Fading Out

by Trisha Wolfe

  Melody speaks up. “You can go to the hospital with me,” she tells Vee. “We need to beat that doctor over the head until he understands that Ari’s not to be released by her parents. Hell, she’s a grown-ass woman. It’s time people started treating her like one.”

  Catching Melody’s gaze, I give her a grateful smile. I should be the only one to go down if her parents decide to press charges. I glance at Vee. “I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Vee smiles wanly. “Thanks.” I nod once before I’m out the door.

  I make a pit stop at my dorm room to collect my keys. Gavin’s lying on his bed when I enter. Dammit. I didn’t want to have to combat him. I understand the choice I’m making, and nothing and no one will change my mind.

  Heading right for my table, I try to dodge his curious glare.

  “You going somewhere?” he asks, pushing himself up. “I mean, that biker chick is hot and all…but the game starts in a few hours, Ryde. We should head over—”

  “Gav,” I cut him off. No reason to lie or drag this out. “I’m not playing tonight.”

  He stays quiet. Which, for Gavin, is a rarity. It means he’s doing some serious thinking. My back tenses as I grip my keys and turn to face him.

  “Vee wouldn’t let me tell you how sick she was,” he finally says.

  I wave him off. “I get it. This isn’t on you.” It’s completely and solely on me.

  “Hey, man. I’m not the rest of the guys. I know why you play.” His gaze softens. “But it’s still a hell of a lot to give up for a girl. Mathis…the pros. Everything is riding on tonight. I just want to make sure you understand that.”

  “She’s it for me.” I hold his gaze, and he nods. “You guys don’t need me to take Engleton. You’ll bring home the championship. And I won’t regret not being there, but I’ll regret not being there for Ari.” I rub the back of my neck, sighing. “She needs me more than I need a trophy.”

  Gavin stands and claps me on the back, giving me a half hug. I return the gesture, relieved that I don’t have to battle him on this. He’s my best friend, and even though I appreciate his view, no one’s going to convince me I’m not making the right decision.

  It’s the first time I know exactly what I want.

  And any future where Ari doesn’t exist—either with me or not—is a future I refuse to accept.

  “I really don’t want to be the one to tell Coach,” Gavin says, his shoulders sagging.

  “You got this, man. Kill Engleton for me.” I offer him my fist.

  He pounds it. “Go Bobcats!” he shouts, and I laugh.

  Then I’m gone. My chest tight, my heart pleading that I’m not too late to save the girl I love.

  29

  Arian

  Becca stands at the entrance to my room, a hard frown tugging at the corners of her lipstick-coated mouth. “Do you need me to finish?”

  Weakly, I shake my head. “I can do it, Becca.” I roll onto my side and wince at the sharp pain beneath my ribs. I have to finish packing my clothes in my case, but even the thought of getting out of bed makes me exhausted.

  Becca’s been hovering around for the past couple of days since I’ve been here, checking in, as if I’m going to make a break for it. I almost laugh. Like I’m in any condition to run. Or laugh, I note, holding my stomach. Really, I should stop being so hard on her. She was the one who instructed Markus to take me to the hospital. She was the one who tried to convince my father to keep me there. But he thinks the doctors in New York will give him another diagnoses; something not as shameful, maybe.

  Becca turns to go, but pauses, her head lowered and gaze on the hardwood floor. Her shoulders rise like she’s preparing to say something, and my body locks up—waiting for the impact of her words.

  “I know I haven’t been the best mother,” she starts. “I wanted to be so desperately. I never told you this, but I found out a long time ago I would never be able to have children.”

  Oh, God. How did I never realize that? Somehow, I always thought I might’ve ruined her ideal image of being a mother. That I was such a burden, such a disappointment, that she never wanted any of her own. Wow, but I’m narcissistic.

  Becca walks farther into the room and sits at the edge of the bed. “You were such an easy child, Ari. You were so mature and just about had life figured out when you were only a kid. I felt useless. I thought…I wanted to be a part of raising you, to have some claim to that. And I pushed too hard. I got carried away. I’m sorry.” She covers her mouth, her hand trembling. “You’re sick because of my ceaseless interference. I put so much pressure on you, and I’m sorry.”

