He sounds so contrite — so much like the Ryder I remember, the Ryder I fell in love with — that some of my anger dissipates. Still, I stand with my arms crossed over my chest, watching him warily.
“Baby…”
“You know I get nervous during interviews,” I say after a long moment. I hate how small my voice sounds.
“I know. God, I’m such a dick.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking distraught. “I just lost track of time…”
“It’s okay.” I shrug lightly, trying to let go of the stiffness locking my joints in place. “I covered for you. Said you have laryngitis. So, if you’re out later, I’d recommend not yelling at the top of your lungs in front of anyone taking Snapchat videos.”
He stares at me, his blue-brown irises brimming with contrition. “Come here,” he pleads, his voice soft.
I take a few steps, but stay carefully out of his reach.
“Closer,” he begs.
One more step.
“Closer than that, baby.” He grins, looking so handsome in the mid-morning light, his bare skin bronze against the crisp white sheets.
I feel some of the ice inside my veins thaw as I edge one more step toward the bed. Before I can dodge him, he springs into motion — leaping off the mattress, hooking me around the waist, and tackling me to the pillows with a playful roar.
I laugh and beat at his shoulders. “Get off me, you barbarian!”
He tickles my sides, tugs up the bottom hem of my shirt, and blows a huge raspberry on my stomach.
I scream with laughter, tears gathering in my eyes.
“Stop!” I gasp. “I surrender! I surrender!”
He brings his face to mine, eyes red-rimmed but full of lazy warmth.
“Forgive me?” he asks, brushing our lips together.
“Always,” I murmur, craning up to kiss him harder, deeper, longer.
Wishing that word didn’t feel like such a lie.
By the time the launch party rolls around a few weeks later, the tense feeling simmering inside me has reached a boil. I’m constantly on edge and I’m not even sure why. Nothing is wrong, per se. And yet, I can’t stop flinching in preparation for whatever shoe is about to drop on my life, crushing me flat against the earth.
I’m in the bathroom getting ready to head to the beautiful rooftop venue Route 66 has leased out for the Wildwood launch party, putting the finishing touches on my makeup. Ryder graciously relinquished the master bathroom to me, getting ready in Aiden and Linc’s so I have room to maneuver.
I’ve never been to an event like this. I didn’t even attend my high school prom. I’m not sure what to expect, or whether I’m dressed appropriately, or what the heck I’m supposed to put in the tiny, matching clutch purse the woman at the store insisted I purchase when I bought my dress last week.
My nonexistent cellphone? Keys to the car I don’t have?
Carly would know.
If she were here, she’d do her spirit-guide routine, telling me exactly what to expect while somehow putting me completely at ease. I miss her so much, these days. Especially when I try to talk to Francesca who, while very nice, possesses a rather stiff, robotic quality that discourages bonding.
My hands shake so hard with nerves as I put my teardrop earring in, I end up dropping it. It falls with a tiny clatter and rolls beneath the vanity, out of reach. Heaving a heavy sigh, I hike my dress up so it doesn’t drag on the floor as I bend to retrieve it.
My fingers fumble around blindly for a moment before finally grazing something. Brow wrinkling, I pull out the unfamiliar black toiletry bag. It must be Ryder’s — the other boys share their own bathroom, on the other side of the loft. Thinking he must’ve dropped it, I set it on the edge of the vanity and bend back down to continue my search for the lost earring.
I promptly forget about the bag as I finish getting ready, swiping several layers of dark mascara on my eyes, contouring my cheeks with blush and bronzer. I’m not generally a fan of heavy makeup, but I figure this occasion calls for it. Francesca assures me the place will be crawling with press. Route 66 has been promoting the album like crazy in anticipation of the digital release tomorrow.
Makeup done, I examine myself in the full length mirror.
Not too shabby for a girl who grew up in a double-wide, I think, grinning at my reflection.
