Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  I turn to head for the elevator, and falter slightly when I realize there’s someone blocking my way. I move to go around him, and wobble slightly.

  “You’re drunk?” Ryder doesn’t sound impressed.

  “No,” I state firmly. “It’s raining out. The floors are slippery.”

  “Huh.” Ryder reaches out and puts his arm around my waist, propelling me forward. His touch is gentle; his movements are not.

  “Isn’t this the sort of shit your fiancé is supposed to do?” Ryder grumbles as we reach the elevator doors.

  The best opening I could hope for. “Probably.” I steel myself to say what it’s taken me three glasses of wine to consider telling him. “If I had one.”

  He stiffens next to me. “What do you mean, ‘if you had one’?”

  “If I had a fiancé, I would expect him to drag me back to my room. But I don’t, so I was planning to haul myself up there until you came along.”

  “You had a fight with William?”

  “Not a fight.” I look away. “I just told him I couldn’t marry him.”

  “Why?” Ryder asks bluntly.

  With anyone else I’d tell them to mind their own business. “I’m not in love with him,” I reply honestly, continuing to study the console of elevator buttons.

  “You were going to marry someone you didn’t love?”

  “I thought I did.”

  Ryder doesn’t say anything as the doors slide open and we walk into the elevator. Or when we walk out into the carpeted hallway. I don’t stumble and he doesn’t offer any assistance. This conversation is rapidly sobering me up.

  We reach 719. “This is me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about you and William.”

  “Are you?” I challenge, finally looking at him. Ryder appears perfectly at ease, and it pisses me off.

  “Yeah, I am.” He appears sincere, but I don’t fully believe him. You don’t have a past like ours and plan to send annual holiday cards to each other’s future families. We’re the raw, festering wound that never fully heals.

  “I don’t believe you,” I inform him. “I think it bothered you that I was marrying him. You obviously didn’t like him. You barely spoke to him on the Fourth.”

  “That had nothing to do with you. There just wasn’t much to like.”

  I lean against the doorframe and snort. “No one else seemed to think so.”

  “Well, if he’s so perfect, maybe you should marry him.”

  “I probably should,” I agree. “You didn’t ask me why I’m not in love with him.”

  “I don’t need to. Either you are or you’re not.”

  “Did you love me?”

  All emotion leaves his face. Ryder does a spot-on imitation of a blank slate. I don’t think he’s going to answer. “Does it matter? It was a long time ago, Elle.” A response; not an answer.

  “It matters to me.”

  “It shouldn’t,” he snaps.

  “Too fucking bad,” I retort. “Don’t you think about us? The treehouse? How different things might have been if—”

  He kisses me, shoving me against the wooden door and pressing against me. A metal seven, one, and nine press into my spine. And I’m suddenly seventeen again. I’ve spent the last seven years convincing myself the passion between us was just first love. That I was young and naive, and he was the hot guy I wasn’t supposed to have, so that’s why I could never get enough of him. I’m not sure I ever fully believed it. Seeing him again cracked my reasoning. This is smashing it wide open. Because I’ve kissed a lot of guys since the last time I kissed Ryder James, and the heat and excitement and euphoria coursing through me right now didn’t happen with a single one of them.

  And he is the one who kissed me.

  “Fucking hell.” He pulls back, as if simultaneously realizing the same thing.

  I grin, wide and obnoxious. I’m pretty sure he was expecting me to yell at him, because my response definitely takes him off guard.

  “Why did you stop?”

  “Stop what?”

  If he’s hoping to pretend that didn’t just occur, it’s not going to happen. “Kissing me.”

  Ryder sighs. “Because I shouldn’t have started. I thought it would shut you up.”

  “Feel free to shut me up some more.”

  “That’s a terrible idea. I’m going to bed.” Ryder turns, and I grab his arm without thinking. He tenses, and I drop it.

  “Sleep in mine.”

