Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  Ryder parks my car next to his truck and turns off the ignition.

  “Can I come in?” I blurt, before he has the chance to say anything.

  There’s a pause. There aren’t any lights on in his trailer, so I can’t see the barest hint of his face. Then, “Sure.”

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and open my door, unwilling to give him a chance to change his mind. Ryder does the same, and I follow him up to the front door. He unlocks it and flicks on a lamp, illuminating a small, compact kitchen. Used dishes litter the counter. An open box of cereal sits on the table nestled in the corner. Floral wallpaper decorates the walls. The trailer is empty. Silent. Barely visible in the light cast by the solitary lamp.

  “No one’s home?” I ask.

  “Nope. My room’s down here.” Ryder starts down the short hallway, turning on more lights as he goes, and I follow him. His entire room is smaller than my bathroom. The cramped space is barely large enough for the twin bed, chest of drawers, and wooden desk that fills the space. The walls are bare, painted a shade of off-white that’s begun to veer toward yellow in spots.

  I study the stack of books on his desk, run my fingers along the top of his drawers, and then climb onto his bed. Springs creak in protest. I tuck my feet under my thighs, sitting cross-legged.

  Ryder leans against the dresser, studying me. I lay down slowly on the navy comforter, holding his gaze the whole time. My hair spills off the raised bump of the pillow in a waterfall of brunette strands.

  He just keeps looking at me. I bite my bottom lip, staring back.

  Electricity snaps and crackles in the tiny space.

  “This isn’t what I had in mind.”

  I scoff. “Well aware.” Ryder’s been consistent in his lack of interest in continuing our physical relationship. I’d think he was totally indifferent, if not for his lapse in the garage earlier.

  “I only said you could come in because I was worried you’d beg to.”

  “Oh, really?” I shift on the bed, well aware the movement is pulling the material of my dress higher. “So, you don’t want me to beg anymore? For anything?”

  “Elle…”

  “What, Ryder? We’ve had sex before.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So… you’re good? Had your fill freshman year?”

  Ryder huffs out a laugh. “Elle. Be serious.”

  “I am, Ryder.”

  He shoves away from the drawers, advancing on me. I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. When he nears the bed, which only takes a couple steps, I wind them around him, pulling him closer to me.

  “We’re a bad idea, Elle,” he tells me. But he doesn’t resist my hold.

  “Why?” I slip my hands under the hem of his shirt, marveling over the hot, firm skin that meets my touch. I skim one finger across the indentations of his stomach, and Ryder sucks in a sharp breath.

  “Because if we do this…” I yank on his shorts, and he swears. “I’m not going to be your fucking rebound, Elle.”

  I freeze. “What?”

  “You heard me. You just broke up with Hathaway.”

  “Liam doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  Ryder scoffs.

  “I mean it. I want you. You, Ryder. I wanted you freshman year. I want you now.”

  “For sex?”

  “For anything. Everything.” He’s looking at me, so I see the flash of uncertainty cross his handsome features.

  “Aren’t you going to Homecoming with Robert Newsome?”

  “What? Where did you hear that?”

  “Where do you think? The whole school has nothing better to do except gossip about you, apparently.” There’s a bite to the words. Rumors about me bother him. Seeing as he consistently ignores me at school, I’m surprised.

  “Well, I told him no.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s not the guy I want to go with.” I don’t spell it out, but I don’t need to. Ryder James may be a lot of things, but he’s far from an idiot. He may be the most perceptive person I’ve ever met, actually.

  Ryder leans forward, forcing me to fall back on the bed again. “We’re a bad idea,” he repeats.

  “Why?” I challenge.

  “You’re going to end up with a guy nothing like me.”

  “If you never ask me out? Yeah, probably.”

  “Elle…” I arch my neck up and kiss him. He slips his tongue in my mouth, and it emboldens me. I let my hands drift upwards, pulling the cotton material of his t-shirt along. “Elle,” he says again, but this time it’s desperate. Yearning.