The blue dress is a knockout — a grown-up, designer version of one of my flowy sundresses. The sheer panels drape artistically from my shoulders in a faux-cape style, but the bodice is fitted and far more daring than anything I’m accustomed to wearing.
My hair is pulled back in a high-fashion ponytail that cascades halfway down my back, with two dark tendrils framing my face to add some definition. My irises look pure gold against the shimmery eyeshadow I’ve applied, especially in combination with the dark black mascara and eyeliner. My cheeks and brows are accentuated by the bronzer and blush; my mouth looks fuller than ever thanks to a generous coating of lipstick — bright red, of course, in honor of Gran’s signature shade.
The effect is a sharper, sleeker version of myself I’ve never seen before.
I look older. I look sexier.
I don’t necessarily look like myself.
“Damn,” a warm male voice says from behind me. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
I turn to find Ryder standing in the doorway. My breath catches. I’ve never seen him in a suit before and, I must say, it’s a great look on him. His jaw, clean-shaven for the first time in over a month, is so defined it could cut glass. His eyes are simmering with heat as they slide up and down my body, taking in the sight of me in return.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, walking over to him and throwing my arms around his neck. “No tie?”
“Not really a tie guy, baby.” He lowers his head and brushes his mouth against mine. Soft. Sweet. “You just about ready?”
“Just have to pull on my heels and I’m good to go. Are the boys dressed?”
My question goes unanswered. Ryder’s body feels suddenly tense against mine. When I look up into his face, I’m stunned to see his expression is dark with anger and suspicion. It’s such a swift change from the warm look he was just wearing, I can hardly fathom what inspired it.
“Ryder, what’s wrong?”
“Have you been going through my stuff?”
“What?” I flinch back at the anger suffusing his tone. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes drop to my face. One blue, one brown, both unreadable. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always been charming, almost boyish. Now… I swear, it’s like looking at a total stranger.
“I’m talking about my bag, Felicity.” He pushes past me and grabs the toiletry bag off the vanity, where I left it earlier. “This. What were you doing with this?”
“I found it under the sink,” I say, feeling my hackles start to rise. I can’t believe he’s yelling at me over some random toiletry bag. We’ve never even had a fight before. It makes no sense at all.
Swallowing hard, I try to stay calm. He’s probably stressed about the launch party. It’s been a crazy few weeks — nonstop interviews, meetings with Francesca leading up to the album release… Plus, Aiden and Linc dragged him out at least three times. They’ve all been looking a bit worse for wear, lately — bloodshot and bleary, stumbling around here like zombies. If I didn’t know better…
No.
I shut down that thought before it can fully enter my brain. This is nothing like what happened with my parents. I’d know if I were living with junkies again. I’d recognize the signs — I know them by heart.
You mean like hiding things? a small voice at the back of my mind submits for consideration. Like being secretive? Staying out all night? Reacting with an inappropriate amount of rage over little things that shouldn’t matter?
I gulp in air, suddenly feeling like I’m ten feet beneath the surface of a vast ocean of fear. My tone is surprisingly level when I speak, for all that my mind is racin
g in circles.
“I thought you must’ve dropped it, so I moved it onto the vanity. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal? Jesus, Felicity, just because we live together doesn’t mean everything is fair game.” His hand curls around the bag so tight, his knuckles go white. His face is a mask of cold fury. Unrecognizable.
“What’s in the bag, Ryder?” I ask, taking a step toward him.
His jaw clenches. “Nothing.”
“Open it.”
“Drop this, Felicity.”
“I will. After you open it.”
“No.” His voice is flat. Emotionless. “This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.”
Things are spinning out of my grip so fast, I don’t even have time to hold on. I feel like I’m clinging to my life — to my love — by the tips of my fingers.
“Ryder.” My voice cracks on his name. “Please.”
Something moves in his eyes. It looks like fear. He sets the bag down on the vanity behind him and takes a step toward me. “Felicity, baby, this isn’t the time for this. We have to go. We’re going to be late to the party.”
