Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “No, I’m leaving with Ryder, because I’m worried about your face. And that’s really all you’ve got going for you, so…”

  That comment breaks through the shocked silence. There are a few titters from the crowd, and Liam’s face flushes. I brush past him, not waiting to see if Ryder’s following me.

  “If you leave with him then we’re done!” Liam calls out after me. His voice is full of bravado, but I can hear the desperation buried deep beneath. He’s also staking us on our joint reputation, which proves he doesn’t really know me. At all.

  “Promise?” I yell back as I push through the crowd gathered around the kitchen. Once they realize the show is over, they start to part pretty quickly. Or maybe it’s the presence behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know that Ryder is right behind me. I’m definitely not bothered by Liam’s betrayal because I’m numb, because right now, I’m the furthest thing from apathetic.

  Awareness races across my skin and ricochets inside my stomach as I open the front door and step outside into the cool night air.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe when we’re back on the path that leads to the sidewalk. “That just happened, right?” I know it did, my imagination is nowhere near that creative, but I need Ryder to acknowledge it.

  He does. “Got the bruised knuckles to prove it.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  “For punching Hathaway? My pleasure.”

  I nod.

  “You actually need a ride home, or was that an excuse to get out of there?”

  “I actually need a ride home,” I admit. “Paige picked me up for the game earlier. But I can ask someone else…” I half-turn back toward the house, giving him a clean out.

  “Nah, it’s fine. I was over it anyway. Come on.” Ryder starts toward the street. We start walking down the sidewalk. Side by side. For the first time since he’s returned, we’re completely alone, and I’m painfully aware of it.

  Ryder stops at his truck, and I have the chance to survey his vehicle up close. It’s what an unbiased observer would probably consider to be better suited for a junkyard than a side street, but it fits Ryder somehow. It’s straightforward, just like him. What you see is what you get. Except I’ve always viewed Ryder as having a hidden side. With layers I think I glimpsed freshman year, but I haven’t been able to discern whether they’ve disappeared since or are just better hidden now.

  I climb into the passenger side, onto a cloth seat that smells like chewing tobacco. Ryder cranks his window down, and the scent of fresh night air replaces it. Unlike in Paige’s car, there’s no burst of noise when he turns the key in the ignition. No music—either assaulting the eardrums or as mere background noise.

  Neither of us breaks the silence as he pulls away from the curb and starts driving down the street.

  “You didn’t come with Danielle?” I finally ask.

  He slants a glance my way, but I keep my eyes forward. I’m well aware I just acknowledged I spotted him before he entered the kitchen. That I maybe care why he was at that party and who he was with.

  “She’ll get home fine,” is all he says.

  More silence, and then I continue my trend of saying exactly what I’m thinking for the first time in a long time.

  “Can we stop at the treehouse?”

  He glances over at me, and I meet his eyes this time. “You want to go to the field?”

  “Unless they’ve moved the treehouse, that was the idea, yeah.”

  “Didn’t…” I’m stupidly relieved he’s more concerned that I have negative feelings toward the field because of my family, not because he doesn’t want to go there with me.

  “My sister wrap her car around a tree there?” I finish. “Yeah.”

  “Seems like a place you’d want to avoid.”

  “I started avoiding it before that happened,” I tell him honestly, losing any filter entirely. Good thing I’m completely sober, or who knows what might come out of my mouth next. “She died. That field just happened to be where it happened.”

  Ryder doesn’t say anything else, but he does take the turn that will lead us straight past the field. Five minutes later, we arrive.

  I haven’t been back here since the last time we met here freshman year. Terrible as it sounds, Sarah dying here was the best possible excuse I could have come up with for avoiding ever coming to this field again. Prior to that, it was sometimes a challenge to find reasons not to attend the get-togethers often held here. Returning here with Ryder was a possibility that never occurred to me once in the past two years.

  He parks his truck on the very edge of the growth that marks the start of the field. There haven’t been any parties held here since my older sister died. I’d say it is out of respect for her memory, but I think it’s more because no one wants to hold a party I might not attend. Having it here makes that a distinct possibility.

