Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “Well, hello there,” he drawls.

  I already surmised they must be related, even though they look very little alike, that line confirmed it. My status is thanks to my last name and family’s net worth. Ryder’s confidence seems to be intrinsic. And hereditary.

  “Hi,” I reply, giving a dorky little wave I immediately regret.

  “Wicked car,” the boy announces, shoving back some of his shaggy, sandy hair, presumably in an attempt to get a better look at my red convertible.

  “Thanks,” I respond, smiling at his blatant admiration.

  “Can I drive it?”

  The driver’s side door of the truck opens and closes.

  “Aren’t you a bit young to drive?” I ask amusedly.

  “Christopher. Go inside,” Ryder states.

  “Don’t really feel like it,” Christopher replies. He leans against the bumper of Ryder’s truck. Kid’s not lacking in confidence, that’s for sure.

  “It wasn’t a request,” Ryder snaps.

  “Why? She your girlfriend, or something?”

  “Inside, or I won’t take you to the garage for two weeks.”

  Christopher heaves out a sigh, but it’s an effective threat. “Way to ruin my fucking life.”

  “Language,” Ryder yells after Christopher’s retreating back. A second slam of the trailer’s front door is the only response.

  “Sweet kid,” I comment, shifting my gaze to Ryder for the first time. It’s only been three days since I last saw him, but my eyes feast on the sight of him hungrily as though it’s been months. Years.

  Muscular forearms I’ve spent a number of unproductive minutes staring at in the short time he’s been back in Fernwood are smeared with what I think is grease. The same tar-like substance mars the fabric of the distressed jeans and white undershirt he’s currently wearing. Ryder pulls off his ball cap to run a hand through his messy brown hair and then replaces it with the brim facing backwards. I swallow as I’m met with his harsh gaze.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You weren’t in school,” I retort, matching his combative tone.

  “So?”

  An excellent question. Ryder not showing up for school today shouldn’t matter to me. But I was worried Saturday’s activities had turned out to be messy. Concerned he might have packed up and left again. I don’t share either of those truths.

  “So, I brought you what you missed.”

  “Great, so I’ll have no excuse for not having it tomorrow?”

  The question is caustic. He’s in a bad mood, and I should take it as a sign to get out of this place where I don’t belong with this boy who clearly doesn’t want me here.

  I stay in place.

  “You’re welcome,” I toss back, staying in place.

  “Fine, give me it.” He takes a few angry strides toward me and holds out a hand.

  I pull the sheet of notebook paper I wrote all of his assignments on out of my backpack and hand it to him. He scans the list. “I don’t have—”

  I hand him our history textbook and math workbook. Ryder raises both eyebrows. “You broke into my locker?”

  “Once again, you’re welcome.”

  “Miss Perfect committed a felony?”

  “Breaking and entering is a misdemeanor,” I respond.

  “Already studying for the bar? Daddy must be so proud.”

  I ignore the dig. “Where were you today?”

  “Went on a cruise, stole some cars, robbed a bank.”

  “Where were you, Ryder?”

  “Hard to recall. I’m still recovering from the news you’re not a goody two-shoes.”

  “You already knew that, remember?”

  Ryder sucks in a sharp breath in response to my reference to our past. “Don’t come back here again, Elle.”

  “Don’t skip school again, Ryder.”

  A brown dog slinks around the corner of the trailer and approaches us hesitantly, like it’s drawn to our raised voices rather than poised to flee the way any animal who senses anger tends to do.

  “You have a dog?”

  “He’s just a stray,” Ryder replies.

  “He seems to know you.” The dog reaches us. It eyes me nervously but rubs its head against Ryder’s calf.

  “Ryder!” The door bangs open, and the same woman who helpfully told me absolutely nothing eyes us. “I need your help.” Her gaze shifts to me, then the dog. “If you stopped feeding that mutt, maybe he’d go shit food meant for us in someone else’s yard for once.”

  There’s another bang, and the door shuts.

