The Replacement

by Wade, Rachael

  “Ryder, let’s just go somewhere else.”

  “No. I’m not leaving until I get what I came in here to get.” He shrugs past me and silently pays the cashier, offering a quick apology for the scuffle before he rejoins me. I’m standing there with my arms crossed, feeling every eye in the store on us.

  “What?” I say, loud enough so everyone can hear me. “You’ve never heard an argument before? Carry on.” My hands wave from side to side and I work to regain my composure, smoothing down the front of my shirt and meeting the gazes of the customers in the next check-out line. They quickly look away, their whispers sinking into me from every direction.

  Ryder and I finally exit the store and walk quietly to his Jeep.

  Not a word passes between us as he drives us to wherever the hell he’s driving us. Only the sound of The Animals’ “House of the Rising Sun” fills the car, carrying my mind to a former time, to a wistful place, where youth was pure and time hadn’t tainted the blood of the old. Every cell in me craves that untouched place.

  I look out the window and watch the trees pass. I think of Tee and of Leslie. I think about the man sitting next to me, and how that little scene at the grocery store gave me a sad dose of reality. I can’t keep Ryder, and I’m a fool to think I ever even had him.

  CHAPTER 11

  Ryder doesn’t say much as we pull up to a small cabin near South Bend, buried deep in the woods.

  “What’s this?” I ask softly as he turns off the engine.

  “My place for the winter.” He gets out and jogs around the Jeep to open my door, and I let him guide me out and up the front porch.

  “Your place? But I thought…”

  “The campground shuts down in November. Won’t reopen until March. Richard is letting me rent this place until then.”

  “This is Richard’s?”

  “Yup.”

  “So, where does he live, then?”

  “His RV. Shares it with a few of his friends—some of the people you met on Thanksgiving. They drive to California for the winter.”

  “Where does everyone else go?”

  “All over.” He shrugs. “Some crash with friends, some stay with family for a while. Others couch surf or head south, like Richard. Here.” He unlocks the door and flips a light on as he steps inside. Wafts of evergreen and remnants from burnt embers hit me as I follow him inside and I inhale deeply, surveying the quaint living space. Native American art lines the walls and coarse, timeworn rugs cover the bare floors, hugging the corners of the red plaid couch and rustic coffee table. There’s an old stove and fireplace near the far window and no TV or telephone in sight. Duke trots happily over to Ryder and Ryder greets him, filling a bowl with some dog food.

  “This is amazing,” I say, moving toward the fireplace mantel. I trail my fingers along the top, rubbing the dust between my fingers. Pictures line the mantel, painting a vivid portrait of Richard and his travels.

  The guy’s lived a colorful life.

  Ryder finishes feeding Duke and then unloads the bags from the grocery store. I hear him sift around in the kitchen cupboard for dishes. When I turn around, he’s regarding me closely, spooning ice cream into two bowls.

  I remove my jacket and rub my hands up and down my arms. “This is a nice place.”

  “I think so, too.”

  My fingers itch at my sides and my gaze turns to the plaid couch. “Mind if I use this?” I point to a folded up blanket, beneath a stack of pillows.

  He nods and places the ice cream cartons into the freezer, keeping his eyes on me the whole time.

  I wrap myself in the blanket and take a seat on the couch, directing my stare ahead at the fireplace, which is the focal point of the cabin. Duke finishes up the last of his food and makes himself comfortable on a big floppy pillow near the window. “So, you get to crash here all winter? Nice.”

  Ryder doesn’t respond, just walks over to hand me a bowl of ice cream, then walks to the fireplace and crouches down to start a fire.

  “How about some of that wine?”

  “Sure,” he says, retreating quietly back to the kitchen once the fire’s lit. He returns with a deep red, one glass for each of us. I thank him and pull my legs up, folding them beneath me so I’m cocooned in the blanket’s warm wool. The couch dips next to me as Ryder sits, taking a long, slow sip of his wine. I place the bowl of ice cream on the cushion between us and we both stare straight ahead at the fire.

