Fading Out

by Trisha Wolfe

  The emotions continue to wage a battle inside me as I push through the bathroom door.

  18

  Ryder

  Hand clamped around my phone, I stare at the message. My eyebrows pushed together. My jaw clenched. The fuck?

  After the phone conversation with my brother, I wasn’t feeling practice. I headed straight to the locker room with a plan to change out before any of the guys got here, but I’m regretting that decision as the bangs and shouts surround me, and as I continue to stare at my phone. Like Ari will send another message, saying the last one was some kind of joke.

  “Brah,” Gavin says, sidling up beside me. “Staring at it won’t will her into existence.”

  I blink. Look at him. “What?” I seriously have to wonder about his brain capacity sometimes. The shit that comes out of his mouth.

  “That chick still has you on frustrate, man.” He nods to the phone. “But that’s okay. I fixed things for this weekend. You’ll love the surprise.” He laughs.

  A wave of alarm crashes over me. I snag his shoulder, stopping his retreat. “What did you do?”

  He shakes me off. “Relax. Trust me. You’ll enjoy this shit.”

  I let him walk off, but I’m determined to get answers. Turning to Beck, I demand, “What’s he talking about?”

  Beck just shrugs. “Does anyone ever know?”

  Hell.

  Whatever. I’ll just have to go right to the source. As the guys slam lockers and leave, I cradle my phone, not really wanting to text Ari and dive head first into the damn drama, but knowing I have no other choice.

  I really didn’t need anymore shit on top of this already shitty day.

  With a shake of my head, I start typing. Me: The party is…Gavin’s doing. Sorry. I took credit because I wanted to impress you. Lame, I know, but don’t hate on a guy for trying. And bet…? Not sure what you’re talking about there.

  Taking a seat on the bench in the middle of the locker room, I wait. Like the sorry-ass loser that I am. For this girl to text me back. When did I become that guy? Fucking again?

  I’m not sure how long I wait, but soon I’m fuming and tossing my gear into my locker. Then I’m off through the school, hunting down Ari. Best to do some things in person.

  It wasn’t so much the words…but the tone of her message. Something’s wrong.

  After I’ve exhausted everywhere I can think of, all the places she might be—the gym, library, boosters—I stuff my ego way down into the pit of my stomach and make the trek to her dorm. Stares and whistles follow me through the halls, and I smile, nodding and giving half-waves of acknowledgment.

  I still think it’s ridiculous the way everyone treats me now. Not that I didn’t eat it up that first year. It was like becoming a different person. New, and improved, even. And it’s the reason why my reputation continues to precede me, even though I haven’t been that guy either for a long time. That doesn’t matter, though. It’s who they all want me to be—The Ryde.

  But I’m thankful reality eventually caught up. That’s what put it all into perspective. My mother’s failing health and my brother’s constant problems helped with that. I guess it forced me to figure out what’s important fast.

  If Jake wouldn’t have fucked up his chances, just threw it all away, I wouldn’t be where I’m at now. It’s a messed up truth. A guilt riddled dilemma. One that he wants me to believe he did all for my benefit—and in some way, I do trust that. But I know him too well. It was mostly for himself.

  Damn. Too much time spent thinking on the past lately, and how things turned out, how they could’ve been different—I can’t do this forever. At some point, I just have to accept that it is what it is, and move on.

  But that guilt, and the fear that my involvement is what triggered…

  I stop the thought before it takes over, pulling me under into that dark void. It won’t change anything. I can’t turn back time—I can’t alter reality. All the clichés I try so hard to keep out of my writing come barreling toward me, threatening to tear me apart.

  Ari’s dorm room is before me, one solid wooden door separating me from her. If she’s in there. I don’t hesitate a moment longer. My fist bangs against the wood. Muffled voices bleed through the door, then it’s yanked open.

