Ryder follows me out of the kitchen and fills his plate with food.
“So, Ryder. You grew up in Fernwood, too?” Eliza takes a stab at polite conversation.
“Yes.” His tone isn’t the unpleasant one I was met with in the kitchen, but it’s not inviting, either.
“Did you like it?” Eliza tries again.
“It had its moments.” Ryder doesn’t elaborate on what those were—which of course makes me wonder if I was part of any of them.
I’m distracted from musing when the conversation shifts to me.
“How’s the gala planning going, Eleanor?” Jessica asks, interrupting the silence that’s fallen.
“Fine,” I say quickly, hoping she’ll drop the subject.
“Oh, yeah! That’s next weekend, right?” Eliza asks, jumping on board with the topic. I’d love to leap overboard.
“Right,” I confirm.
“What gala?” one of the groomsmen, Mike, asks.
“For the charity Eleanor started,” Eliza explains. “It helps women find long-term employment.”
“You started a charity?” This from Ryder. To me.
I take another sip of wine. “Yup. Don’t worry. My life is still meaningless.”
“I didn’t say your life was meaningless. Just part of your job.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first fucking time, Ryder.” I’m pretty certain I’ve never sworn in front of anyone at this table besides Ryder before, and wide eyes everywhere I look is proof of it.
“Why did you start it?”
I hold his gaze. “I wanted to.”
He nods, accepting the non-answer.
The conversation continues from there, seamlessly swerving away from me. I don’t contribute anything to the discussion on what activities should take place tomorrow. This trip is ruined for me. And more exciting than I ever could have anticipated. I’m worried that the spectacle that Ryder and I have caused has made that abundantly clear to everyone else here.
Because the real reason I started the charity?
Is sitting across from me.
Everyone disperses after dinner, most of us tired from a full day of work followed by the journey here. I know I am. I carry my plate to the sink, watching Ryder head for the porch with the rest of the men. Despite our disagreements at dinner, he seems relaxed now as he flashes Tommy a carefree grin in response to whatever he just said. I’m torn between petty relief he’s just as affected by our encounters as I am, and jealousy that that’s all I elicit. There wasn’t any casual camaraderie present when we were talking earlier.
The men disappear, and I shove my plate in the dishwasher next to the rest of the dirty dishes.
“Guessing there’s a story there?”
Eliza comes up beside me, studying me curiously as she rinses off a glass.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “There’s a story there.”
“He’s why Tommy acted so strange when I suggested combining things?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “He couldn’t reach Ryder. We assumed he wasn’t coming.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. I’ve probably said enough tonight.” I cringe as I run through some of the comments I’ve made so far. Why couldn’t I have just smiled and ignored him? I know the answer. Because some small part of me—that I hoped was gone but clearly isn’t—has always craved Ryder’s attention over anyone else’s. His disinterest has always been my kryptonite.
“You’re different around him,” Eliza observes.
“I know. Meaner.” I stick my own glass in the dishwasher and wash my hands.
She laughs. “That’s not what I was going to say. But, yeah. A little.” She pauses. “Not in a bad way, though.”
“Can someone be mean in a good way?”
Eliza shrugs. “Mean means you care.”
I don’t deny it. “I’m trying not to,” I confess.
“Seems to be going well,” Eliza comments.
I flick some water at her, and she laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you swear.”
“What are you two discussing?” Paige comes up behind us, and I shut down like an overheated computer. Discussing Ryder with Eliza is one thing. She never knew me pre- or during Ryder. Only after. Paige knows exactly how invested I was. Has a sense of just how snarled my feelings for him truly are. Not something I want to discuss now.
“Nothing,” I respond, hoping Eliza will follow my lead. “I’m going for a walk down to the water.” I head for the sliding door that leads out onto the back deck, only stopping to snag the half-full bottle of wine from the kitchen counter.