  A bout of solemn silence stretches between us before he finally speaks.

  “What happened back there?”

  I raise my wine glass to my lips, keeping my gaze fixed on the fire. The sound of my tight gulp punctuates his question and I don’t move. “What do you mean?”

  “Elise.”

  I chance a peek at him, and he’s watching me now, his expression curious but guarded. I glance down and reach for the spoon in the bowl. I toy with it for a second, rolling it over the colorful scoops of ice cream. “I know that girl. Leslie.”

  “That much I gathered.”

  “She was my best friend’s girlfriend in high school. We were close for a while. People teased her all the time, like those dicks at the store. I just…lost it, I’m sorry.”

  The weight of my explanation hangs between us, but I know it’s about to get heavier. “And those guys? What about them?”

  I stop twirling the spoon.

  “What about them?”

  Ryder releases a frustrated sigh. “Come on,” he says with an affronted laugh.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I wanted to pound the living shit out of them.” His knuckles crack as his fists tighten. “I’m not a violent person.”

  “Look, I get it if…” I swallow, my fingers gripping the edges of the blanket, “I told you I don’t do this, okay? There are reasons I don’t…I have my reasons.”

  “Yeah, you’ve said that. Elaborate, please.”

  My gaze darts to his, and his brown eyes ensnare me. There’s no looking away now. “I don’t get involved. I’m not in to relationships, and you seem to be interested in something like that, so…I get it if you just want to drive me home right now and let this thing go.”

  Ryder lets out a deflated sigh and he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. He stares at the fire, watching it acutely. “My ex, Lauren, hounded me for two years to get a real job. I grew up with her, ya know, we were high school sweethearts and all that.”

  He quiets for a moment and I remain still, just listening intently to the sudden change in subject.

  “Anyway, one day she came home from work and looked straight at me. We were standing across the kitchen counter from one another. I’ll never forget it. And she says to me, You’re never going to settle down, are you? I ask her what she means, and she proceeds to lay it all on me, how she hates when I travel because I’m gone for so long, and how she wishes I’d take my parents up on their offer to go to college.

  “I tell her she should come with me, that she might actually enjoy it, and how traveling gives me perspective. How it’s something I’d never give up, not for anyone or anything. This look came over her, like the veil had finally lifted—hell, I guess it probably did—and she finally realized I would never change for her. I’d never change for anyone. She tried to argue that she’d only hold me back and that I’d probably rather be on the road with my friends or go solo, so I could hook up with whomever I wanted and be young and free and all that shit.”

  “That’s when things ended?” My voice comes out weakly.

  Ryder wipes at his jaw, closing his eyes. When he opens them, he stares hard at the carpet, folding his hands in front of him. “She never let me finish. She was so hell bent on hearing what she wanted to hear, she never heard me out.”

  “What did you want to say?”

  “That she was wrong. I knew exactly what I wanted, and it wasn’t to screw other girls or be rid of her. I wanted her by my side. I wanted to be young and stupid with her. I wasn’t afra
id of that commitment, she was. She wanted a way out.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell her that? I mean, after…everything?”

  His head lifts and his gaze holds steady on the crackling flames. “I gave her what she wanted. It turns out that was the right choice.”

  I follow his line of sight, watching the flames as they dance over the logs, chewing on the off-beaten path our conversation has taken. I take another sip of wine and wait.

  “We all have a past, Elise. Sometimes we don’t like where the road takes us; sometimes it leads us exactly where we need to be. I don’t regret my past, and I don’t give a damn about yours. All I care about is this.” He flicks his brown eyes to mine, and they smolder with the heat of the fire. “Where I’m sitting right now, and where you’re sitting right now. That’s all I give a shit about. You’re not up for any sort of relationship? I can accept that, but it doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind. And when you do, I’ll be sitting right here, saying I told you so.”

  A short huff escapes me. “What makes you so confident?”