  “What—oh.” Vee’s green eyes widen with surprise. She opens the door wider, revealing Ari sitting on her bed, an iPad propped on her knees and obscuring her face, ear buds dangling from her ears. “I guess I should give you guys privacy…again,” she says, and my gaze snaps to her. “But I’m getting kind of tired of you guys always needing it. Why can’t you just figure it out, already? Be. Nice.” She lowers her head as she says this last part, delivering a stern glare.

  “I agree,” I say, sliding by her as she leaves the room. “I’d like us to get past…whatever the issue is.” She shrugs, as if she knows nothing, but I wish she’d give me a clue before I face down the wrath of Ari.

  I close the door quietly, then tuck my hands into my pockets as I ease toward her bed. She doesn’t notice me until I’m standing directly above her. Her large amber eyes glance up, then back to her iPad screen, then back to me.

  “Shit!” She bounds up, yanking the ear buds out and tossing the device on her bed. “Jesus, Ryder. Creep much?”

  Despite her obvious irritation with me, I smile. “I figured you must’ve lost your phone and was desperately trying to find a way to contact me.” I raise my eyebrows. Challenging.

  Her hand pressed to her chest, as if she’s trying to contain her heart from leaping out of it, she says slowly, “Ryder. What do you want?”

  That’s a loaded question. I want a lot of things. I want the Bobcats to cream Engleton and bring home the championship. I want my brother to get straight, stop drinking and stay on his meds, stop fucking his life up. I want my mom healthy. But in relation to Ari—to this specific desire—I want her to trust me.

  I’m not sure if I’m deserving of her trust, or her time, but I’d at least like the opportunity to try to be. And that’s a hard thing for me to admit. Even to myself. If she rejects me, proves in some way that I’m not worthy, nothing but a dumb, poor, talentless jock, then I’m afraid of what it could mean. The possibility that my brother’s fate should’ve been mine.

  She’s staring up at me, waiting for an answer. I’ve gone so far past a simple explanation in my head. “I want you to talk to me.” Simple. Direct. A start.

  She huffs, then pushes herself back up against the wall. As far away from me as she can get. I’m aware of the wall solidifying between us. The one she’s raising that I have no control over bringing back down. If it was ever lowered in the first place.

  But that’s not all her doing. I haven’t really let her in further than the surface, either.

  She pushes her hair back away from her forehead, as if she’s stressed. “You kept your promise. So I’ll keep mine. Nothing’s changed.”

  “But it has.” I sit down on her bed. Her socked feet just graze my thigh, and I can almost feel the strain in her body as she forces herself to keep them there. Not to pull away. “What bet?”

  Her eyes close briefly. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

  Frustration seizes my chest, and I release a heavy breath to ease the constriction. “You’re pissing me off now.”

  Her eyes flick to mine. “I’m pissing you off? Oh, sorry. I always seem to forget the amount of narcissism that’s involved with jocks.”

  That’s it. I tug her foot, bringing her forward. “What’s your deal with jocks? Why don’t we just get that one out of the way?”

  “Hey!” She scrambles to push herself away again, but this time not nearly as far. “You have a real problem with maneuvering people wherever you want, you know that?”

  I hold eye contact with her, waiting.

  She sighs, then, “The guy I was steady with at my last college was this big lacrosse star.”

  I raise my eyebrows, prompting more from her. “And?”

&nbs
p; “And,” she says, drawing out the word. “There was a bunch of stuff. But mostly, I was expelled.”

  My face contorts with my confusion. Little Ari. Little uptight, perfectly in control, levelheaded Ari, expelled. I find this hard to believe. “Care to elaborate?”

  She shakes her head, ejecting a strained huff from her mouth. “Not really. Let’s just say he was really into himself, like super conceited, and he thought that me taking the fall for something would work out better for our relationship.” She wriggles her fingers, making air quotes. “He said he couldn’t get an expulsion because of his sport’s career, whereas I—because of my family’s connections—would be able to get away with it.” She rolls her eyes. “That didn’t happen. I took the blame, got expelled, and he dumped me the next week. Through a text. Before I was admitted to rehab.”