  Ryder doesn’t say anything, but the same jaw muscles that always seem to get a good workout in around me jump a couple of times. I zip my backpack up again and start toward Betty, taking my time walking back to the convertible. Hoping he’ll say something else.

  Tell me where he was.

  Thank me for coming.

  Show me a glimpse of the guy who came to Paige’s birthday.

  But the trailer park remains silent and empty as I climb inside the car and start driving to the part of town where I’m from.

  “Do we think there’s a chance we’ll win tonight?” Paige plops down on the grass beside me to stretch her hamstrings.

  I send her a dubious glance. “Does it make me a bad captain and a terrible girlfriend if I tell you we have no chance?”

  “Probably.”

  I roll my eyes and stand, turning my gaze to the football field to glance between Fernwood High’s green huddle and Thompson High’s blue one. “Then there’s a two percent chance? Maybe?”

  “You’re a bad captain and terrible girlfriend,” Paige informs me, laughing.

  “It’s not my fault our football team is incapable of scoring touchdowns,” I retort.

  The two huddles break, indicating the start of the game. I move into position on the sideline, although from experience I know the squad won’t have anything to do until our half-time performance. Thompson High’s football team is one of the best in the state. Two percent was a generous estimate of our odds, to be honest.

  Sure enough, Thompson manages to score three touchdowns in the span of time it takes us to reach half-time. Green jerseys trudge off the field with their shoulders slumped. I lead the cheer squad out onto the field and the crowd of Fernwood fans finally perks up as we start our routine.

  I actually love cheering. I joined the squad because Sarah did, because it was expected of me. But I’ve always enjoyed dancing, and cheer provides a similar outlet. The same rhythm, the same structure, the same bliss of being lost in movement and unable to think.

  The second half of the game drags. Fernwood improves their performance in the rest of the game, only allowing one more touchdown. But the 28-0 lighting up the scoreboard leaves no illusion we didn’t just get trounced.

  I groan as I grab my pom-poms and jacket, already dreading the post-game party held every Friday night. I have no doubt Liam is going to be in a terrible mood. As someone who thrives on being revered and respected, I know his lack of skill when it comes to football is a perennial source of embarrassment to him. He should quit the team, but it’s not like we have a Tom Brady waiting in the wings. Plus, quitting would bring about its own form of mortification.

  I change in the locker room with the rest of the squad, taking a seat on one of the wooden benches to wait for everyone else to finish getting ready. Primping and preening over my appearance doesn’t sound appealing. There’s no one I’m trying to impress tonight.

  Paige is one of the last to get ready. We trail after the rest of the girls heading toward the parking lot. It was overflowing earlier; now there’s no more than a dozen cars left. Liam’s Mercedes is gone. We normally drive to the post-game party together, but it looks like I’ll be bumming a ride from Paige.

  She realizes the same. “You need a ride?”

  “Apparently.”

  I climb in the passenger side of her SUV. Loud pop music assaults my ears as soon as Paige turns the car on
, but neither of us bother to turn it down. After twelve years of friendship, I know Paige likes her music as loud as possible. I’m normally the one trying to preserve our sense of hearing, but I’m worried she might ask about Liam if I turn it down. Or worse, Ryder. The told-you-so looks she gave me for the rest of her birthday following our pool-side conversation were bad enough.

  As we wind along the dark streets of Fernwood, my phone vibrates with a message. I pull it out to see a text from my mother. It’s a reminder they’ll be staying at our townhouse in the city tonight following the gala they’re attending tonight. A warning wrapped in maternal concern.

  Paige parks crookedly along the curb in front of Jack Rodger’s house. We walk up the brick path illuminated by tiny lamps lining the edge and inside the house busting with bodies, booze, and blatant disregard for personal space.

  I’ve been to dozens of high school parties by now, possibly hundreds. The scent of sweat swirling around with overpriced perfume and cologne is familiar. The sound of excited voices mingling with suggestive music is expected. The sight of scanty outfits and styled hair is predictable.

