Ryder lowered himself into the chair beside his mother. The porch boards creaked under his boots as he leaned forward, elbows resting heavy on his knees, eyes fixed on the dried mud clinging to the leather.

“She told me she was fine. She seemed fine,” he muttered, frustration roughening the edge of his voice.

Celeste laid a steady hand over his, soft but unyielding. “I know, Ryder. Don’t go beatin’ yourself bloody over it. You weren’t aware.”

Ryder gave a short nod, jaw tightening ...