  Her gaze swings to mine and widens in panic. She did not mean to reveal this last part. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, thinking hard. She’s been in rehab. And she said, “take the fall,” but I have close, personal experience dealing with people who suffer from substance abuse. I know the denial and blame that accompanies it. I hate that my mind jumps right to that conclusion…but it’s my automatic response. Triggered from years of accepting my brother’s collect calls from jail. There’s always an excuse and someone else to blame ready on his tongue.

  This is Ari, though. And I can’t expect her to dole out the trust if I don’t offer at least some in return.

  “So they sent you to rehab after you took the blame for…?” I trail off, trying to fit the scenario together in my head. “For finding some drugs on campus?”

  A heavy exhale, then she follows with, “It was speed. I didn’t know he used all the time, just on occasion, to get through exams when he had practices and games. I’m such an idiot, I know. But I guess we believe what we want. Anyway”—she draws her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins—“I never bothered to ask how he got his supply. Maybe I didn’t want to know. But he was using my mailbox. He had his dealer actually mail it to him. He started using my box after about a week of us dating, saying he didn’t have his own, so it never even crossed my mind. I didn’t know how drug rings worked.” She laughs mirthlessly. “But, after four months in rehab I do. I now know more than I ever wanted to.”

  I don’t interrupt. I let her vent. It sounds like she needs to, and I wonder if her parents know the truth. How much punishment and shame has she been dealing with, trying to get back into their good graces? And it hits me; dating me probably won’t do her any favors there. Not a guy from the poor side of town, getting by on an academic scholarship.

  “When they uncovered a package of speed, it was addressed to me, in my college mailbox, so there wasn’t much of an investigation. I told them straight up it was mine, and I thought maybe I’d be reprimanded, or have to pay a fine…I didn’t really know or understand.” She swallows hard, the column of her throat strains. “But I was kicked out. Of Dartmouth, by the way. Not Yale, but I guess you were close. And to defer the charges, I accepted voluntary drug rehabilitation. My father arranged it all with the judge. I stayed in the facility until my father felt confident all was buried, and then I was enrolled here.” She looks around, her eyes settling on my face. “No one knows. Not the full story, anyway.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but she quickly continues. “So yeah, I really don’t have a soft spot in my heart for jocks.” She shrugs. “Call me crazy, but I only had to get burned once to learn my lesson.”

  “You’re too smart for that,” I say. “Tossing everyone who plays sports into the same douchebag pile…I don’t buy it. You were hurt badly, betrayed, but that’s because you cared for someone who you thought you could trust, and he took advantage of you. Jock or not makes no difference there. People can be assholes.”

  She releases a quick laugh. “That’s true enough. But I guess the full truth of it is that I don’t trust easily.” Her stare intensifies as she holds my gaze. “Anyone. But especially jocks. It’s just a bit too fresh, I guess.”

  “Fair enough.” I’m so lost in her eyes, soft and vulnerable, that I’ve completely forgotten why I came here in the first place. There was something I wanted clarity on…her text. “So I’m assuming something was said, or you heard a rumor that made you question my intentions.” Around here, that’s not too far off of an assumption.

  “Truthfully, Ryder, I’ve never trusted your intentions from the start.”

  Ouch. “But today. Something happened today specifically.”

  She turns her head away, breaking our connection. “Do you have a bet to sleep with me?”

  I release a groan. I expected as much, but I was hoping for something a little more original, at least. “No,” I say honestly. “I don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s it?” Tentatively, I reach up and touch her chin, turn her face in my direction. “You believe me?”

  Tilting her head just enough to be released from my hold, she says, “Yes. I thought it sounded a bit too juvenile. Even for you.”

  I laugh. “As opposed to sharing my cake with you?”

  A slight smile touches her lips, but she schools her features quickly. “Ryder. What do you want from me?”

  Her question is so direct, so simple, I’m taken aback. She’s been through hell; I can hear the anger in her voice, the hurt, and that question sums up her pain. What do I want? Because in her experience, even the person you trust the most wants something from you.