Scout’s asleep on the living room rug, so I leave him be, heading out into the darkness solo. I cross the wooden boards of the deck and descend the stairs that lead right onto the beach. I stumble out into the sand. Not because I’m drunk, although I’m getting there, but because I can barely see a few feet ahead of me. The closer I get to the ocean, the brighter it becomes. Moonlight reflects off the waves pounding the sandy shore.
I plop down atop the millions of grains, planting the bottle of wine upright beside me. I’m a pool person. I like the predictability and the cleanliness of a constrained body of water. Where you can see through the clear water and hear the gurgle of its contents being filtered. But staring at a pool is nothing like staring at the ocean. It’s like observing an animal in the zoo versus in the wild. You can see the benefits: the controlled environment, the increased level of safety, the ability to bring the habitat to you versus having to travel to seek it out.
Benefits don’t outweigh experience. Can’t compete with the raw, overwhelming devastation of the wild.
A pool is calming. Enjoyable. The ocean is formidable. Staggering.
Salty waves pound the sand, churning in foamy swirls visible even in the limited moonlight. The horizon is invisible, providing the impression the water in front of me stretches endlessly. That it’s infinite. Fathomless.
“Contemplating a swim?”
I startle at the sound of his voice, then scoff. “Nope.”
Feelings froth inside me the same way as the foam in front of me as Ryder takes a seat in the sand beside me. He doesn’t sound combative right now, and it has the horrifying effect of not eliciting any negative emotions in me for the first time since he burst back into my life. I feel… giddy. Unsteady. Swamped with the shaky sensation of being around someone whose opinion really, really matters to you.
“So, the supermarket job? That was you.”
I manage a nod in response, although it wasn’t really a question. He’s simply acknowledging a fact.
“She likes it. Seems… stable.”
“Good.” Ryder’s family obviously didn’t give him any indication of the role I’ve played in their lives during his absence. I won’t be the one to fill him in. I can see it going poorly for a number of reasons.
Ryder doesn’t make any further attempt at conversation, and I stay silent as well. I don’t know what to say to him. How to act around him. His refusal to clear the air when it comes to our past is maddening. It leaves me in a constant state of uncertainty because I can’t begin to sort through my emotions for him with so many puzzle pieces missing.
Stubbornness has always been a strength of Ryder’s. If he doesn’t want to tell me what really happened that night; he won’t. And he’s the only one who can tell me the real reason he played the role he did.
He was right at the garage. What happened that night affected his life a lot more than it did mine. Lingering curiosity is one thing, but I know my motivation is a lot stronger. Maybe he does, too.
I take a swig of wine, just for something to do. Sitting in the sand next to Ryder in silence feels intimate. Meaningful. Confusing.
He grabs the bottle when I set it back down. I think he’s going to try some, but instead, he studies the label in the light being cast by the moon.
“This looks like an awfully nice wine to be chugging by yourself. From the bottle.”
/> “I’m not by myself,” I retort. “And I know it’s a nice bottle. I brought it for Tommy and Eliza as a gift.”
Ryder snorts. “Thoughtful.”
“What’d you bring from the prison gift shop?” I snap. And immediately regret the words. “Sorry,” I say grudgingly. “That was rude.” And mean.
I thought acting like a hormonal teenager was just an unfortunate side effect of seeing him again for the first time. This evening is strongly suggesting that’s not the case. My control keeps slipping, and it terrifies me. I’m concerned he’ll see how much I care. Worried about how much I care.
Ryder catches the panic that must be apparent on my face. He gives me a wry, mocking smile. “It’s fine. I already know you aren’t perfect, Eleanor.”
Then he stands and starts walking back toward the house, leaving me sitting there staring at the sea.
Wondering if he still thinks I’m imperfectly so.
Chapter Fourteen
Scout is nowhere to be seen when I wake up. I sit up in bed, suddenly wide awake despite the fog of alcohol lingering in my brain. One glance at the alarm clock tells me it’s an hour later than he normally wakes me up for his morning walk.