  I swallow hard at her admission, my throat tight with emotion. “Becca, I’m sick because I have a disorder. Something in my brain is just…off. It’s not your fault.” I reach up to take her hand, and she allows me. “Okay, maybe you and Dad pushed a bit too hard, but you can’t take all the blame. I never spoke up. It takes more than one person to mess things up this badly. You are a good mother.”

  A tight smile lights her face. “And New York? Are you going to speak up about that?”

  “I think it’s too late. Dad won’t listen. He thinks it’s school, this place, the people I’m around. He doesn’t get that it’s me.”

  “You could try telling him, Ari. I know your father is a stubborn man. God, do I know it. But he does love you. He wants you to see the best doctors, and just refuses to hear that you’re unwell. As difficult as it is for me to admit to my part, your father is unwilling to admit he’s done anything but the best for you.”

  I release a hard sigh. “I don’t even know where to start with him. Just too many years, too much unsaid.” I hug my stomach tighter. “And besides, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

  “We’ll get through this,” Becca says. “You’ll get through it. And I promise, I’ll try to rein in my obsessive mothering.” She runs a hand over my hair, then, “Maybe your doctor in New York can put us on the right path.”

  After she leaves, I stare out the window. Glimpse the dead leaves and bare branches. Around here, I’ve learned, that is a beautiful sight. It means football season. I feel my lips curl into a slight smile, but it’s gone just as quickly.

  My only regret? Well, I mean, besides the most obvious: not being able to see Ryder run out onto the field. Missing out on watching him win the championship. And, of course, I wanted to see him looking hot in his uniform one more time. But mostly, I just needed to feel a connection to him—even if it was from afar. In the stands. When Ryder is on the field, in the zone, he makes everyone feel connected to him.

  I selfishly wanted to covet that feeling for myself. And I wanted to be there to cheer him on—to witness his moment of glory.

  I stare at the remote to the flatscreen, mentally preparing myself for the pain of crossing the room. Seeing Ryder on TV during the game might be my last glimpse of him for a long while. But I’m not sure what will hurt more; seeing him without being able to touch him, talk to him, express how wrong I was…or never laying my eyes on him again.

  God, but I really messed up this time.

  Was our falling out more his doing or mine? Was it more his betrayal, or my own insecurity? Thinking about us under the alcove, with Ryder pleading with me to hear him out… That was the moment. That was our missed opportunity to right all the hurt and damage.

  But this realization is coming a bit too late, I’m afraid.

  Our moment is gone. Ryder is at the game, and I’m leaving. My father is taking me back to New York where I’ll be away from all the “pressures” that seem to wind me up in “these messes.” His words. Which I find ironic. Just like Becca stated, he will never acknowledge the enormous pressure he’s responsible for.

  Nope. It’s all me. And apparently the blue-collar friends I surround myself with.

  To help me recover, I’ve been isolated. No phone. No Internet. All outside influences have been removed. I’m a prisoner. No longer only a prisoner to my
body—I’ve graduated to full-scale isolation from the whole world.

  The first night I was back from the hospital, I told my father I didn’t want to marry Lucas. I tried to be strong, but that fight was easily subdued when I collapsed to the floor. Becca helped me to the guest room, and it’s where I’ve spent the loneliest two days of my life.

  I made one last, frantic attempt to reach out; I sent Mel a text before Markus recovered my phone. And Vee… I should’ve said more to her. I should have opened up. Maybe if I’d been honest with her then I could’ve found a way out of this mess.

  I hate myself for admitting this, but I’m relieved I separated from Ryder when I did. That he didn’t have to witness me degrading into myself. Falling apart. Only, ironically, it was that separation that sent me spiraling into the abyss.

  Oh, everyone is full of irony. Like father like daughter.

  What’s even more sadistic? I got a glimpse of my father’s fear. When I fought him on Lucas, I saw the panic in his eyes, the realization that I’m also my mother’s daughter. He’s learned from his past mistakes; he’s not letting me out of my commitment.