  Anticipation thrums through the room, too. There’s the thrilling possibility of a crush acknowledging you. The chance to mingle with the popular crowd. The ability to contribute to the gossip that will no doubt be flying through the halls of Fernwood High come Monday morning.

  Belonging is a heady feeling—especially when you’re in high school.

  I grew immune to this atmosphere a while ago. Just like at school, I know exactly what to expect when I step inside a party. There’s no suspense about what will happen or how I’ll be received.

  My classmates don’t disappoint. As soon as Paige and I step through the door, they swarm, drifting toward us like we’re exuding a gravitational pull. The shift in the room ripples throughout it, drawing my attention to the solitary two figures that don’t attempt to move closer.

  Ryder James is here.

  Leaning against the wall sipping a bottle of beer and listening to something Danielle Collins is saying as if she knows the secrets of the universe.

  My first, embarrassingly vain thought? I should have taken the time to glimpse at my appearance rather than sprawl out on the locker room bench. The possibility he might be here never even occurred to me. School spirit and social status seem to be two things Ryder avoids like the plague. Plenty of both are present tonight.

  Green eyes meet mine, and it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I keep my face blank as I internally try to sort through the many emotions his presence elicits. We haven’t exchanged so much as a brief glance—never mind the prolonged eye contact we’re engaging in right now—since he unceremoniously grabbed the assignments I brought over to his trailer.

  He hasn’t skipped school once in the past two weeks since then. Either whatever he was doing instead that Monday hasn’t come up again, or he took my threat of showing up again if he did seriously. Pretty sure it’s the former.

  I look away first. Not because I want to, but because Kennedy has apparently been trying to talk to me for a while. There’s a touch of impatience in her voice when she asks me if I know where Liam is. I shake my head, and wonder if she’s seen that Ryder is here. Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain I’m the only one at this party so painstakingly aware of his presence.

  But that doesn’t mean his presence has gone entirely unnoticed. I’ve seen Danielle at some of these parties before, which has served as the impetus for most of the rumors about her. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her here with a fellow occupant of the trailer park, though. I’m not sure if the side glances are because of that fact alone, or the fact that Ryder is still a novelty three weeks into the fall semester, but everyone is behaving as though there’s an invisible bubble around the two seniors leaning against the wall.

  Paige and I migrate toward the kitchen, with our fan club close behind. I feel her eyes on me as we pass Ryder, but I don’t meet them. She hasn’t brought up Ryder again since her birthday party, and I hope it’s a trend that continues. I can’t decide—or admit—how I feel about him to myself. Trying to put that into words, even to my best friend, is not something I can or want to attempt to do.

  The kitchen is filled with more people to greet. I lose track of Paige as I chat with peer after peer. I eventually reach the kitchen island, which is spread with a wide array of drink options. I settle on a soda, not really in the mood to drink any alcohol despite knowing I won’t be met with any disapproving stares when I arrive home tonight.

  I’ve just cracked the seal on the can when Kinsley appears next to me.

  “Elle!”

  “What?” I take a sip, and then swing my gaze to her. There’s a strange mixture of dread and uncertainty on her face I’m surprised to see.

  “Uh—Stephanie was just upstairs with Connor.”

  “Good for her.” I take another swig from the can and hold it out. “Can you hold this for me? I have to pee.”

  “They walked in on Danielle. With… Liam.”

  “Oh.” I wait for the shock. Anger. Betrayal. Anything. Instead, I’m simply surprised Danielle migrated upstairs so quickly. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes since I saw her in the living room with Ryder.

  Kinsley studies me sympathetically, possibly expecting me to burst into tears at any moment. Is that the expected response in this situation?

  Liam chooses this exact moment to enter the kitchen. His brown eyes are wide as they glance around the room, clearly looking for someone. For me. Guilt swamps his expression when he spots me leaning against the island, with Kinsley at my side. He hurries over to us.