“I don’t care about the party!” I yell, eyes wide. “I care about the bag!”
I care about you.
“You’re making a big deal over nothing, getting yourself all worked up.” He sighs, like I’m being a tiresome child. “Look, we’ll talk about it later, okay?”
I stare at him for three long beats, counting them out in my head like bullets piercing a target.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s go.”
Relief moves through him as he steps toward me and starts ushering me out the door. I wait until we cross the threshold into the bedroom before I whirl out of his grip, double back, and slam the bathroom door in his face, clicking the lock closed before he can get it open again.
“Felicity!” he roars, pounding on the door. “What the fuck!”
I’m beyond hearing. Moving in slow motion, I walk over to the black leather bag sitting so innocuously on the edge of the sink. I feel like I’m trembling head to toe, but when my hand reaches out for the zipper, it’s remarkably steady. Like I’ve switched over to autopilot, disabling all the emotional aspects of my brain.
“FELICITY!”
I yank the zipper open in one smooth tug. And when my eyes lock on the contents inside…
I feel something inside me — something I thought was healed a long time ago — break all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ryder
“FELICITY!” I pound the door so hard, my knuckles go bloody. “Please, baby, open up. Let me explain.”
There’s no answer.
“It’s not what you think,” I say, voice breaking as my forehead comes down to rest against the wood. “I swear…”
God, I sound pathetic.
I am pathetic.
I knock again, softer this time. “Felicity. Please. Talk to me.”
Lincoln and Aiden wander in, eyes wide as they take in the scene. Aiden, as always, is all too perceptive. The expression on his face tells me he knows exactly what’s going on, in that bathroom.
“What’s the deal?” Linc asks in a murmur. “Is she okay? Are you okay?”
I turn back to the door, hands braced against the frame. I can feel my heart racing at twice its normal speed as my ears strain for signs of life.
“Felicity, I’m getting worried. It’s been twenty minutes.” I swallow hard. “If you don’t open the door or at least let me know you’re okay, I’m taking it off the damn hinges.”
There’s no answer.
Running my hands through my hair in exasperation, I turn to face the guys. “I think you two should go on ahead, without us.”
“Dude. It’s the fucking Wildwood launch party.” Linc pauses. “We can’t show up without Wilde or Woods.”
“You’re going to have to,” I snap. “I’m not leaving her behind.”
He holds up his hands in a defensive move, turns on a heel, and walks out.
Aiden lingers for a moment. “Tell her I’m sorry for my part in it.”
I watch him leave, jaw ticking rhythmically as I clench and unclench my teeth. I can’t believe how out of control things have gotten. I can’t believe I’m standing outside my own bathroom, shouting till my voice goes hoarse and banging till my skin breaks, because the woman I love has locked herself away from me.
Over and over, I replay the haunted look on her face when she asked me what was in the bag — like she was staring at someone she’d never seen before in her life. Someone untrustworthy.
I sit down with my spine against the door, lean my head back to the wood, and wait. At least fifteen minutes tick by in total silence. There’s nothing I can say to reach her. Nothing I can do with a door between us. So, I use the only option I have left at my disposal. I start to sing the song I wrote her months ago, back before we came here, when life was simpler. When we were simpler — two foolish kids falling in love too fast, with no fucking clue where this crazy road would take us.
“Why would I tear you apart when I could walk away?
Why would I tell you the truth is, I just want to stay?”
My low, rasping words vibrate with every feeling buried inside me. All the things I’d like to say to her, all the truths I need to admit, but can’t find the words to speak.
“Wasn’t till I left that it hit me…
I was in love… with a girl named Felicity…”
The door yanks open abruptly and I fall backwards, bashing my head against the bathroom tile. I stare up at her, hovering over me. Her eyes are red from crying, her pretty makeup streaked and ruined.
“You can’t just sing that and hope it fixes everything,” she tells me in a broken voice. “Pretty lyrics won’t do anything to resolve this.”