  I let my hands drop. “I need you to want this, too.”

  Ryder huffs. “You think I don’t want this?” His hands slide up, and then I’m no longer wearing a dress.

  “I don’t know what you want,” I reply honestly.

  His hand slides under my back, and then my bra disappears. “Then you haven’t been paying very close attention,” Ryder tells me.

  “You haven’t been particularly clear,” I retort. He sends more mixed signals than a malfunctioning stoplight.

  “This clear enough for you?” He kisses me. Heat and hunger race through me as I grasp his thick brown locks in an attempt to bind us together. I’m so overwhelmed I don’t even care he got the last word in. I pull his shirt up and over, using my feet to push his shorts down simultaneously. I used to do the same thing in the treehouse, and based on the way Ryder’s eyes flare, he remembers.

  “Elle.” He groans my name as he pulls my underwear down. I bite his bottom lip in response. Hard.

  He pulls back. “You’re sure?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  He leans over the side of the bed and procures a familiar foil packet. I hold his gaze as he sheaths himself with a condom.

  And… this is the moment when a hive of nerves decides to start buzzing around me.

  Ryder’s looking at me, and I can tell he sees it.

  “I’m nervous,” I whisper. “How stupid is that?”

  “Not stupid. Elle, we don’t have to—”

  “I’m not nervous because I don’t want to,” I tell him.

  He rolls so he’s above me. “I thought about this when I was gone. How much I wanted to do this with you again.”

  “You did?” I breathe. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged I so much as crossed his mind during his time in Florida. I grasp onto the tidbit like a beggar. Despite the position we’re in, that admission is what gives me some reassurance I might actually mean something to him.

  “Yeah, I did,” Ryder replies.

  The head of his cock hits my opening, and I inhale sharply. He starts to ease inside me, and I arch my back. We were kids fumbling around before. The purposeful way Ryder is sliding inside me feels very adult. Super intimate. He’s studying me closely, and there’s no doubt who I’m doing this with. Who’s inside me right now.

  A few more strokes, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Green eyes bear into mine, and I’m having sex with Ryder James.

  “I thought about this while you were gone, too,” I admit to him.

  His movements quicken, sending heat skittering through me with each thrust. It’s both familiar and fresh. We’ve done this before, and it feels like we have. It also feels new, though. Novel. I had a crush on Ryder before. I looked forward to our treehouse meet-ups. I relished the thrill of having such a delicious, forbidden secret.

  But it never felt this overwhelming before. So consuming. I never craved his presence the way I do now. I also kept our association entirely separate from the rest of my life. I no longer feel any desire to do so.

  The warmth builds to a breaking point, and I experience a powerful flash of euphoria. That’s also new.

  Ryder catches the surprise and pleasure on my face.

  “Yeah, I’ve learned a few things,” he tells me. Teasingly.

  “Good for you.” I don’t match his tone. My words are dry. Annoyed.

  I assumed Ryder slept with other people
during his two-year absence, but I didn’t need—want—confirmation of that fact. Especially since I didn’t, and thanks to Liam’s big mouth and my pool-side slip, I’m pretty sure Ryder already knows that.

  Thanks to my perpetual inability to filter my thoughts around him, he now also knows his admission bothers me. I watch regret replace the roguish grin he paired his words with.

  “El—”

  “It’s fine,” I snap, making it worse.

  I wiggle away so we’re no longer touching but remain on the bed. Even annoyed and hurt, I’m not yet ready to leave his presence.

  Ryder lies down beside me, letting a couple inches of comforter separate our bodies. I stare up at his ceiling, following the cracks that crisscross the ceiling. We’re both silent. I don’t know what to say. Apparently, Ryder doesn’t either. He must not have mentioned prior hook-ups during any of his other more recent ones. Or if he did, they didn’t react like possessive girlfriends.

  “Do you want to go to Homecoming with me?”

  I’m taken aback by the question, but I respond differently than I would under any other circumstances.

  “Are you going to talk about your past hook-ups during it?”

