“Then why the devastation? Why the despair? Couldn’t you have walked away friends? What did you say to the guy to break his heart?” The light turned green, but Ryder just kept staring at me.
“It’s green,” I whispered.
“I know,” he snapped back and pushed his foot down on the accelerator too hard. The Bronco lurched and groaned but hardly picked up any real speed. “Seriously Ivy, what did you say to Chase to crush him so badly?”
I took three long breaths, trying to find my equilibrium. I’d never had to answer these questions before. Usually, if I stayed in the same dating circle, whoever I moved onto next was just grateful I chose them. Yes, it was sick and destroyed friendships. But I didn’t have a choice. It was what I did.
What I would do if I didn’t get out of here.
Ryder demanding answers for my behavior wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. He had no idea the kind of pressure I was under. Or what my mother expected of me.
My own mother.
I scratched at my wrist tattoo that was back to being carefully covered up. It was burning like the tattletale it wanted to be.
“I didn’t say anything!” I all but shouted. “You don’t know anything about us, Ryder, so you have no right to say those things!”
“You must have said something though,” Ryder pushed, not caring at all that I was upset. “You broke his heart! After two weeks, you managed to break his heart!” His hand rammed through his hair, and his jaw ticked with frustration.
There it was. The words that had been spoken so many times in conjunction with me. The words that haunted me. Chased me in my sleep. That never gave me a moment’s peace. I broke his heart. After one freaking week, he was broken.
Just like everyone else before him.
Just like Sam.
Just like me.
“You know who I am, Ryder. It’s not like it’s this great big secret!” My voice was reaching a screeching pitch now, I was all but hysterical. “You’ve seen the tattoo. You’ve heard all the rumors. Don’t act so surprised just because it plays out in front of you. Let’s not forget, you’re the one that begged me to break up with him.”
Ryder pulled the Bronco over to the side of the road, parallel parking with disgusting ease. He didn’t even have to try more than once. He just pulled right into the tight spot and turned the car off.
Abruptly the air became silent between us. There was no loud groan of the engine, no traffic whirring by alongside us. There was only us, in the quiet of the front seat, bathed in the light of the streetlamp overhead.
“Ivy,” Ryder started, but his voice was low and careful.
“Don’t Ryder. Believe me, there is nothing you can say that can make me feel worse. I didn’t want to hurt Chase, Ok? I like Chase. I think he’s great. Just because it was never going to work between us, didn’t mean I wanted to hurt him.” I stared out the window desperate to avoid Ryder’s intelligent eyes or scornful expression. He parked in a long line of cars parallel with the Gene Leahy Outdoor Mall to my right. The trees drooped in autumn death in a perfect line spaced exactly apart from each other. The hills and hills of grass that broke up the downtown industrial-ness in a five city-block long park were brown with the injury of frost filled nights and barren of the people that usually occupied them during the spring and summer months.
“And there was no way to be more…. gentle with him? I get that you have your hang-ups but Ivy, really, there had to be a better-“
“Stop it,” I bit out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I was as nice as I could be.”
“I’m sure you were,” Ryder said in a pacifying voice that really pissed me off. “But maybe if you had just thought-“
“Enough,” I shrieked. “You weren’t there. You weren’t. And you don’t know what was said. Besides that, Chase isn’t some breakable doll. He’s going to be fine. Stop treating him like he’s fragile. Have more respect for your friend.”
“Is that what you think? You think I’m coddling him? You have no idea what you do to men, do you? You have no idea how you affect them!” he was shouting back at me, enunciating certain words with anger and gripping the steering wheel like he wanted to rip it off.
His emotion infuriated me, and he had no idea. He just happened to press every single one of my buttons and he probably expected an apology. Only the thing was, I couldn’t even be mad at him. He shouldn’t be punished for being right. And he certainly shouldn’t be punished because I was cursed.
“You’re right,” I gave in. Suddenly I was very tired. “I should have handled things differently with Chase.”