  He laughs, but it’s not an amused sound. It’s demeaning. Incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not? It’s a wedding. Don’t people normally hook up at these? We’re both single.”

  Ryder studies me, a look of total disbelief on his face. “How drunk are you? Do you need some water?”

  He’s not taking me seriously, and it pisses me off. “You’re not attracted to me anymore? Fine, I’ll go find someone else.” I start to stalk past him, but he stops me, just like I knew—hoped—he would.

  “Go to bed, Eleanor.”

  “You’re not the boss of me, Ryder. Thought you didn’t care who I’m with?”

  “I don’t,” he insists, but this time he doesn’t totally succeed at sounding sincere.

  “Great. I want to have sex, and you’re not interested. I’m going wide with the offer.”

  Ryder laughs disbelievingly. “Fuck, Elle. You’re blackmailing me into having sex with you?”

  “That’s a cynical way of looking at it. Plus, it implies you would care if I found someone else.” Ryder doesn’t answer me. He just stares at me. Long enough I start to squirm. “Whatever,” I mutter. “Good night.”

  I turn, sticking my keycard in the slot and opening the door once it beeps. But when I turn back around to shut the door, Ryder is still standing there. Even without the distinctive tic of his jaw, I can tell he’s mad. And deliberating something. I learn what when he steps inside the room and shuts the door behind him.

  “Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” Ryder demands. Now, it’s my turn to stare. I didn’t think there was any chance he would agree to have sex with me.

  Zero.

  Nada.

  Zip.

  Absolute zilch.

  I’m torn between celebrating and panicking as I look at him.

  “Elle!”

  “You’re not getting undressed,” I point out. Of the two of us, I’ve definitely been the more vulnerable tonight. Not that that’s anything new. Getting naked while he stands there fully dressed feels like an exacerbation of the power differential between us.

  “I don’t need to.”

  I’m about to protest when he unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and pulls out his dick. His cock is already hard. Guess that answers the Is he still attracted to me? question. Fire simmers in my veins, burning away any anxiety or insecurity.

  I hold his gaze as I untie the sash of my dress and let it flutter to the floor. As I sweep my hair over one shoulder and unbutton the back of my dress before dragging down the zipper. It slides to the floor in a silken heap.

  Ryder advances, close enough the bulbous head of his length pokes me in the belly. Wetness pools between my legs, and I have to bite on my bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. “Get on your hands and knees,” he tells me, pushing me in the direction of the bed.

  Our sex life in high school was intense, but this demanding, dominant side of Ryder is new.

  I like it.

  A lot.

  Every other guy I’ve ever been with has always treated me like a delicate flower formed from glass. With reverence. Respect. None of that’s bad, but it’s never elicited the flood of lust I’m currently drowning in.

  I scramble on the bed eagerly, and I think I catch Ryder smirking. Acting like fucking him is the most exciting thing to ever happen to me is probably not terrible for his ego.

  He lines up behind me and yanks my thong down, and this time I do moan.

  There’s the crinkle of a wrapper.

  A
nticipation races through me with all of the subtly of a riptide. I’m adrift and unmoored to anything but this moment. I know it’s coming, but I still gasp when Ryder shoves inside me. I don’t need to ask him to move. He grabs my hips and starts rutting.

  I close my eyes and lose myself to sensation, absorbing the force of his thrusts and pushing back against him. Each shove sends me close to heaven. It usually takes a while for me to orgasm, especially without any additional stimulation. All Ryder’s doing is holding my hips.

  But the knowledge it is Ryder grabbing my waist and driving into me is apparently all my body needs. He’s plunging into me so quickly the swell of ecstasy takes me off guard.

  I chant his name as I drown in bliss, barely managing to stay on my hands and knees. He keeps moving as I contract around him, protracting the pleasure. His grip on me tightens, and that’s how I know he’s coming too.

  I collapse on the bed, rolling over so I can finally look at him.

  I know the choice of sexual position was a deliberate one on his part.

