mind space to work through what I actually wanted to say when spring finally arrived.
Becky found me there one night in Febru
