The Dance Off

“Ryder!” a familiar voice called out, and he turned to find Tom Campbell bearing down on him.

It had been over a decade since he’d last worked for the guy, acting as labourer’s apprentice down in Portsea in his determination to pay his own way through college. Even with the salt-and-pepper hair and deeper crinkles around his eyes, he looked more robust than ever.

“You look ridiculously healthy,” Ryder said, shaking his hand. “Sea air? Honest work? Botox?”

“Try the love of a good woman.”

Right, shouldn’t have asked. “Show me what you’re up to.”

With a grin of pure delight, Tom distracted Ryder beautifully by taking him through his latest house project, a renovation job he didn’t need for the guy was loaded, but one he did for the thrill of bringing old glory back to life.

And as Ryder took in the beautiful mouldings, the original stone fireplace now peeking through a hole in the horrendously wallpapered plasterboard, of all the spots he could have gone in an effort to find his feet again, this was the place. He felt more grounded here than he had in a long time. More stimulated by the random house than any building he’d produced from scratch. Because this was what he’d gone into architecture for.

Uncovering the inherent beauty in lost things.

And the years began to tumble in on him, brick by brick, till he was breathing in the dust of his memories, the ache of that long ago day when, covered in sweat and grime and speckles of paint, he’d had the future of his dreams in sight only to have his father corrupt it with his cruel words and snatch it right away.

Only from the outside looking in he realised that it wasn’t that simple. Fitz had been his usual ruinous self—but so full of spit and fire and hostility the decision to quit had been Ryder’s own. His father had altered the course of his life because Ryder had let him.

The irony hit like a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus. Like that long ago day, he’d let the bastard do it again. And this time he hadn’t even been in the same room.

Needing air, space, perspective, Ryder excused himself and steered himself back outside. And the moment he stepped into the sunshine he saw it—a plane soaring overhead. Who knew where it was headed? Probably Sydney, or Brisbane. Outer Mongolia for all he knew. The chances it was heading to Las Vegas were slim to none. And yet he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He watched, lungs tight, skin tingling, feet pressing hard into the rocky ground until the plane was well out of sight and he could tell himself Nadia was gone. Really gone.

He’d lost her. Hell, he’d miss her. He tried telling himself he’d done the right thing. The benevolent thing. That nothing lasted for ever. Not relationships. Not old houses built on windy bluffs. Not even skyscrapers built of the strongest materials known to man.

Except for the fact that he hadn’t lost Nadia, he’d let her go.

And she’d let him let her go because she’d been let down so many times in her life it was all she knew how to do.

Dammit, thought Ryder, closing his eyes tight, blocking out the light as he tried to capture any one of the fragile threads of thought shifting through his head. That somewhere there was an answer. A different answer. The real answer. His answer.

Something about Sam. His little sister finally putting her foot down and living her life on her terms. Because of Ben. Because the kid’s love meant more to her than their father’s betrayals.

And then—lungs filled with the heady scents of paint stripper and putty, of wood varnish and plaster dust, of imagination, dedication, and optimism—he caught it.

He loved Nadia.

He loved her with a depth he couldn’t see to the bottom of. And, try as he might, he couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t feel the same way. Because Nadia wasn’t some girl he was trying to forget for her own good. She was his girl. His equal, his foil, his conscience, his advocate. His partner.

Ryder had believed it was in his genes that he’d never be able to love that way, and time had never proven him wrong. But the truth was, he just hadn’t known how until he met her. She’d filled his life, connected him deeper to himself than he’d ever been. And in that darkness, deep down inside, she flickered. She’d always flicker. His truth. His light. His love.

Ryder ran a hand through his hair and took a few steps right, then left. But he had no idea where he was meant to go. Only that he hoped it wasn’t too late. That he hadn’t martyred himself out of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

When it finally hit him where he was meant to be he called out his goodbyes to Tom and took off towards his car at a run.