  I sit up and grab his tie, pulling him back down on the bed with me. He could fight me, but he doesn’t.

  “Better than high school?” I ask when he’s down beside me.

  I think he was expecting me to say something serious, because the smile flashes before he can stop it.

  “Different,” he answers.

  “How diplomatic.” I roll my eyes, but the room is dim enough I’m not sure if he can tell.

  “For you?”

  “Well, we had a lot of sex in high school. It would be helpful to have another time now to compare it to…” I let my voice trail off suggestively.

  Once again, I’ve caught him off guard, and I take advantage. I roll on top of him, pulling off the used condom. “Do you have another one?” I ask him.

  “Pretty sure this was exactly what Tommy had in mind when he passed out party favors,” Ryder responds, pulling a strip of condoms out of his pocket.

  “Probably,” I agree, ripping one off and opening it. He groans when I roll it on, his dick hardening in my hand. I stroke him a couple more times, and then lower myself down on his substantial length. He feels even bigger from this angle.

  Maybe it’s because those green eyes are assessing me as I slip down, inch by inch. I meet his gaze, biting my bottom lip when he’s fully seated inside me.

  Heat flares in his gaze as I slowly rotate my hips.

  I lean forward. My long hair falls around us, curtaining off the rest of the world. “Does that feel good?” I whisper, as I ghost my lips across his.

  “It would feel better if you moved.”

  I laugh softly. “Oh, yeah?”

  His hands slide down my sides and settle back on my waist. “Yeah,” he breathes back.

  I start to move, and his hands trail back up, leaving goosebumps in their wake. One deft motion, and my bra droops forward. Ryder doesn’t bother fully removing it, he just slips his hands around to the front of my chest. I moan when he starts playing with my breasts, starting to move my hips again. The delicious friction of his dick sliding in and out of me sends tingles racing along my nerve endings.

  Ryder groans, and I kiss him. Really kiss him. Despite my body’s response to it, the kiss in the hallway was hardly more than a peck. This is tongue and urgency and need. Our mouths are just as greedy as the rest of our bodies.

  He rolls us so he’s hovering over me, changing the angle inside of me again. He rams into me over and over again, obviously sick of my slower pace, and I never want it to end.

  I ease my hands under his shirt and up his back.

  We freeze simultaneously.

  Me, because rather than the smooth skin I was expecting to encounter, my right palm is brushing against a raised ridge that feels an awful lot like a scar.

  Ryder, because I’m certain this is the reason he kept most of his clothes on.

  “Ry—” I start, feeling a little sick as I run through some scenarios for how he might have gotten such a deep, ugly cut. I’ve spent a lot of time imagining the psychological damage prison might have inflicted on him. I never considered he might bear physical evidence of it as well.

  “Don’t.” His voice cuts through the tender moment we were enjoying like the crack of a whip: brisk and sharp.

  “I just—” Questions he refuses to answer start swirling in my head. Why, Ryder? Why did you do it? Why did you let this happen?

  “Elle. Stop talking or I’ll leave.” I know he will, and that's the only reason I quite literally bite my tongue. I let my hands fall to the bed, and he starts moving again. The pressure previously building dissipated, but a few more strokes is all it takes for it to return.

  I stare up at him, knowing pity and pain and curiosity are all evident on my face.

  Ryder swears and looks away, pumping into me faster and faster. Sweat builds between our bodies as we fall apart together. As soon as his dick stops jerking, Ryder pulls out of me. I’m half-expecting him to leap up and be out the door, but he rolls over onto the bed beside me, breathing heavily.

  “It feels the same,” I say.

  “What?” he asks, rather than chiding me for breaking his no-talking rule.

  “Sex with you. It feels the same as it did in high school.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “You didn’t, Ryder.” The words are innocuous enough, but my voice is teeming with naked honesty. I know what it’ll prompt before it happens. Ryder rises off the bed, zips up his pants, and strides across the room.

  He’s out the door in seconds.