“Scout!”
He’s not on the bedroom floor. I jump out of bed and race down the hall.
“Scout!”
I rush down the stairs and across the living room, calling out for him again. My heart pounds from more than the exertion. He’s never been here before. What if someone left the door open and he wandered outside? He could be…
“What are you yelling about?” Paige calls from the kitchen.
I hurry over to the doorway. “Scout’s missing. I must have forgotten to close my bedroom door last night, and he’s nowhere in the house.”
“He’s outside. With Ryder,” Eliza replies.
“He’s what?” Slowly, I register the entirety of the bridal party—with the exception of me—is leaning against the far kitchen counter, sipping coffee and staring outside.
I walk forward. The outlook from the window that stretches the length of the counter above the sink provides a perfect view of a shirtless Ryder playing fetch in the sand with my dog.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter.
“Let them play. Scout looks like he’s having fun,” Paige tells me.
I pour myself a mug of coffee. “Yup. I’m sure you’re real invested in Scout’s happiness.”
Paige smirks at my sarcasm. “Maybe I would be if he liked me half as much as he likes Ryder.”
Eliza shoves away from the counter and heads for the fridge. “Anyone hungry?”
“Me! I’ll scramble some eggs.” Jessica joins her at the kitchen island.
I take the open spot by the sink, watching Scout race back and forth with a tennis ball firmly clutched between his teeth.
“Should I grab a mop?” I ask Paige when I glance over to see she’s studying the scene outside just as intently.
“What? Why?” She finally looks away from Ryder.
“To clean up your drool.”
Paige rolls her eyes. “Like you’re immune.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“So?” she challenges. “It’s not like he’s gotten uglier.” She glances behind us, then lowers her voice. “You knew. That’s why you went to see Kennedy.”
“I didn’t know he was about to be released. I knew there was a chance he might be,” I reply honestly. “Kennedy made it clear he should be. That he shouldn’t be there.”
Paige eyes me over the rim of her mug. “Did she tell you it was Liam?”
Shock ripples through me. “Yes. She told you that?”
Paige shrugs. “I called her a couple days after you went there. I was curious. We had a long talk. She seems to be doing well.”
“Yeah, she does,” I agree. “But Liam… I mean, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Makes a lot more sense than Ryder ever did. Liam would act different when you weren’t around. A short temper and a massive ego never pair well together.”
“I guess,” I respond. I saw glimpses of some troubling traits in Liam, but I never thought he’d be capable of assaulting someone. “But Ryder taking the fall for him makes no sense. They didn’t even get along.”
Paige snorts. “‘Didn’t get along’? The only things Liam ever seemed to care about were you and football. Ryder took both. Of the two of them, Liam was the one with money and connections. Is it really a surprise Ryder took the fall?”
“You think Liam set him up somehow?”
“No idea. Maybe you should ask Ryder.”
I eye Paige, noting her smirk. “Yeah, great idea,” I reply dryly.
“Anyone want bacon?” Eliza calls out.
“Me! I’ll fry some up,” Paige offers, effectively ending our heavy conversation.
I turn my gaze back outside just in time to watch Ryder start for the wooden stairs that lead up to the back deck, as everyone besides me makes themselves busy in the kitchen. Tommy appears, along with a few of the other guys, fresh from a morning run. Scout bounds into the kitchen a minute later, sandy and euphoric.
“You stole my dog,” I accuse Ryder when he steps into the kitchen right behind the canine in question.
“Borrowed,” he corrects breezily as he fills a glass with water. He’s put his shirt back on—thankfully—but he still looks damn good clothed, as Paige pointed out.
“Borrowed implies you asked permission beforehand.”
“Stealing implies I didn’t return him. He’s right there.” Ryder nods to where Scout’s passed out at my feet.
Our morning routine normally involves a walk around the block. Endless rounds of fetch with Ryder seem to have knocked him out cold. Scout barely even stirs when bacon starts sizzling on the stovetop.