“They got you to open the door,” I point out softly, sitting up. I rub the back of my head. Holy fuck that hurt. I’m going to have a bump the size of an egg.
Climbing to my feet, I see she’s backed away from me, creating as much distance as possible between us in the small bathroom. When I take a step, she throws up a hand to still my motion.
“No.” Her slender neck convulses as she swallows harshly.
“Okay.” My voice is shredded. It’s fucking killing me that the girl I love is standing there, afraid to let me get too close. Afraid to let me near her.
What the fuck have I done?
“Tell me about the drugs, Ryder.”
I tense. “They’re nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Just relaxers, to take the edge off when I’m feeling anxious.” I shift from foot to foot. “It’s like taking something for a headache.”
“No, it’s really not.” Her head shakes. “Because you don’t hide Tylenol from your girlfriend. And this stuff you’re taking doesn’t exactly come from a drug store.”
“If you’d just hear me out—”
“Okay,” she whispers, a tear streaking down her cheek. “Explain it to me. Justify it to me. Tell me why I should believe you.” Her voice cracks. “Tell me how I managed to be stupid enough fall in love with an addict, after I spent my whole life trying to get away from the two who raised me.”
I feel my heart drop to my feet. Pieces start clicking into place — her estrangement from her parents, living with her Gran as a kid, the fact that she doesn’t drink or touch drugs or even enjoy being around them.
“Felicity… God, Felicity, you never told me. How was I supposed to know? If I’d known…”
“What? You wouldn’t have started popping Percocet pills like candy? Or you would’ve been more careful to hide them from me, so I didn’t find out?”
I flinch as though she’s struck me. “No. No. I’m not an addict, okay? They’re just—”
“To take the edge off. Right.” She laughs hollowly. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming. I missed every sign. I’m such an idiot.”
“Every sign?” I snap, feeling anger
surge inside me. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you looked in a mirror, lately? Have you slept, lately?” Her eyes are wide. “When was the last time you ate a meal — a real, actual meal?”
My nostrils flare. “I’m stressed about the album. I’ve had a lot on my plate.”
“Right. So have I — especially with you missing interviews and bailing on our meetings with Francesca. Every time I turn around to look for you, you’re not there. And it breaks my heart, Ryder, because until recently… I never even had to look. I just knew you would be.”
“Felicity…” My chest feels so heavy, I can hardly draw a breath. I’m trying like hell to keep my voice even, but I don’t think I succeed. “I’m sorry, okay? If I could go back in time and fix this, I would. If I could tear my fucking heart from my chest and hand it to you on a silver platter, I’d do that too.” I take a small step closer to her and, this time, she doesn’t throw up her hands to stop me. Her eyes are still wary, but her mouth has gone soft.
“Baby,” I appeal, so quiet it’s barely audible. “Let me fix this. Let me fix us.”
“How?”
“I didn’t know this was such an issue for you. Now that I do, I’ll stop.” My palms feel sweaty with nerves, my hands keyed up and jittery. “If it’s a choice between you and some pills… I choose you, Felicity. I choose you every goddamned time. From now until forever.”
She blinks. “You’ll stop.”
“I’ll stop.”
“Just like that?” she asks, voice quavering.
“Yeah.” My Adam’s apple bobs. “Like I said, I’m not addicted.”
I’m not.
She stares at me, long and hard, then reaches out and flushes the toilet. I lurch forward in time to see all my pills swirl down the drain in a vortex. A pang of panic shoots through my bloodstream as I watch them disappear. I try to tamp it down, telling myself exactly what I just told her.
I’m not addicted.
I don’t need them.
When I look up into her eyes, she’s watching my face with such acute pain, I just want to pull her into my arms and kiss her for hours, until no trace of it remains. Until the darkness spreading between us has been sucked out like poison.
Faded (Faded Duet Book 1) Page 23