  Leaving me.

  Again.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Thank you so much for everything, Elle.” Eliza throws her arms around me and squeezes. I return the hug. “For being here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “You’re my best friend. Of course I’m here.”

  “I know.” She pulls back, and chews on her bottom lip nervously. “It’s just—with Ryder…” I feel my face shutter to expressionless as soon as she says his name. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

  “I’m fine.” I wave her words away like they’re unnecessary. Like the various wedding events that have forced me to spend time around Ryder haven’t shredded my heart into bleeding strips of muscle.

  I must be a better actress than I thought, because Eliza seems convinced I really am fine. Maybe I should write a self-help book. How to Appear Like You’re Really Over the Ex You Share a Luggage Cart’s Worth of Baggage With at a Wedding. It would be a better use of my law degree than dodging phone calls from potential employers asking whether I’m accepting their job offer or not.

  Eliza heads off to talk to more of her guests, and I go back to picking at my dinner as I listen to Paige and Jessica gush over how beautiful the wedding was. It was gorgeous. Last night’s rain cleared into a sunny, dry day that served as the perfect backdrop for the rows of vines Tommy and Eliza got married in front of. The lines of grapes are mostly hidden now, barely illuminated by the strands of lights dripping down the sides of the outdoor pavilion where the reception is taking place.

  “Is the chicken bad?” Paige asks me.

  “What? No, it’s good,” I reply, belatedly realizing her conversation with Jessica ended and I've just been sitting here staring off into space.

  “You’ve barely eaten it. I won't tell Eliza.”

  I laugh. “Seriously, it’s good. I’m just not really hungry. I drank too much last night, and I’ve been feeling nauseous all day.”

  “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in eight months, and I’ve felt nauseous all day,” Jessica says.

  “I’m pretty sure you’ve put me off having children for another five years,” I tell her, and she laughs.

  “People say you forget this part.”

  “Yeah, well—” Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me” starts to play, and I freeze. My stupid seventeen-year-old self never imagined a world where I might hear those opening chords with Ryder J
ames in the same room, and not be able to kiss him. My twenty-four-year-old self is stuck with the consequences.

  “Eleanor? Eleanor!” I finally focus on Jessica again.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I take a bite of chicken and wash it down with more wine.

  Mike ambles over to us. “Anyone want to dance? The grandmas keep grabbing me.”

  We all laugh. “Sure,” I surprise myself by saying. I catch Paige nodding approvingly. I wonder if she’d feel the same way if she knew I’m only doing it to hold it together for the duration of this song.

  “You good, Clarke?” Mike asks as we start to sway.

  I chuckle and am well aware it sounds off-balance. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You're single now?”

  “Uh, yes.” I’ve only told Paige, Jessica, and Eliza—and Ryder—about me and William, but I’m not really surprised the news has already circulated around.

  “You know, I was thinking we should—”

  I look at him for the first time, and he bursts out laughing. “I’m just kidding. I make some dumb choices. I’m not suicidal enough to step on the minefield that’s you and James.”

  “There’s nothing between me and Ryder,” I reply emphatically.

  “Save that line for him.”

  I scoff. “That is his line.”

  “And he’s probably the last person you should listen to when it comes to his feelings for you.”

  “He’s also the only person who actually knows how he feels.”

  Mike shrugs. “So keep pushing him.”

  “That has not gone well in the past,” I inform him.

  “But it’s awfully entertaining for the rest of us.” Mike grins. “Just ask him to dance, the way I just asked you. Come on.” Without even waiting for the song to end, he pulls me off the dance floor and over to the table where Ryder is sitting with a bunch of other guys from Fernwood.

  I’m insanely tempted to chicken out as we near him, but Mike is literally propelling me forward. Not very much I can do about it. We reach the table, and Ryder glances up. First at Mike, then at me. He’s totally expressionless; I can’t read a single thing. I summon every ounce of confidence I can muster and paste a smile on my face. “Want to dance?”