  And I’m not strong enough to fight—physically, mentally, or emotionally. What little fire I had fueling me dwindled to a wisp of smoke the night I sent Ryder away and accepted my future with Lucas.

  I deserve this sickness.

  It’s my penance.

  Ignoring the tray of food Becca set on my nightstand, I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep.

  A loud bang comes from downstairs, and my eyes snap open. It’s followed by a ruckus and shouts, and fear grips me. Lucas is here. I’ve been avoiding him since the engagement party, and he’s demanding to see his investment. I know it. My father can’t hide my secret much longer. He’s going to have to tell Lucas the truth.

  I push myself up against the headboard and let my legs fall over the side of the mattress. Tentatively touching my toes to the cool floor, I attempt to stand. White-hot pain slices through my calves. Releasing a cry, I crumple against the bed.

  My muscles have deteriorated to the point they no longer want to function. Not without punishing me. It’s what the doctor was so worried about at the hospital. Why he argued with my father about keeping me admitted. But neither one of them asked what I wanted.

  “I’m calling the cops,” my father shouts.

  That pulls me out of my searing pain. I push past the haze clouding my head and roll to face the door.

  Stomping. More shouts. Then my door bursts open with another bang.

  My heart leaps to my throat at the sight of Ryder filling the doorway.

  His chest heaves, his blue eyes large and intense and ensnaring me. He’s marching through the room before I can summon a clear thought.

  “Jonathan!” Becca’s voice travels up the stairway. “Don’t! Just let her go—”

  Ryder’s almost to me when my father enters the room, rage fueling his hurried movements. “Don’t go near her,” he warns Ryder. “I’ll make it so you’ll never play football again.”

  Ryder smiles down at me and says, “Sir, that’s hardly a threat.” Then he reaches down and scoops me into his strong arms. Lifting me easily, he cradles me against his chest, like I weigh nothing at all. Which, appallingly, I suppose is true.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. The hard knot of his neck moves down as he swallows.

  I nod, my voice lost. Shock has chased away all words and logic. I forget about my father in the room until he says, “I’ve dialed the cops.”

  My gaze swings to him. My mouth opens to plead, but Becca has my father’s phone and ends the call before I can speak.

  “This has gone on long enough,” she says, her hands shaking. “Ari’s my daughter, too. I’ve raised her, Jonathan. And if you remember correctly, my father wasn’t all that thrilled about the prospect of our marriage.” She glares at him.

  My father’s jaw tenses. “She’s just a child!” he shouts. “She has no idea the damage she’s causing to her life. What she’s sacrificing…” He trails off, and Becca moves to his side and grasps his hand.

  Ryder uses the quick reprieve in tension to move us closer to the door. “Hold on, baby,” he whispers to me. “I’ve got you.”

  A solid lump hitches in my throat, and I swallow past the ache. He’s here. He’s got me. So tired, so weak, I let my head fall to his shoulder and inhale his scent. Let the strength of it wrap around me, like his arms securing me to him.

  Then, with a flare of panic, I realize: “The championship. Ryder, you can’t be here—”

  “Shh,” he says. “Every protagonist has to make a choice, right?” He looks down at me, his lips spreading into a beautiful smile. “As long as they can justify their motivation.”

  My heart stutters in my chest. “Every hero,” I correct. Our eyes meet, and I link my arm around his neck. “And you can justify giving up the championship?”

  “I didn’t even have to think twice.”

  We’re stopped at the door, my father barricading our exit. “Ari, you’re sick and need your family. I was wrong for sending you to that school as a…punishment,” he bites out. “I was wrong. I can admit that. But rebelling against me will only hurt you further.”

  I’m not unmotivated by my father’s admission that he’s wrong; I know his ego made that difficult for him. And I don’t hate my father. In his mind, he’s protecting me the only way he knows how—trying to help me and make sure I’m taken care of. The guilt festering inside me right now as I meet his frantic eyes almost makes me question what I’m about to do.