I watched Ryder open his mouth and then close it out of the corner of my eye and didn’t know what to make of his eventual silence. He just kept staring at me, like he could see through me, all the way through me. And not in the way that made me feel like I didn’t exist, but in the way that made me feel like I very much existed. Like his stare could reach every single piece of me I tried to hide, tried to tuck away. Like his eyes were super powered and he had no issue with finding every single vulnerable place inside me and shining his bright, brilliant silver spotlight on every last nook and cranny.
“Chase is my friend,” Ryder finally settled on the obvious. “But so are you, Ivy. If you want to talk, I will listen.”
I swung my head around to finally focus on those unsettling grays.
“I can’t-“
“I didn’t ask that,” Ryder cut me off, his expression fierce and hopeful all at the same time. “I won’t ever ask more of you than you can give. But if you want to, I am here for you.”
I don’t know what my face looked like, or what emotion he watched cross my face because honestly I didn’t even know. My blood grew hot with the multitude of them, my skin prickling with something. I felt like my wires were crossed, like my heart knew something my brain didn’t because it was pounding in my chest with painful purpose. I shook my head as if to remind myself not to say anything to him, not to even hint at the real purpose.
But I found the words bubbling up before I could stop them; they swam their way to the surface and made it all the way to the tip of my tongue before I could even register what a terrible idea this was.
“Ryder, what you don’t know is…. there’s actually a lot you don’t-“
Banging on Ryder’s window scared the ever living hell out of me and a blood curdling scream wrenched from my mouth, covering whatever terrible truth I was about to confess.
“What are you guys doing in there?” Phoenix shouted through the closed window, his voice muffled by the glass.
Phoenix. Good grief.
My heart beat more frantically than ever against my battered rib cage, and sweat formed at my hairline and lower back. Holy hell, that reminded me of Nix the other night and I was fairly certain I nearly died of a brain aneurism.
“I’m sorry,” I panted out of breath. I clutched a hand to my neck and cleared my throat nervously. “I’m really sorry.”
Ryder looked at me with concerned shock before finally rolling down the window for Phoenix. “Was that necessary?”
“Sorry, Ives,” Phoenix apologized sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine,” I waved a dismissive hand, but I was still out of breath. “Honestly, it is. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“Are you Ok?” Ryder faced me again, his eyes gentled with worry.
“Yes, seriously, I am. I just scare easily,” I tried to laugh but let’s be real, I sounded a little deranged. Yep, we were never visiting this conversation again. Obviously this was the universe’s way of warning me.
“You want to go get started?” Ryder asked in that same patient tone. “If you’re not up for it, I can just take you home.”
And I knew he would. If I wasn’t up for this, Ryder would let me go.
I both loved that and hated it at the same time.
I didn’t want him to let me go.
“I’m up for it.”
And
I was. At least for tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I followed Ryder and Phoenix across the street to a standalone brick building with two floors of apartments on top of a small-ish, independent bank. The building was quaint and kind of adorable. There were boxes for flowers hanging out of every second and third story window, but they were empty now because of the season. There was another standalone brick building directly to the east of it, but it was larger and a lighter shade brick than Ryder’s and to the west a block down was the Holland Center, a gorgeous modern performing arts center made of steel and glass.
We entered Ryder’s building through a side door using a keypad access and came immediately to the stairwell. The building was absolutely quiet and dark, the only sound our footsteps echoing off the tile floor as the sound got lost in the open stairwell.
We climbed the long flight of stairs in silence, while Phoenix beat his drumsticks against anything that got in his way: his jean-clad thigh, the bannister, the steps in front of him, Ryder’s back, my arm. There was obviously a song playing in his head, but he was the only one that could hear it. And in the fast flicking of his hands holding the sticks, I realized where all that contained energy was channeled too. Even though his fingers were constantly moving with rhythm his face was calm now, placid and relaxed. It was like this outlet for him completely sedated him, but in a way that was all creative genius.