  He slowly shifts and turns his body toward me, lifting the ice cream bowl. “Once you eat this with me, you won’t be able to resist my charm.” His sullen expression disintegrates and a sheepish grin takes its place.

  My eyes drop to the bowl of dense, glistening mounds. “That life changing, huh?”

  He tilts his head and lifts a shoulder, digging a scoop of chocolate ice cream from the bowl. He moves the spoon to feed me, but swings it away at the last second and shoves it between his lips instead.

  “Hey!” I nudge him and watch him laugh.

  “What’d I say?” He mumbles with his mouth full. “I’m not always a gentleman.”

  “Tease.”

  His chest continues to shake with light laughter as he spoons another scoop to my lips, this time letting the confection hit my mouth. Just as I’m about to open for the remainder, he moves in and kisses me, slipping me his tongue instead. Pleasure shoots straight down my spine and I accept him, the thick layer of cold cream making me shiver as it glides between our lips.

  “You’re rich like chocolate, baby,” he replies, tracing the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip. “Bold and beautiful, and so fucking delicious.” He nips softly at the corner and goes for a scoop of strawberry next. He feeds me some and dips his finger into the remainder on the spoon, sucking at it before trailing it along my jaw bone. “Now, strawberry’s different. It’s loyal. You always know what you’re getting with strawberry—sweet and tangy every time. Unlike chocolate and vanilla, which can vary depending on the type. You’re strawberry, too.”

  “I am?” I ask, my voice breathy. Loyal would be the last adjective I’d use to describe myself.

  “Yup.” He tilts his head and blows softly along my collarbone, running his chilled finger downward, tugging the blanket away as he goes. “That move at the grocery store back there? That was strawberry.” The blanket rests at my waist and his mouth grazes the neckline of my shirt, eliciting a delicate moan from my lips.

  “I like strawberry.”

  “Yeah?” He thumbs my collar aside and brings his mouth down on my breast, rolling his tongue over my nipple. My breath hitches at the contact. It’s cold and warm at the same time. “I can give you more strawberry. All you have to do is ask.”

  “More, please.”

  The delectable sensation eases up as he disappears to retrieve another spoon of pink cream, but it’s back again the second he places a drop on his tongue. He blows over my nipple and watches it harden, smiling as he licks at the pink swirl he’s created. “I like strawberry, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s my new favorite.” He tugs at the other side of my collar and pulls my bra cups farther down, giving the other breast the same treatment. He’s right. This is divine enough to have me second guessing my strict code against relationships. Well, it’s more like a necessity, not a code, but whatever it is, my mind is frazzled enough to question it. In a flash, he’s discarded my shirt and bra and has pulled me down to the floor with him, placing his back against the edge of the couch. Positioning me in front of him, he props up his legs and wedges me between them, pulling my back flush to his chest so we’re both facing the fire. “Lean your head back, baby.”

  I do as he says and exhale, letting my head roll back against his chest. “Whatever your game is here, you’re winning.”

  “So soon?” His hands wrap around my waist and move upward, cupping my breasts. My nipples are still cool and hardened from his tongue, and all I can think about is his hands warming them up.

  “I’m easy.”

  Ryder presses his erection against my back and lets one hand drift beneath my skirt. He rubs softly over my panties as he nibbles on my ear. “I’d say you’re pretty challenging. Speaking of a challenge, I want to play a game.”

  “A game?” I give him a little wiggle, hoping to affect him just as much as he’s affecting me. I hear a soft intake of breath over my shoulder, but his voice is steady as ever.

  “Mmhhmm. It’s called Truth and Bare.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “I ask you something, you tell me the truth. Each time you answer honestly, the reward is one less article of clothing.”

  My hand glides down to meet his, but he nudges me away, continuing the slow torment over my lace panties. “I only have two things on.”

  “Three.”

  “Two.”

  “Three. Your shoes.”

  “They don’t count.”

