“Would you like help finding your mom?” he asked carefully. Maggie nodded immediately.
Then, before he expected it, she reached up and took his hand. Her tiny fingers wrapped around only two of his.
Ryder stared down at their joined hands. It had been years since anyone had touched him so casually, without fear, suspicion, or some hidden purpose.
“Your hands are big,” Maggie observed matter-of-factly. Ryder stood slowly, suddenly hyperaware of every eye in the park.
A nearby couple saw them and changed direction, throwing suspicious glances over their shoulders. Ryder ignored them.
“Let’s try the playground first,” he said. Maggie skipped beside him as though nothing about the situation were unusual.
Her complete trust was both touching and terrifying. Ryder could not remember the last time anyone had looked at him as someone who could help rather than someone who might hurt them.
They followed the path toward the playground, Maggie’s hand warm in his. More people gave them a wide berth. Some whispered behind their hands, but Ryder focused entirely on the little girl beside him. Right now, nothing mattered except getting her safely back to her mother.
“Do you like the pictures on your arms?” Maggie asked. Ryder glanced down at his tattoos. Dragons, skulls, flames, symbols from a different life covered his forearms.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess I do.” “They’re pretty,” Maggie declared. She traced a finger along a red flame. “Like a coloring book.”
A small laugh escaped Ryder before he could stop it. He could not remember the last time he had laughed like that.
“Never thought of them that way before.” They passed the basketball court. Several teenagers stopped playing long enough to stare. Ryder caught fragments of whispered words, including Hell’s Angel, but he kept looking ahead.
Maggie tightened her grip on his finger as she hopped over a crack in the sidewalk. “Don’t step on the lines,” she said seriously. “Or the bears will get you.”
“Bears, huh?” Ryder carefully stepped over the crack. “We definitely don’t want that.” Maggie giggled.
“You’re funny, Mr. Ryder.” She swung their joined hands back and forth.
“My friend Sarah at preschool says her daddy is funny too, but he doesn’t have pictures on his arms like you do.” Something tightened in Ryder’s chest.
Here was a little girl casually comparing him to someone’s father when most adults crossed streets to avoid him. He cleared his throat.
“Your mom must be really worried about you.” “She tells me not to wander off,” Maggie admitted. “But I saw a butterfly, and it was so pretty.”
They rounded the corner near the playground, and Ryder scanned the area again. More parents had gathered now. Some held phones. Others were looking around with concerned expressions.
Then he saw her. A woman in a blue jacket moved frantically between the swings and the slide, her face tight with fear.
“Maggie!” she called, her voice cracking. “Maggie, where are you?” Maggie’s whole face lit up.
“Mommy!” She released Ryder’s hand and ran.
Her little legs carried her across the grass, and the woman dropped to her knees just in time to catch her. She gathered Maggie into her arms and held her tightly, eyes squeezed shut with relief.
Nearby parents visibly relaxed. Phones lowered. Conversations resumed. Ryder stayed several yards away and watched.
The woman’s blue jacket was worn at the elbows. Her brown hair was escaping from its ponytail, and there was exhaustion beneath the relief on her face. She looked like someone doing the best she could with very little margin for error. Ryder recognized that look.
He had seen something similar in his own mother’s eyes many years ago. He shifted his weight, unsure whether he should approach or simply leave.
Before he could decide, Maggie twisted around in her mother’s arms and pointed directly at him. Ryder saw the woman look up.
Their eyes met across the grass. For a second, uncertainty crossed her face. Ryder knew that reaction well. He had seen it thousands of times.