At the top of the stairs, Ryder opened the heavy metal door with another key and led us into his apartment.
I was honestly surprised to walk directly into his living space, I expected there to be… I don’t know, more to the upstairs. Instead, Ryder’s home consisted of the entire third floor of the building. The loft space was mostly open and heavy with industrial design. There was an incredible round concrete table that took up way more space than I could imagine necessary for a family of three. And there were these rusted looking metal chairs that were clearly one of a kind. They had high narrow backs, but wide seats that were fit almost like old tractor seats, maybe? Weird. The kitchen was darker tones of concrete, and mixed with a 1950’s inspired collection of appliances. The living room was dark, worn leather couches and a mixture of recycled wood turned into a low coffee table and unique end tables. The living room also faced the street-side windows and was completely devoid of electronic entertainment. Doors to what I assumed were either bedrooms or bathrooms broke up the wall space around the room and I couldn’t help but wonder which one led to Ryder’s.
“What do you think?” Ryder asked in a quiet, self-conscious voice.
Phoenix’s drums suddenly burst through the apartment in random thuds and thumps of energy. While he warmed up I couldn’t bite back the smile.
“I love it,” I answered. I did love it. I loved the scattered newspaper covering the coffee table, the forgotten about coffee cups still sitting in front of pushed out chairs at the table. I loved the smell of some kind of spicy dinner that remained in the air, Ryder’s indoor soccer gear piled in a messy heap by the door. I loved that this place felt like a home. I loved that his home was lived in. “Where did you find all this…. stuff? Who did your dad hire?” I laughed taking in the ginormous table. That must have been insane to move up three flights of stairs and through the narrow door.
“Hire? You mean a decorator?” Ryder’s face was scrunched up in confusion. I nodded though, wondering absently what my mom would think about all this. “We didn’t hire anybody. My dad has a soft spot for student art and my uncle is big on the whole Renew, Reuse, Recycle thing. Together, they created this…. mess.”
“Mess?” I barely held back my offended gasp.
“Yes, Ivy. Mess. This isn’t a decorating scheme. This is Goodwill meets the Habitat for Humanity Restore shop and has a love child with every starving artist in the city. It’s definitely a mess.” Ryder laughed at my expression and I had the urge to smack his arm again.
“Fine, if it’s a mess, it’s a beautiful mess.” I conceded.
“My dad will be so happy to hear that.” He shook his head at me and then walked over to the corner of the living room where Phoenix was still beating away at his drum set.
While Ryder pulled out an acoustic guitar and plugged it into his amp I looked down at my royal blue knit dress that stopped mid-thigh and my designer wedge boots. Then I thought about my worn out Chucks in my closet at home and decided something very crucial. I wasn’t either of those people. I was this person. Whoever lived in this house, that’s who I was.
And for a moment I felt this overwhelming peace, like suddenly I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted out of life. And surprisingly it was more than just escaping.
Suddenly I didn’t just want freedom, or escape.
I wanted a house, and people to love.
And someone that loved me.
But then the sounds of guitar strings being tuned broke through the incessant drum beats and I forced myself back to reality.
I shuddered at my thinking because this wasn’t an abstract daydream, I knew the person that lived here. It was weird that I wanted to be him.
Or have his life.
Or be a part of his life.
No. No… I just wasn’t used to being in a happy home. High school house parties were hardly the testament of a loving, doting family and any other time I was invited into a house was with someone from the circle.
So, that’s all this was. Nostalgia. Nostalgia for something I didn’t know.
“Hayden and Cole are coming later. And Hudson can’t make it tonight,” Ryder explained when Phoenix finally stopped messing around. “We thought you could try it out with us first, Red, and then when you’re comfortable with the rest of the band.”