  Almost.

  But it’s not enough. At some point, I have to make the decision whether or not I’m going to live my own life. Or if I’m going to bow out of life altogether. Ryder pulls me tighter to him, giving me the strength I need to voice my next words.

  “Dad, I love you. But I’m not my mother.” His face contorts with shock and hurt. The sight of it nearly makes me withdraw, but I forge ahead through the discomfort of feelings never expressed. “I can make you proud as a Wyndemere and lead my own life. But if you make it a choice, an ultimatum, I’m going to choose me.” I raise my chin. “I have to.”

  “You’re making a mistake, young lady,” he says, his last attempt to sway me with fear. Only I now realize it’s his own fear he’s trying to deflect on me. It always has been.

  “I don’t think I am making a mistake.” I slip Lucas’s engagement ring off my finger easily and hold it out toward Becca. She presses her lips into a tight, heartened smile as she accepts it. “Tell Lucas I’m sorry. But I think he’ll understand.”

  Ryder steps forward, but my father doesn’t budge, keeping the doorway blocked. “Sir, I believe your daughter has said all she’s willing to, and she needs a doctor.” He shifts me higher against his chest. “I’m not a violent person, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get her there. No one’s preventing that. Not even you, sir. Move.” He stresses this last part, and my father blinks on a flinch.

  He moves aside. As we pass through, Becca says, “Jonathan, alert Markus that we need the car. We’re following them to the hospital.”

  I only hear my father’s affirmation as Ryder carries me down the stairs. The tension binding me suddenly releases my body, and I sigh with relief into his neck, having missed this spot that’s all mine.

  I haven’t lost him. Although I nearly lost myself, he found me.

  “I might be cut off,” I say as Ryder opens the passenger-side door of his Jeep. He gently places me in the seat, and I look up at him. “You think Braxton has a late admission for an academic scholarship?”

  Running his hand over my hair, he pushes my bangs back and places a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’re the most brilliant and surprisingly stubborn person I know.” He straightens and looks down at me. “They’d be morons not to accept you. Besides, your father isn’t the only one with any pull there.”

  Shakily, I smile. I can’t bring myself to tell him that he might not have any pull l
eft after tonight. And…Braxton probably won’t favor the girl who’s the reason why the star QB flailed during the championship.

  We might both be looking for new schools. Real soon.

  Then he says before closing the door, “I promise, Ari, you’re going to be okay. People are capable of surprising you.” He glances over his shoulder at my father signaling the town car.

  And I believe him. Ryder being here now, sacrificing his future for me… I’ll never doubt him again.

  * * *

  “You’re not in any immediate danger, Ari.” Dr. Brant flips a page, jots down a note, then looks at me from over the clipboard. “You were verging on close, and I suspect you’re plenty aware enough to understand the stress you’ve put on your body. But at least you have someone who’s smart enough to bring you back to us.” He smiles.

  Licking my lips, still not fully recovered from my dehydrated state, I nod my understanding.

  “We’re going to keep you here for the next couple of days, continue to pump some much needed nutrients into you, and see if we can’t get you back to new.” He eyes me seriously. “I suggest working with our counselor here in the meantime. Maybe even see about an aftercare program. You’re going to be weak physically, not to mention your mental state, and you need a plan of attack for this illness.”

  Again, I nod. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll try.”

  His bushy gray eyebrows bunch. “There’s no reason to impress me, Ari. A pat on the back from me won’t save your life. And try is not an option. Get that out of your vocabulary. If you really want this, there is only do.” He gives my arm a squeeze, a tight smile carved into his weathered face, before he leaves the room.

  With a sigh of exertion, I push the back of my head against the pillow. It’s going to take years of reprogramming—or deprogramming—not to seek constant approval. The desire to always rise to please everyone still thrums through me, but I’m aware of it. That’s at least something.

  My door opens again, and I clear my throat of the rasp, expecting Ryder. But the person who steps into my room, as if she owns the damn place, makes my heart skitter to a stop. “Mel?”