Fading Out (14 page)

“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.

B
eing
near Ryder is like being 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.”

It’s not that I don’t appreciate his honesty…if this is in fact true. It’s really surprising to discover that the star athlete hates the game he’s so admired for. But it’s not exactly an earth-shattering secret. “You hate the time it sucks, or the way the tights make your ass look?”

This gets me a serious glare, and I cannot help but smile.

“I actually loath it, Ari,” Ryder says, all joking aside. “I was forced to play all through school, and I was drilled by my dad before and after school. I was so relieved when my brother made starting quarterback in college, and then he was quickly on the road to the pros. All focus shifted to him, and I got to coast for a while. I thought that by the time I went off to college, I’d finally be free of it. Of all the pressure and expectations…” He trails off, and I can feel a charge spark the air as his story alters. “But my brother. Man, when he goes off the rails, he goes off.”

I’m trying really hard to follow without interrupting, but I’m anxious to understand this darker side of him. I don’t want to miss any detail. “You have a brother?”

A tight smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah, and no one around here really brings him up anymore. He’s like a bad omen, a bad luck charm. Football superstition and all that, I guess. Anyway, he…”

He’s struggling to let me in. Or he doesn’t want to say whatever it is out loud. My chest aches, like sympathy pains. Maybe this isn’t his secret to tell.

He clears his throat. “He attacked a girl at a party one night,” he blurts. And my stomach drops. “It became this big scandal, and he wouldn’t have been permanently kicked off the team, but he refused to do what the court ordered. Like undergo psych evaluations and stuff. Instead, he got time served with probation, and he’s been in and out of jail ever since.” He shrugs a shoulder. “There’s a dark secret for you.”

“Oh, my God, Ryder. I had no idea,” I say, sitting down beside him. I almost tell him I’m sorry, but that feels forced, not at all genuine. “What happened to the girl? Is she all right?”

His gaze shutters, his clear eyes darken to a stormy blue. He looks away. “He was really loaded at the time…and he has a bad temper. I guess it’s more than that, though. He’s been in a ton of fights growing up, and my mom finally had enough at one point and took him to a doctor. They put him on meds for ADHD, bi-polar depression, other mental disorders. I don’t think they ever pinned it on any one thing—my parents didn’t have insurance and couldn’t afford all the tests.” He cuts off here, an embarrassed expression taking over his face.

A pang knocks my chest. I understand now why Ryder avoided my father’s probing questions about his parents. He’s ashamed that his family doesn’t have a lot of money. I can see it now, in the hunch of his broad shoulders. The downcast expression tugging at his features.

When he continues, I have more questions that I fear he’ll refuse to answer, but I stay quiet. “So yeah, that night, he was drinking pretty heavily. He did that at times. Just went on benders. And this girl got to him. There was an argument between them, and then he attacked her. Dragged her through the house by her hair and locked himself in a bedroom with her.”

“Oh, my God,” I whisper. It’s all I can say—I feel so useless.

His eyes find mine, and he quickly tries to assuage my horror. “But she was ultimately okay. I think he terrified her more than physically harmed her…but he did harm her. She had a bruise on her left cheek, broken blood vessels under her skin, a hairline fracture in her wrist.” He swallows hard. “Her statement said that Jake slammed her face against the door before he left the room. Before then, he was just talking crazy. Nonsense. A few of his buddies on the team had to tackle him and restrain him until the police arrived.”

“Did you know her?”

He licks his lips. Averts his gaze. “Not personally.”

Maybe I shouldn’t push—shouldn’t continue to dredge up this painful memory. Only, I have to understand. “Ryder, were you there? Did you see this happen?”

Driving a hand through his hair, he sighs. “I was there, but it happened so fast. I think about that all the time, though. That if I’d just somehow known—” He breaks off for a beat. “I could’ve stopped him. I should have known something was wrong, and I should’ve been able to stop him.”

I shake my head. “But you said that he’s since been in a lot of trouble. Has he hurt anyone else? Has he attacked other women?” I pause, but decide to keep going, needing Ryder to understand before he answers. “You don’t really have control over anyone else. You understand that, right? No matter if you could’ve prevented what happened that night, you can’t just follow your brother around, keeping him sober and out of trouble.” And this I learned in rehab. I never thought any of it would come in handy for my life. Strange.

“As far as I know, he’s never hurt another woman. But the truth is, I rarely ask for details anymore. I don’t want to know.”

Queasiness rocks my stomach. I get why he would feel that way, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. It’s like choosing to ignore the problem and look the other way. Enabling by ignorance. I don’t want to think it’s selfish of him, but it kind of is. If his brother is this sick, he needs to have him committed.

I don’t get as far as voicing my opinion, though, because he says, “Look, my dad died shortly after Jake was suspended from the team, and my mother was already getting pretty sick by then. I had a lot on my plate…and I chose to put my mom in a care facility where she could be treated, and I went on to college. I play ball for my dad, so that Jake’s disgrace doesn’t define our family. My dad’s life was football, his only dream that at least one of his boys would go pro, and so that’s why I play.”

There are so many things I want to counter on his admission. So many loopholes and truths that I see clearly, but know I will absolutely be a hypocrite for pointing out. I’m not really any different than him; going to banquets and functions and accepting my father’s “plan” for my life without a fight. We’re both duty-bound to our family, only Ryder’s is out of shame.

Or guilt.