  “Elle!” he calls, drawing some attention. Is he thinking I’m going anywhere?

  I simply stare at him when he reaches us, still waiting for some devastated emotion to materialize.

  Nope. Still nothing.

  “Heard you were upstairs with Danielle,” I finally state nonchalantly.

  Liam doesn’t seem to realize the indifference isn’t faked because he still looks panicked. “You—it didn’t—I mean—” Liam fumbles.

  It’s entertaining to watch him squirm, but I also don’t care enough to see him uncomfortable. A somewhat disconcerting realization, seeing as we’ve been dating for the past eight months.

  “Yes or no, Liam?” I cut in. His face tells me the answer, even though he doesn’t verbalize it. “Okay, then.”

  His expression morphs to an amusing mixture of confusion and disbelief.

  “Okay? We’re… good?”

  “Yup.” I nod. “We’re great. Have fun hooking up with your new girlfriend.”

  Understanding dawns on Liam’s face. By good, I mean over. He thought I’d play the role of the “good wife” and protect us.

  A flash of motion catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Ryder’s just entered the kitchen. I start walking toward the doorway, not caring it’s going to put me right in his path. Everyone in the kitchen is watching this scene unfold, and I’m over it. For the second time tonight, I’ve been confronted with the unexpected, and it’s making me miss the expected. For once.

  “Elle!” Liam follows me. “Elle! It was a mistake, okay? It won’t ever happen again. She means nothing to me. Nothing at all.”

  My life has turned into a cheesy teen sitcom plot.

  I spin back around. “I don’t care, Liam. We’re done.”

  “What? We can’t be! We’re perfect together. Everyone expects—”

  “I don’t care what everyone expects. I’m done. Feel free to hook up with whoever you want. Or spend some more time practicing football so my squad can actually cheer for a winning team!”

  Liam’s face turns an ugly shade of puce, but his voice is still cajoling. “You’re mad. I get it. Please, just talk to me.”

  “I’m not mad. I just don’t have anything left to say to you.”

  Kinsley stands silently by, watching our exchange just as closely as everyone else in
the immediate vicinity. No one wants to intervene in the meltdown of Fernwood’s golden couple.

  Malice twists Liam’s handsome features as it finally seems to register that I really mean what I’m saying. “Fine,” he snaps, in a harsh tone I’ve never heard from him before. “Just know most guys would have gone to Danielle a lot sooner. No girl, no matter how hot she is, is worth waiting that long for. You barely even let me—”

  One moment Liam’s slurring out insults. The next he’s flat on the floor, holding a bloody nose. I don’t need to look over to see who gave it to him.

  There’s only one person in Fernwood who would punch Liam Hathaway.

  Who would actually defend me, despite the pedestal everyone put me on a long time ago.

  Liam scrambles to his feet, wiping blood from his nostrils and glaring at Ryder. “You fucking—” Comically, he glances to me. Either he’s too conditioned not to swear in front of me, or he’s still holding on to some false hope I’ll forgive him if he keeps up the perfect guy charade. “You’ll pay for that, James.”

  “Bring it, Hathaway,” Ryder retorts. He’s got several inches and more than a few pounds of muscle on Liam. He also appears totally sober, which is more than can be said for my ex-boyfriend.

  Testosterone chokes the air around me at the two guys stare at each other.

  It’s completely silent in the kitchen, and the lack of noise is starting to spread through the rest of the house. It’s an open layout on the first floor, and my classmates are taking advantage of the fact the rest of the lower level provides a view of the kitchen. I’m no stranger to being the center of attention, but the scrutiny feels especially claustrophobic right now.

  “Can you drive me home?” I ask Ryder.

  He glances down at me, his tense posture loosening some.

  “Are you kidding me, Elle?” Liam asks angrily.

  I ignore him. “Ryder?”

  “Yeah,” he replies quietly.

  “Elle! Seriously? You’re going off with trailer trash? Worried I’ll return the favor?” Liam wipes his nose.