Fading Out

by Trisha Wolfe

  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.”

  He walks around me, and I turn to watch him grab the doorknob, only to pause before opening the door. I race through my thoughts, trying to find a clear course of action, something I can give him to make him understand.

  “I would never ask you to give up football or your future. And I’d never ask you to turn your back on your family,” I say. “That’s the difference, Ryder.”

  He huffs a bitter laugh. “But aren’t you?” he says. “Because how will you ever stomach being with a jock?” He sends me one last, desperate look before he opens the door and leaves, his candid words lingering in the air around me.

  20

  Ryder

  Earth and rain, the scent of our victory, engulfs the small dorm room. I brought my cleats with me, wanting to clean off the caked-in mud better than the half-assed job I did after the game. We nearly got washed out, but we played hard and brought it home before the weather turned to shit. Looking them over, I consider having the boosters pitch in, but I don’t mind the small things. The things I can do for myself.

  After I toss my shoes on the plastic sheet I have laid out at the bottom of my closet, I rub the gritty dirt between my fingers, my mind drifting to the last play of the game. Just a couple of weeks ago I was almost positive I knew what I was doing. I finally felt solid in my choice to go pro. I belonged.

  That sure feeling fled nearly as quickly as it came.

  I peel my T-shirt off, my skin still damp from my shower, and flip through the shirts hanging in my closet. I must stand here too long, lost in thought, because Gavin tosses a Nerf football at my head. I grit my teeth on impact.

  “No jeans, bro,” he says simply, like I’m supposed to take wardrobe advice from a guy who wears fucking muscle tees everywhere. Like he’s one of those stereotypical jocks from the 80s.

  “This party was supposed to be your thing,” I say, pulling a gray thermal from a hanger. “Why you’d make it about me?”

  Gavin groans. “Because you’re always so uptight, man. You need to relax. Have you heard anything from that one dude…?” He trails off as he thinks. “That scout we met at that dinner thing?”

  This is not the conversation I want to have right now. After Ari left with her parents the night of the charity banquet, I was approached by this weasel of a scout, Jerry Dugan. I’d heard some shit about him, like how he could get you a Beamer at your request. Which is now frowned upon. But he’s still one of the lowlife scouts who’ll try to buy you out. Most guys stay clear of him, but Gavin—and I can say this because the guy’s my closest friend—is just the type to get hooked by those games.

  “Nah,” I say, and fall back on my bed, tucking my hands behind my head. “He’s not worth it, dude. We need to wait it out. Coach said Mathis would be coming around next week.” It would be cool if Gavin and I got picked up by the same scout, got vetted for the same team. But that’s highly unlikely. And besides, neither of us will even utter the team’s name we hope to be picked by. That’s like tempting fate.

  Gavin doesn’t respond, and I let it go. I’m too tired and restless to talk about anything serious concerning my future. Ever since the blow up with Ari—that I still cannot figure out what the hell happened—I’ve steered clear of any heavy thoughts on my prospects.

  I didn’t know how badly I wanted something different until she blew into my life. Like a fucking hurricane. And now she’s all I can think about. I’ve tried to imagine just being friends with her, or hell, even just acquaintances. What it would feel like to pass her in the hallway, overhearing her announce an upcoming engagement—a party her father’s throwing her at the Ritz,
or wherever the wealthy celebrate. Imagining her marrying some rich douchebag.

  For a girl I met not all that long ago, there should be no sting whatsoever. I should be able to shrug it off, or maybe even vent a little, telling myself it’s her loss. Good luck to her. It’s what I’d do with any other girl. But just the thought of her being bound this early to some guy…my whole body locks up, and then I’m raging mad. Fired up, and huffing like the pissed off, dumb jock that she wants me to be.

  But what’s the alternative?

  I can’t believe I put all that shit out there the other day. Told her I’d give up football if she’d stand up to her dad. What’s more, I’m not sure who I said it for; her or me—like I was only seeking an excuse to quit.

  What an ass.

  At least I’m being truthful, though. I should have all my shit figured out before I say another word to her. Which is going to be hard, considering the party tonight.

  “Are you ready yet, you girl?” Gavin’s standing at the door, staring at me. “You’re so fucking out of it lately. Come on.”

  I roll off the bed, feeling like my body is dead weight I have to lug around all night. Games usually don’t wear me down this badly, but there’s zero winning buzz to override my bruised ribs, my racked muscles. My beaten willpower.

  Slipping on my leather jacket, I consider the very real possibility that Ari won’t even be there. This was all for her friend. I decide that’s fine by me as I follow Gavin into the hallway. We need more time too cool down after the heated words we exchanged. And that’s just it—neither one of us needs anything intense to fire us up for a good while. I’ll figure out what to do, how to proceed with her, after I blow off some steam.

  As I make my way toward my Jeep, the sounds of elated Bobcats echo through the parking lot.