"There's no point in arguing," Ryder had said back at the cabin, his voice soft but firm. "Your daughter—Ciara—gave me two choices. And I'd still choose Nathan over a life without him."
Ryley had tried to speak, to plead. But all he'd managed was a choked breath, silenced by the cruel truth:
Ryder was dying.
Four years of hidden cancer, and only months left to live.
Now, watching Rosie clutch the man who wouldn't live to see her grow up, Ryley brought a trembling hand to his mouth, trying to quiet the sob that built in his throat.
"I'm sorry," Ryder had whispered as he drew him into a quiet embrace. "Even if Vincent hadn't come to threaten me, I'd still have made this choice. Rosie belongs with you... and Clyde now. Take care of her."
Ryley bit his lower lip as Ryder's voice echoed in his mind—steady, unwavering, and impossibly kind despite the weight of truth he'd just shared.