  Ryder doesn’t make any attempt to climb out of his truck, so I make the first move. With a cringe-worthy squeal the passenger side door opens. I climb out into weeds that reach up to my knees. A similar sound indicates Ryder followed my lead. I pick my way through the undergrowth dotted with wildflowers over to the massive maple that the treehouse is perched in.

  “It looks higher than before, right?” I ask Ryder, who’s right behind me. “Which is stupid because we’re taller now. Or at least you are.”

  I take a moment to admire his physique. It’s a full moon tonight, and he’s standing in a spot free from shadows.

  Ryder scrutinizes me back, his brow wrinkling. “Are you drunk?”

  I laugh. “Nope,” I pop the P. “Stone cold sober. Another thing Sarah ruined for me.”

  “Your sister was drinking?”

  “Yeah. More alcohol than blood in her veins, according to the coroner’s report. Not that my parents let that see the light of day. Not sure what else they thought people would think, though. Sober people don’t normally race at a tree like it’s just another stretch of open road.”

  “Did she have a problem with drinking?” Ryder asks.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Sarah was… complicated. She was the sun and the storm. Up one day, down the next. We’d always gone to different private schools until high school. When we were freshmen, she’d act like the perfect sister at school, and like I didn’t exist at home. She was robotic at times, and others… She took me dress shopping for Homecoming. We were going into the city, on the highway, and all of a sudden, she just started speeding. Racing along. We were going a hundred miles an hour—maybe more. It—well, it scared the shit out of me. Sometimes… I wonder if that was how it felt when she crashed. When you’re moving that fast, things start to slow down. I wonder if she saw it coming.”

  “Do you think she meant to do it?” Ryder asks the one question I’ve asked myself every day since the two officers that comprise the Fernwood Police Department came to our door in the middle of the night. The one question I’m sure every person in town has thought. Ryder’s the first one to ever verbalize it.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  He breaks the heavy moment by nodding to the wooden ladder. “Ladies first.”

  I start climbing, eager to leave the depressing topic of my sister behind. Anxious to be back in the treehouse with him. Despite the fact it’s a rickety, old structure, it’s one of the few places in the world I feel entirely safe. I reach the top rung and haul myself onto floorboards littered with leaf debris. It’s obvious no one has been up here in a while.

  Ryder's head appears through the opening in the floor, and I scootch backward so he can climb inside.

  “Brings back some memories, huh?” I tease. Because we both know what memories I’m talking about.

  Ryder glances at me, both eyebrows raised.

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask.

  There’s a pause. “Sure.”

  “It might make you mad,” I warn.

  He doesn’t say anything, but curiosity burns in his gaze as he gives me a short
nod.

  “It’s about your dad.”

  Surprise flashes across his face. I’m pretty sure he was expecting me to bring more memories up.

  “What about him?” he questions cautiously.

  “You mentioned Christopher’s dad, but not yours. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryder says.

  “Was he around before you left?” I press.

  Ryder and I never discussed his family during our freshman year fling. He never brought it up, and I was too uncomfortable to do so myself. The difference in our home lives was already glaringly obvious based on our respective addresses. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to know more about him. I just didn’t know what to ask or how to ask it.

  The trip to his trailer and explanation for his two-year absence provided me my first glimpse of his background. I’m eager to know more and being alone with him is not a regular occurrence. Right now is my best—maybe only—chance of peeling back some more layers.

  “Before we moved here,” Ryder finally answers.

  “Before you moved here?” I never asked, but I assumed Ryder has always lived in Fernwood and our paths didn’t cross until freshman year because our social circles were far too removed until my shift to public school took place.

  “My dad went to prison when I was eleven. That’s when we moved here to live with my uncle. He headed south a few months later—we stayed here.”

  “The same uncle from Florida?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did your dad go to prison?” I ask softly. The words are barely a whisper. I’m treading on ice—thin, thin ice—and well aware I could fall through at any moment.