“Sure,” I mumbled trying to get back to business. “I don’t think it will make a difference, but whatever you want. Do you at least have sheet music? I mean, I’m not good enough to just make something up.” My tone was impatient and abrupt. Panic flashed like strobe lights inside me and the unsettling feeling of wanting something I could never have seriously messed me up. This was more than uncomfortable, this was terrifying.
“No one expected you to be,” Ryder’s voice had that patient, gentle tone again, like he knew I was going through something just standing in his living room.
Damn him.
I wasn’t fragile. I lived through a lot of crap. I faced dangerous situations sometimes. Like real danger. He didn’t need to treat me with kid gloves.
“So, sheet music?” I pressed.
“It’s over on the counter,” Ryder gestured with his chin and I dutifully walked over to get the small stack of loose leaf music.
“Is Kenna coming tonight?” I heard Phoenix ask in a muffled voice once my back was turned.
Ryder didn’t respond, so I almost turned around to ask the question for Phoenix again when Phoenix’s voice made me stop and pretend to fiddle with something on this side of the room.
“Why not?” Phoenix’s voice dropped lower, almost so I couldn’t make it out.
Ryder replied with something I couldn’t understand from here and my curiosity peeked further.
“Why do you think that?” Phoenix asked, outraged. I heard Ryder shush him and I imagined his angry eyes shutting Phoenix right up. “You’re crazy man. She would never.”
More of Ryder’s mumbling. Phoenix made a half grunt, half scoffing noise and then suddenly banged his drumsticks down onto the head of his cymbal. The loud crashing broke up whatever they were talking about and practically burst my inner eardrum.
“Well, Ivy, you ready? Let’s get to this,” Ryder commanded suddenly as if the cymbal crash never happened.
Or maybe Phoenix did that all the time and Ryder was just used to it. I was not used to it and half expected my ear to be bleeding.
“Sure,” I answered unenthusiastically.
I walked over to where a decent Korg was set up facing the drum set. There were about a million buttons on the top of the instrument and the plastic keys were narr
ow and not enough octaves long. I struggled to hide my grimace at the foreign instrument while I placed my fingers into and an easy C cord and pressed down. The sudden loudness of the cord made me jump and release the keys. The sound immediately stopped, nothing resonated afterward, nothing happened, there just wasn’t sound anymore.
“You’ve played a keyboard before, right?” Ryder asked deadpan.
“Oh yeah, lots of times,” I lied but sounded obvious enough that I didn’t feel guilty about it.
I ignored the look Ryder and Phoenix were giving each other and took a breath to settle my nerves. I fiddled with the volume button, turning down the sound so it wouldn’t rival Phoenix’s cymbals and then pressed down on the same cord again. The keys were lighter than I was used to, there was no weight to press into, no heavy feeling of accomplishment. It was just…. easy.
With my fingers pressed down, I wiggled them around a little, getting used to the width of each key. When I finally felt like I could wrap my head around the plastic feel of the keys I lifted off and began moving my fingers in quick scales up and down the shortened octaves. After a while I flexed my fingers, loving the warm feeling tingling in each joint.
“Wow you’re really good,” Phoenix commented in awe.
“Phoenix, I was just warming up,” I sighed a bit exasperated.
“Fine, let’s hear it then,” Ryder commanded in his gravelly voice. I looked up and accidentally caught his eye. He was staring at me intently, waiting for me to wow him. Only…. I didn’t want to wow him. I wanted to walk across the room and kiss him. Like attack him with kisses.
What the hell?
Obviously those psychotic thoughts were enough to get me to move my ass. Instead of Ryder’s mouth, I attacked the keys instead, throwing myself into Piano Concerto by Tchaikovsky but immediately ran out of keys on the small set of octaves so I switched to something more contemporary but didn’t really have the range for that either so I improvised.
“That’s beautiful,” Ryder commented. He walked across the small practice space and stood hovering over me while my fingers moved nimbly across the cheap plastic keyboard.
The Rush (The Siren Series) Page 22