  I give up on staring at the ceiling, and glance over at him. He’s fighting a grin that disappears when he sees I’m looking at him. “No. That wasn’t what—I just meant…” He gives up on an explanation. “No,” he reaffirms. “I’m not going to.”

  “Okay. Then, yes, I’ll go to Homecoming with you.”

  “Okay,” he confirms.

  There’s a crash down the hall, and Ryder sits up, pulling on his shorts and shirt. “Stay here,” he tells me, sliding off the bed and heading toward the door.

  I pull my dress back on and creep after him.

  Voices sound from the kitchen. I reach the end of the hallway but remain in the shadowed doorway. Ryder’s mother is sprawled against the kitchen counter. It seems to be all that’s holding her upright. She’s wearing an outfit similar to the one I saw her in last time, except this time her tank top is ripped, one strap flopping around as she struggles to stay upright. There’s a black mark on her right arm that bears the tell-tale pattern of fingerprints. And she’s clearly under the influence of something, swaying as she grips the laminated material.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Mom?” Ryder asks angrily. “Who was it this time?”

  Ryder’s mother makes an unintelligible sound, and he heaves out an exasperated, enervated sigh. He slings her left arm over his shoulder and turns toward the hallway before I have a chance to slink back into the shadows. He doesn’t look surprised to see me, just resigned.

  “Go home, Elle.” The words aren’t unkind, but they’re final.

  I nod once, heading out the door conveniently situated to my left and down the stairs to the stretch of dirt peppered with clumps of grass. I make it to my car, and then stall. I don’t want to leave yet. Don’t want to depart from Ryder. Don’t want to arrive at home.

  So, I take a seat on the hood of my convertible, propping my feet atop the front fender and resting my chin in my cupped hands. I know enough about Ryder to be certain he’s not the type of person who appreciates pity, but I’m swamped with sympathy. With the realization his home life is a lot more complicated than I realized. Than he shared.

  “You’re back.”

  I glance to the right, and Ryder’s younger brother is standing there.

  “Uh—yeah,” I reply awkwardly. Since I’m currently sitting outside of his trailer like a stalker. “I was, um, hanging out—talking with Ryder, and your mother, uh, came home. So Ryder thought—uh, thought I should head out.” Possibly the most inarticulate sentence I’ve ever uttered, but I’m incredibly uncomfortable. Not only do I not want this kid to realize I just had sex with his older brother, I’m entirely unsure on how to broach the topic of his mother’s current state.

  “Oh.” Something in that word tells me Ryder’s little brother has surmised the latter truth already. I glance over at him, and he’s wearing a tired, forlorn expression that looks out of place on his young face.

  “I’m Elle, by the way.”

  “Christopher.” The joking, mischievous persona from our last encounter is entirely absent. “I should head in. Help Ryder.”

  “Right. Yeah. Okay,” I reply quickly.

  Christopher starts trudging toward the door, then spins back around. There’s a glimmer of mirth in his expression now. “He really likes you.”

  Perfectly imperfect.

  “How do you know?”

  He shrugs with the indifference of a middle schooler, reminding me he’s probably not the ideal demographic to be looking to for romantic advice. “Just do.”

  “I really like him,” I admit.

  “Well, duh.” Christopher laughs. “You’re sitting out here.”

  “Right.” Nothing like getting dressed down by a preteen.

  “See ya.” He heads for the door again and doesn’t turn around this time.

  “See ya,” I repeat, watching as he disappears inside.

  Still, I stay in place on the hood of my car, staring into nothingness. Until I’m startled for a second time.

  “Elle Clarke. Surprised you know this place exists.”

  I look over my shoulder to see Ryder’s friend Tommy approaching me, hands in his pockets.

  “There’s no one in town who doesn’t know this place exists. Most of them just haven’t been here,” I reply.

  He stops next to me. “But you are.”

  “Observant,” I compliment.

  Tommy chuckles. “Arriving?”

  “Leaving. Ryder’s mom came home.”