  “Drugs.” There’s no pause before Ryder answers. “He ran a pretty big operation. Took a while for it to catch up with him. He’s probably still in prison. If not, he hasn’t bothered to let me know.”

  “Were you close with him?” I ask, and there’s a flash of surprise clearly illuminated in the moonlight. I’m guessing that’s not the first question people usually have following a revelation like that.

  “Yeah,” Ryder answers, matching my quiet tone. “I was.”

  The words aren’t harsh, but there’s a clear undercurrent of finality. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He’s already given me far more than I expected him to, so I let it drop.

  Unfortunately, being around Ryder in silence is dangerous for me. Without conversation to distract me, I am forced to confront my attraction to him head on. It’s worse in the moonlight. In what feels like the middle of nowhere.

  All I can focus on is him.

  My heart beats faster. Adrenaline journeys through my veins, sharpening my senses and making me feel as though I’ve just downed some illicit coffee. I feel alive. Aware of everything. Worried about nothing.

  So, impulsively, I lean over and kiss him. White hot lust races through me, heating my blood and wreaking havoc on my hormones.

  Ryder James was not my first kiss. I doubt he’ll be my last. But I know he’ll always be the kiss. The one I think of and will want to relive. Over and over and over again. But right now, I’m not reliving. I’m living. I don’t realize how much of a difference there is until I become consumed by the distinction.

  Something about him—how different he is, how dynamic, how forbidden—has always stirred desire in me in a way no one else ever has. When he’s around he’s all I can think about. Focus on. Care about.

  And that sensation is tripled tenfold when we’re kissing.

  When I realize he’s kissing me back.

  His tongue swipes mine, hot and seeking and urgent, as he eases me back onto the wooden boards. That’s the other thing about Ryder. He’s dominant. Controlling. Even when we were fooling around freshman year, there was the undeniable sense of control. Having met his brother and mother the other day, hearing about his father just now, I have a newfound sense of where those instincts might come from.

  The arms I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time admiring pull me closer, and I let out a little gasp. If there’s such a thing as arm porn, Ryder’s a prime example. Toned tendons and strong ligaments covered with tan skin interrupted with maps of veins. They’re impressive to look at. Less superficially and more importantly, his arms make me feel as safe as the structure I’m lying upon. Cherished. Protected.

  I run my hands upward simultaneously, marveling over the muscles shifting under my palms. I follow the curve of his shoulder, the column of his neck, and then weave my hands into hair that feels as soft as it looks. I rake my fingers through the strands the way I’ve seen Ryder do himself so many times, and he bites down on my bottom lip.

  Beneath the desire and déjà vu are fresh sensations. Maybe because the body hovering above mine feels so much more solid and masculine than the last time we were in a position like this. Maybe because I’ve spent the past eight months dating a guy I never once felt like this around. Maybe because I was awfully uncertain about how Ryder James felt about me, and I’m a little surer with his tongue in my mouth.

  My hands leave his hair to trace down the slope of his back. I hesitate when I reach his waist, torn between yanking his t-shirt up or dipping into the waistband of his shorts.

  Ryder doesn’t give me a chance to do either.

  He pulls back abruptly, rising to his elbows, then palms, then fully upright. “We should go. It’s getting late.”

  Not sure how he knows that, since he hasn’t glanced at his phone since we got here, but I’m too taken aback to say it aloud.

  “You don’t want to have sex?” I ask, incredulously. Maybe if he hadn’t just been eagerly tongue-fucking my mouth, I wouldn’t be so surprised by his sudden interest in the time. His sudden lack of interest in me.

  Rather than answer my question, he just says “It’s getting late,” again.

  “I don’t have anyplace better to be.”

  “I do.”

  Ouch. “Why did you kiss me back?” I challenge.

  “It seemed like you were having a bad night,” he replies, running his fingers through his hair. All it does is remind me of just doing the same thing myself. It’s a sad testament to how attracted I am to him that even in the midst of his rejection, I’m still wishing I could be doing that again right now.