  “Do you want to play or not?”

  “Will I get more strawberry?”

  “You’ll get a whole fucking banana split if you just play the game, Elise.”

  “And if I don’t?” I swivel in his arms, just enough so I can see him over my shoulder. “What if I just take what I want?”

  “Nothing’s stopping you. But don’t you want the crème de la crème?”

  “I want more strawberry.”

  Ryder bites my earlobe and turns me back around, nudging my head so I’m looking back at the fire. His fingers continue to stroke me, so lightly I could cry. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?”

  “Pass. Next question.” His stroking ceases and his fingers lift from my skin, sending me into immediate withdrawal. “Ryder,” I groan, arching my back and lifting my hips in protest.

  “Answer the question.”

  A frustrated breath explodes from my lips and my head falls back onto his chest. “Favorite memory? I don’t know, watching I Love Lucy with my mom, I guess.”

  “I Love Lucy?”

  “Yeah, you know, the classic TV show?”

  “Why is it your favorite memory?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, lifting my left shoulder, then the right. What kind of question is that, anyway? And when can he finish this game so I can feel him inside of me? “My mom was always into those old TV shows. Movies, too. She loved James Dean and Marilyn Monroe.”

  “Rebel Without a Cause?”

  “Especially Rebel Without a Cause. I don’t know, she was always fascinated with the old Hollywood glamour and all that. When my dad was out working, we’d watch that stuff together and I liked it. It made me feel…safe, or something.”

  “What about it made you feel safe?”

  “Hey, that’s a lot more than three questions. We both should be naked by now.”

  Ryder’s soft laughter rocks my back. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

  “Gah! You’re so stubborn. I’ve never worked so hard for an orgasm.”

  His head glides forward and his mouth hovers over my ear. “It’ll be worth it,” he whispers. “Come on, tell me.”

  I cross my arms and squirm. “I don’t know…maybe because those times were simpler or something? It was comforting getting to live in that world for a while. Especially with my mom. When my dad was gone, things were—” I stop and bite down on my lip, but Ryder doesn’t let up.

  “When he was gone, th
ings were what?”

  “More peaceful.”

  “How so?”

  “It was like…my mom and I could live in those simpler times together, back before things became so messed up. Like we were right there, in the movies we were watching.”

  “You mean before the cancer?”

  “No.” I think, and for a second, I’m actually distracted from the heat of Ryder’s fingers. My gaze settles on the fire’s flames and Ryder is silent. “Before I knew who my father really was.”

  “Who was he?”

  “A bastard.” I bite down on the inside of my lip until I taste blood.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryder says, his voice dry.

  “Whatever.” I roll a shoulder. “Typical daddy issues. Nothing you want to hear about, I assure you.”

  “And your least favorite childhood memory?”

  “Damn, Jacobson. Just go straight for the jugular, why don’t you?” I release a dry laugh but swallow back the discomfort, wanting to play his game. Maybe because this means I’ll get to ask him some questions.

  “I wanna know.” He nuzzles his nose into my hair.

  “Watching my dad drive away,” I say flatly. “When he moved out.” I don’t mention my hair being brutally chopped off against my will or the names he called my mother. I don’t speak of the insults he hurled at my best friend or the fact that he left me and Mom when she was dying of cancer. All I can think of is that final image—that last glimpse of him as he backed out of the driveway. How there was no goodbye hug or kiss. No explanation or assurance that everything was going to be okay.

  Only a slam of the front door and the soft purr of an engine, followed by my mother’s heavy sobs down the hall.

  “He left her when she was dying,” I say, bitterness in my voice. “Left me to take care of her. He just…drove away.”

  Ryder’s fingers slide out from underneath my skirt and I’m swiftly turned around in his lap, my bare breasts brushing up against his chest. My face is blank and my limbs are numb, the blood slowing in my veins. I don’t like this game.

  I want more strawberry.

  “That’s shitty, Elise. Really shitty. I’m sorry.”