  “Ah,” Tommy’s expression sobers.

  “Is she like that… often?” I try to ask tactfully.

  “Ry doesn’t talk about it much. Surprised he even brought you over if he knew she was out.”

  “I sort of forced him to,” I admit.

  Tommy grins, his good humor restored. “Ryder doesn’t do shit he doesn’t want to do. Not for girls, at least.”

  We’re both distracted by the trailer front door opening and closing. Ryder appears. He doesn’t look surprised to see me. Christopher must have mentioned I’m out here. He seems more taken aback to see Tommy next to me.

  “Hey, man,” Tommy calls out.

  “Hey,” Ryder replies, not looking at me. “What’s up?”

  “Danielle’s was lame without you,” Tommy replies. “Thought I’d see how your night went. Didn’t realize it would still be underway.”

  He smirks, and Ryder’s glance slides to me, then back to Tommy.

  “Could you check on Chris?” he requests. “I’ll be right in.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Tommy nods. “Later, Elle.”

  “Bye, Tommy,” I reply.

  Ryder doesn’t speak until Tommy’s inside the trailer. “You’re still here.”

  “Yup.” I slide off the hood of my car so I’m standing in front of him. “Is your mom okay?”

  “She’ll be fine,” he replies.

  “That happens… a lot?”

  “She started using after my dad went to prison. Every few months she’ll sober up for a bit, but otherwise… yes.”

  “Is there anything I can—”

  “No.” His tone is short, then softens. “No. There’s nothing.”

  “Okay. I guess I’ll go, then.”

  I start to turn, but he stops me, tugging me back using the hem of my dress.

  His face is barely visible in the glow from the trailer’s lights, but I can see the indecision inscribed in the features. “Elle. We’re a bad idea because of me. Not you. Okay?”

  “I don’t think we’re a bad idea,” I tell him, and his jaw tenses. “I think we’re an idea you should give a chance.”

  Then, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. Softly. Gently. It’s a stark contrast to our desperate motions earlier. It’s a common peck. Expected. The type of kiss you give someone you know you’ll kiss again.
r />   Ryder kisses me back, and I experience a surge of satisfaction. I pull back before he can.

  “I’ve got to go. My parents are probably…” I let my voice trail off. I don’t think even incensed would quite cover the vexation waiting for me at home. Leaving our monthly dinner party in the midst of it is bound to cause a stir. My parents don’t deal well with stirring. They don’t perpetuate gossip, and they most certainly don’t appreciate being the topic of it.

  I step away from him, and head for the driver’s seat. I open the door.

  “I’ll see you at school?”

  “Yeah.” He finally speaks. “You will.”

  I’m tempted to ask if he’ll still be ignoring me, but I don’t. Ryder and I are tenuous. But more than that, I’m sick of being the one to instigate and encourage. I want Ryder to be clear. To care. But I can’t make him do either of those things. He has to decide them for himself.

  I nod once before I climb inside my convertible. The engine roars to life, headlights bathing the shadowed scene I’ve been studying ever since I left the trailer in brilliant light. Ryder hasn’t moved. He watches me as I reverse. I hold his gaze for a moment before I start driving down the road, heading back for the part of town where I’m supposed to belong.

  Wondering why it feels like that part is now behind me.

  Chapter Seven

  I leave the house even earlier than usual the following morning. As expected, my parents were apoplectic with anger about my abrupt departure last night. Disbelieving. Stunned. Almost comically so. They don’t know what to do with a misbehaving child. Sarah’s bout of rebellion ended in her death.

  I blamed my uncharacteristic behavior on a broken heart. Told them it was too difficult being around Liam, so I drove to a coffee shop and read for a while.

  If they’re having trouble wrapping their heads around me leaving, I have no idea how they might respond to knowing where I actually spent the evening. Who I was with. What we were doing.

  And that’s the main reason I’m departing for school ahead of schedule. I’m not eager to spend more time with my parents’ disapproving expressions. But I could if I had to.