  “Yeah, I am. My boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t have sex with him. Yet you’ve suddenly got places to be before either of us is naked?”

  “A pity kiss is one thing. A pity fuck’s another.”

  “Wow. Don’t hold back now.” I jerk upright myself, not bothering to hide my annoyance or anger. Yeah, I’m pissed.

  Liam hooking up with another girl one floor above me? Not ideal. Liam announcing that fact to most of the senior class in a desperate attempt to ensure his cheating wasn’t the end of our relationship? Wish it hadn’t happened. Ryder James losing interest in me? I’m seeing red.

  Hopefully Ryder thinks it’s some sort of delayed reaction to the scene in the kitchen.

  Maybe it is. I hope it is. Because Ryder James is one of the last people I should allow to have this level of control over me. For a whole host of reasons.

  I brush past him, descending the ladder as quickly as I can. Where’s a door to slam when you really need one? Not only is this a far cry from a dramatic exit, I also had the brilliant idea to ask Ryder to drive me home. Back when he was punching people for me, not abandoning me to do who-the-fuck-knows-what. Whatever. I try and fail to convince myself I don’t care. Car rides can be silent, and despite my currently abysmal track record, being around Ryder does not require me to converse with him.

  I start striding for Ryder’s truck as soon as my feet brush grass, not bothering to wait for him to descend the ladder after me. But I feel his presence behind me seconds later, a silent shadow radiating disapproval. What does he have to be mad about? If I hadn’t just decided to give him the silent treatment, I would ask.

  I’m halfway to the truck when my flip-flop snags on a stray branch hidden under an overg
rown weed. I pitch forward, barely remaining vertical and losing the flip-flop in the process. Does Ryder stop? Nope. He keeps walking toward the truck, not saying a word. I huff out a breath and flip off his back before dropping to my knees to retrieve the errant sandal. What the fuck is his problem? Was the guy who came to a birthday party just to apologize to me abducted by aliens?

  I find my shoe and stomp the rest of the way to the truck, keeping my eyes on the ground to avoid breaking an ankle. Ryder would probably just leave me here.

  The passenger door creaks open, and I view Ryder’s truck as a whole lot less charming and a whole lot more as a piece of shit. The squealing sound of the door grates on my nerves as I climb back up on the vinyl seat and yank at the seatbelt. Nothing. The strip of fabric doesn’t move. Piece of shit.

  I give up on my attempt to employ any safety features for this trip, and instead reach out to close the door. Finally, one to slam. Enduring the nails-on-a-chalkboard sound again is almost worth it to hear the satisfying smack as the metal door meets the frame of the truck. I’m a little surprised it doesn’t fall off.

  Equally impressed Ryder doesn’t yell at me. He does grit his teeth.

  Guess I’m not the only one utilizing the stupid yet effective silent game.

  We sit in silence as Ryder drives through downtown. All the shops and stores are still and silent. The massive clock outside the town hall tells me it’s just past one in the morning. I’m even more curious about Ryder’s plans. The most probable explanation is he’s meeting another girl, but then why would he agree to go to the treehouse with me? He could have taken me straight home.

  Ryder James is an endless mystery to me. I’m used to people doing exactly what I expect them to. He hardly ever does.

  The truck loiters at the final stop sign before Fernwood turns residential.

  “No idea where you live,” Ryder states.

  Call me childish, but I feel a flash of victory he spoke first. “Stay straight for two blocks, then turn left. Last house on the right.”

  Ryder follows my directions silently, and I try to see my neighborhood through his eyes. I’m not embarrassed of the large houses with sprawling lawns, but I do eye the lawn jockey the Scotts ordered from Italy and the vintage Land Rover the Taylors only drive once a year a little more critically than I ever have before. I imagine Ryder is judging a lot more than just those two extravagant purchases, but he doesn’t say anything as he stops outside the last house on the right.