  Trying to have a meaningful conversation with Ari is like crossing a minefield. I’m wondering the same thing suddenly; what do I want from her? Why am I putting in this much effort? Could I walk away, right now, and never give her another thought?

  It started with a physical connection. An initial attraction. She reminded me of someone whom I cared about. She was some kind of possible redemption. But I no longer see Alyssa when I look at her, and I don’t feel I’ll earn some form of forgiveness through her that I was never able to seek from Alyssa.

  Ari represents a new beginning, away from the demons of my past, and I’m a dumbass for just now figuring that out.

  I’ve taken too long to respond, though, and she’s sliding off the bed. “I have a lot I need to do. I’ll just see you at the party.” She motions toward the door. I’m being dismissed.

  “You told me something that you don’t trust anybody else with, Ari.” She’s standing before me, and I reach out and wrap my large hand around her tiny, delicate wrist, feeling just how fragile she is—how easily broken she could become. “I don’t think shutting me out now is going to be as easy as you think, or want.”

  She doesn’t pull away, but I feel her tense under my touch. Her arm goes rigid. Her gaze is cast downward, staring at where we’re connected. This is further than I ever allowed myself to go with anyone. More vulnerable than I’ve ever been with anyone.

  I didn’t put myself out there fully with Alyssa. And maybe that has something to do with age, maturity, or lack of confidence. But maybe if I had, I could’ve prevented all the wrong that happened.

  “Tell me something about you,” Ari says, her voice low, breaking near the end.

  I glance up to find her amber eyes touching my face. “What?”

  She pulls away and wraps her arms around herself as she steps back. “I revealed a secret to you, so to keep the playing field level, you need to share one with me.”

  Damn. “Level the playing field.”

  She nods slowly.

  Fair is fair, I’ll give her that. But as I continue to stare into her eyes, wondering how I ever compared her to a girl who ripped me to shreds, a girl who paid dearly for that offense…I’m scared to open my mouth. To even begin.

  I’m afraid that once I expose the tiniest piece, the closet door will blow off its hinges and the skeletons will rush out. Decimating our very tentative playing field.

  19

  Arian

  Being near Ryder is like b
eing on acid. Or what I’d imagine being on acid would feel like.

  I can’t focus clearly; the walls behind him quiver and bleed around his form, coming in and out of focus. I thought, at first, he was always catching me at my worst times. After skipped meals, when I was lightheaded. During a rigorous exercise, my adrenaline pumping into my system so hard I couldn’t gain composure. But it’s not any of those things. It’s him.

  There’s no sense as to why I told Ryder what happened between me and Stephan, how he used me, humiliated me—I didn’t even admit the whole truth to Mel. I allowed people, even those closest to me, to believe I was really popping speed. That it was an extension of my illness. It was easier and less painful than admitting to how dumb I had been. How utterly stupid. For some reason, owning to that was unbearable.

  So why him, and why now?

  Maybe if he gives me a part of himself in return, then I’ll figure that out. Because I may have been taken in before, and it may have damaged the way I view myself, and people in general—but it also toughened me up. I don’t take what people say at face value anymore. And Ryder has to give me a good enough reason as to why he’s here—what he wants—other than help on a class story.

  I thought before that it was as simple as getting into my panties. Which, it’s possible that’s still the case. But most guys don’t work this hard. People are simple; they choose the course of least resistance. There are other girls out there, very willing girls, ready to offer themselves to Ryder.

  My honed bullshit detector fires off every time I’m around him. I want to know why.

  I want to understand if it’s him—or if it’s me. Am I completely damaged now, unable to ever trust anyone again?

  “I hate football.”

  I blink. “You hate football,” I deadpan.

  He bobs his head. “Yep. All through high school. No, scratch that. I’ve hated it my whole life. In my family, football isn’t just a game; it’s a religion. Sunday game day was our church, and my dad was the preacher.”