And for everything that he’s done and strove to become…a heavy guilt like that only stems from oneself, not felt on another’s behalf; like a sibling.

For that reason, I feel there’s a lot of his story missing. But I don’t press him right now. He looks shaken, like he’s on the cusp of cracking. There is only so much purging a person can do before the bile runs red. I also know this, unfortunately, from experience.

“I’m not judging you,” I finally tell him. He looks up at me. “We do what we feel we must for those we love, even when those we love have no idea that what they’re asking us to sacrifice is slowly killing us.”

An understanding washes over his face, and his blue eyes shimmer in the low light. They’re unblinking, like if he closes them even for a second, this moment will change, and we’ll never get it back. At least, that’s how I feel. And I’m terrified to move.

“Your dad expects you to follow in his footsteps,” Ryder says by way of response.

I shrug. “Maybe not so much his, but Becca’s. My stepmom. It’s not a suggestion or wish that I marry well, it’s a requirement of being a part of my family.”

His eyebrows press together, and he cocks his head. “That’s why…” He pauses, as if he’s working out some big connection. “That’s why you didn’t want your parents to see us dancing together. Why you’re refusing to go out with me. You’re scared your father will cut you off.”

I’m taken aback. Not because he’s ultimately wrong, but because he’s put all the wrong emphasis on the
why
. “I’m not scared of being cut off.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Then why not just tell him that you’re going to date whoever you want?”

How did this get turned around on me so quickly? My skin heats, my face prickles hot. “It’s not that simple. Why didn’t you just tell your dad you didn’t want to play football?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.

Ryder jumps to his feet, towers over me. “That’s not at all the same.”

“Isn’t it?” No backing down now. “It’s not fair that you pass judgment on me, when you’re guilty of the same thing, Ryder. Even now, you’re living a life you don’t want in order to prove something to your dad. I’m not sure what, but for you, the reason is obviously enough. Can’t my reasons be enough?” I stare up into his face, pleading.

“Sure,” he says simply. “Absolutely.” He’s shaking; his neck muscles corded tight, his fists balled by his thighs. I don’t realize I’m doing it until I see the hurt in his eyes—I shrink back.

“You’re afraid of me?” His voice is so painfully soft, I have to gulp down the lump in my throat to speak.

“No,” I say. But that’s not at all the truth. And he knows it.

“You are. Dammit, Ari. I wouldn’t…I’m not my brother. I shouldn’t have told you. Fuck.” He takes off toward the door, but my rational side kicks in, and I leap to jump in front of him.

“I’m not afraid of you. Not in the way you’re assuming,” I force out.

He tilts his head, taking me in, then he’s stepping so close I can feel his body heat wash over me, like a summer wave crashing over my skin. It heightens all the rest of my senses, and I’m engulfed. Scent, taste, touch—completely aware of him.

“Kiss me.” His voice is a low boom. It echoes through the small room, into my chest, and reverberates through my soul.

“I can’t.”

“Kiss me, and I’ll tell Coach that I’m out. Just toss in the towel and walk away.” He grabs my waist and crushes my body against his. My skin explodes with a thousand shivers. “You don’t want to marry some rich, boring asshole—being told how to act, what to wear, what to do for the rest of your life—anymore than I want to be tackled by sweaty guys and sold off by leagues for however long, until my body’s trashed.”

“This is way too intense, way too fast,” I say. And it is. I’m fighting to retain every logical thought as they flee my head.

His fingers grip my shirt, pulling me even closer. “I’ve spent nearly four years proving I’m nothing like Jake. Which means I never let anyone get close enough to hurt. I’ll take a running leap off the edge, right now, for you.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Why?” I breathe.

“Because it’s the first time I’ve ever been inspired. And I’m scared if I don’t do something drastic, then you’re going to fall off that edge, Ari. I don’t know how, or why, but I feel like if I don’t catch you now…”

I lower my chin. I watch his breaths expand and contract his chest. “Tell me the whole story, then I’ll kiss you, Ryder.” I look up.

His face contorts, but not out of confusion. He knows exactly what I’m demanding. “It’s not important.”

A hollow ache consumes me. I place my hands on his chest and push away. “I’m not getting involved with anyone ever again who I can’t trust completely. I want it all this time. No holding back. I can’t be with anyone who offers less.”

His grip on me breaks, and his hands drop to his sides. “Because it’s not worth the sacrifice,” he says. “You want to know that you have a sure thing before you tell Daddy to cut off your trust fund.”

Indignant anger rushes through me, spiking my blood pressure. “God, but you’re such an ass.”

“Am I? Or am I right?” He lowers his head, our faces inches apart. “Anything that's worth trying for won’t be a sure thing up front, Ari. Trust is earned, not given. And I can’t offer you a safe, easy relationship free of struggle. So you might as well marry whomever your father wants, because
that’s
a sure thing. A sure, fucked up thing.”

“You’re so hung up on money, on status,” I fume. “You’re completely missing—”

“Only people who’ve never had to go without, who’ve never had to struggle to pay for food, or clothes, or hell, a haircut, say that shit.” He shakes his head, a disgusted look marring his face. “Yeah, I’m hung up on it. You’re lying if you say you’re not, because you wouldn’t be so demanding right now otherwise. Demanding I give you some impossible thing. You want certainty before you give up luxury. I’m not going to squabble at your feet. I’m willing to trade in my future, the only thing I
have
, for a chance with you. If you can’t offer me the same, then I made a huge mistake by coming here and putting myself on the line.”