“Since when do you even like dogs?” Ryder asks me.
“I’ve always liked dogs,” I reply.
He raises one disbelieving eyebrow. “You wouldn’t even pet Spot.”
I startle at his reference to the stray that used to hang around his trailer. “That’s not true! Plus, I brought him food.”
“Yeah. To impress me. That wasn’t for the dog’s sake.”
Another spark of shock at his casual tone. His easy acknowledgment of how desperate I was to fit into his life. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”
“Yeah, well. That’s me. Presumptuous.”
I’m entirely unprepared for the devastating grin that accompanies the words. I take another sip of coffee. It seems like I always need to have a beverage in hand when conversing with Ryder. To have something to do. To keep from saying something I’ll regret. To recover from something he said.
“Breakfast is ready!” Eliza announces, playing the role of hostess.
Rather than move into the dining room, everyone merely gathers around the kitchen island to scarf down the hot eggs and bacon.
“It’s a perfect day to go kayaking,” Tommy tells us all. “I’m planning to head out after breakfast.”
Others chime in with their interest, but I don’t say anything. There’s a pile of work I should be tackling today. Weekends off aren’t a luxury I usually have. At least, not now that I’ve officially started summer work at my father’s firm. I had other options—I still have other options—but capitulating on the summer was my attempt to make amends after the engagement party mess.
I head upstairs to change out of my pajamas, and then settle on the sunporch with my laptop. Paige finds me before I’ve even opened it.
“Uh, no. You’re not doing any work.”
“I have to!” I protest.
“Because your dad’s going to fire you?” She rolls her eyes. “Are you actually required to work weekends?”
“Well, no,” I admit. “But—”
“Up!” Paige tugs me to my feet before I can follow the command myself. “You put a bathing suit on earlier, right?” She eyes my jean shorts and t-shirt like she’s suddenly developed x-ray vision.
>
“Yes.”
“Great. We’re going kayaking.”
“Why do I need a suit to go kayaking?”
“In case you capsize.” Paige shoots me a Duh look as she drags me out onto the deck and down the stairs. We pass Scout, who’s fast asleep on the rug, exhausted from his morning exercise.
Tommy, Eliza, Mike, and Ryder are standing and talking on the beach. The rest of the bridal party and groomsmen are relaxing in the lounge chairs that rest on the deck.
“Why can’t we sunbathe instead?” I ask, nodding up the rest of the group. The gathering that doesn’t include Ryder.
“Because we can do that in Boston,” Paige replies.
I can’t really argue with that logic, so I don’t say anything as we join the four other figures on the sand. The three guys all head inside the shed nestled amongst the seagrass, saving me from making any immediate conversation.
The ocean doesn’t appear all that fierce today. Waves trickle up the shore, then slowly retreat. Simply stroking the sand. There’s no sign of white-tipped waves, just an endless spread of glittering turquoise. Sunshine beats down brilliantly, bathing everything in warmth and erasing any shadows. The scent of coconuts wafts along in the salt-tinged air as Eliza and Paige apply sunscreen.
“Want some?” Eliza holds the tube out to me, distracting me from taking in the picturesque view.
“Yeah, thanks.” I take the bottle from her and smooth some of the lotion on my skin.
“So, we’ve got three tandems, or we could take some singles out…”
Tommy exits the shed, glancing around our group uncomfortably. There’s six of us. Three men; three women. The sexist yet obvious choice is we should pair up by gender. But those pairings could be problematic. Aside from Tommy and Eliza traveling together, the couplings aren’t obvious.
“I can take my own out,” I say.
If it doesn’t involve Pilates or dancing, I know Paige is pretty unmotivated athletically. I haven’t seen Mike in seven years. The ocean may look calm now, but I know that can rapidly change. I’m not inclined to put my life in his hands, either.
Come Break My Heart Again Page 18