Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “I can’t. I promised Tommy I’d help him out with something.”

  Bullshit. But I don’t say it. The sympathetic stares are bad enough.

  To Ryder’s credit, he follows through on the lie, heading over to Tommy’s side.

  I head for the bar. Mike follows me. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

  “Not your fault.” I sigh. I mean it. I know Ryder’s rebuff just now was his way of telling me last night didn’t change anything between us. Well, message fucking received.

  “I really thought he’d—”

  “It’s fine, Mike.” He catches the I-really-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it in my tone.

  “Promise I’ll never take up motivational speaking,” he tells me.

  I laugh. “Good.” Then I glance over at the dance floor, and any humor is immediately sapped from my body. Because Ryder is now dancing with a beautiful blonde. I turn back to the bar and take a healthy swig of my freshly made drink. Mike doesn’t say anything, but I know he saw him too.

  How many times can the same person break your heart? Because Ryder is definitely striving for a world record. Or maybe I am.

  I hate that I keep handing my heart to him. Again and again and again.

  I hate that he keeps breaking it.

  I hate that half the time he doesn’t mean to.

  Most of all, I hate that I still love him a lot more than I hate him.

  We disembark from the air-conditioned bus into the humid night. Paige yawns and drapes her arm around my shoulders.

  “I want ice cream,” she informs me.

  I roll my eyes. Three minutes ago, it was a cheeseburger.

  “Oh, look! There everyone is.”

  Paige takes off to the right, and I have no choice but to follow her down the path that leads to the beach. Sure enough, the entire wedding party is on the beach. Paige tosses her heels into the sand.

  “Seriously, Eliza? You ditched us at your own reception?”

  Eliza grins. “You two were busy. We were headed back to the hotel. Then, we just got sidetracked.”

  “Uh-huh.” Paige plops down in the sand, and I internally groan.

  “I thought you wanted to head back to the hotel?” I ask pointedly.

  “That’s before I knew everyone is hanging out here. Come on, you don’t have to head to work early in the morning, for once.”

  “You know what? You’re right,” I decide. “Why don’t we go get more drinks?”

  “I’m not sure if that’s…”

  “I’ll be right back!”

  I turn and come face to face with Ryder.

  “Oh. Hey.” The greeting every girl hopes for.

  “Hi.” I inject a lot into the single syllable.

  “You good?”

  “Do I not seem good?” I retort.

  “No, you seem mad. Are you drunk?”

  “I can only be mad if I’m drunk?”

  “No, it just seems to be when you’re more… expressive.”

  I let out a hollow laugh. “I can’t believe the word expressive is even in your vocabulary.”

  Right on cue, his jaw starts ticking.

  “Hey, I’ll go up to the bar with you,” Paige offers, rising from the sand. She’s clearly trying to diffuse the tension emanating off me.

  But I’m sick of simmering in jealousy and anger and unrequited love. Emotions currently swimming around with a healthy helping of alcohol courtesy of the open bar. And the dam that’s held ever since the morning Lily Sampson called is history. It’s leaked since that day, some more than others, but it bursts now.

  “And you know what else? Fuck you, Ryder Jordan James.”

  Maybe the self-help book wouldn’t be a good idea, after all. Bye-bye holding it together. The words keep coming, spilling out of me in a flood. Unchecked and unfiltered.

  “Fuck. You,” I spit the words like arrows. “In case you’re still not clear, I’m in love with you. Still. Again. But I can’t keep doing this, Ryder. You can’t avoid me and then tell me you thought about how you’d propose. You can’t sleep with me and then ignore me. I know part of it’s on me. I haven’t handled shit well. But some of it’s on you, too. Most of it, actually.”

  I step forward and shove his chest, the pain building to the point I need to expel it physically.

  “Because you haven’t done anything. You haven’t explained anything. You give me scraps, and I’m so in love with you I take them. I spend hours and hours looking through police reports trying to make Liam pay. I started a charity so your mom didn’t have to sleep with sleazy men to pay for her drugs. I got Christopher a scholarship so he could go to the best college on the East Coast for free. I broke up with an amazing guy because I couldn’t marry him while I still feel this way about you. And what have you done? Absolutely nothing. I have no idea how you feel about me, Ryder!”

  I’m crying now, and I don’t even care.

  “I don’t know if anything I’ve done matters to you. If I matter to you. I try to figure it out, and you shut me down. Or walk away. And I’d wait and be patient, except for the fact you stole seven years from us, and you won’t even tell me why!”

  Silence.

  Complete, total, impenetrable silence.

  From Ryder.

  From all of our friends who just watched my emotional meltdown.

  Even the ocean seems to quiet to emphasize the lack of other sound.

  I stare at Ryder. He looks back at me, as impassive and hard to read as ever. Nothing. He’s still giving me absolutely nothing.

  Water keeps tricking down my cheeks, and I let it.

  I let him see how much I meant it.

  All of it.

  “I can’t—I can’t keep doing this, Ryder,” I whisper. “Either you do, or you don’t.”

  I spin and start walking away, not wanting to register anyone else’s reaction to my emotional upheaval.

  Leaving Ryder standing stone-faced.

  Hoping he knows the lack of expression is responsible for a fresh fissure in the organ that’s a real glutton for punishment where he’s concerned.

  I pull it together to walk through the lobby, and then collapse on my bed as soon as I’m back in my room. There’s a knock on the door a couple minutes later. I haul myself up and peek through the peephole. I swipe at my cheeks a few times before I open the door, well aware I look like a complete mess.

  Tommy studies me for a minute.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt. “That was totally inappropriate. It’s your wedding. I never should have—”

  “Are you okay?” Tommy cuts me off.

  “Yup. Peachy.” I try and fail to smile.

  Tommy mutters something that sounds a lot like I told him so. “Look. Ryder’s like a brother to me. I’ll always have his back. But everything you said to him earlier? He needed to hear that. Pretty sure you being engaged was exactly what he was hoping for.” He catches the flash of pain on my face. “Not because he doesn’t care, Elle. I mean, if you knew—The point is, you moving on meant he didn’t have any choices. Now he has some. Give him a chance to make the right ones.”

  “I’ve given him nothing but chances, Tommy.”

  “That’s what we do for the people we love, right?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I pick up my legal pad and start out of the conference room, tapping a pen against the paper in time with each step.

  “Hi, Eleanor.” Josh Andrews, one of the junior partners, falls into step beside me. “How have you been?”

  “Good, Josh. How about you?”

  “Not bad, not bad.”

  “Great.”

  There’s a pause. We’ve never done more than exchange pleasantries before. This is uncharted territory.

  “I was sorry to hear about you and William.”

  “Thanks. Good to know we surpassed associate-level gossip.”

  Josh smiles. “Yeah… nothing to worry about there.”

  “That’s what I figured.” It’s not that big of a firm, and
both our fathers work here. People were bound to talk about mine and William’s break-up. “Probably why you’re not supposed to date co-workers.” I let out a small, wry laugh.

  “So, you’d say you’re opposed to dating co-workers now?” Josh asks. I’m hoping I’m imagining the flirtatious tone in his voice, but when I glance over, he’s sporting a sly smirk.

  “Yeah. I’d say I’m pretty opposed,” I reply, giving him an apologetic smile.

  “Maybe you haven’t met the right co-worker yet.” His answering smile is confident.

  I’ve learned my lesson about not being up-front with people. “I don’t think that’s it.” My tone is polite, but firm.

  We round the corner that leads to the summer associate cubicles, and I stall in place. Josh gives me a questioning look. He hasn’t noticed the figure leaning against the fourth one down. Against my cubicle.

  “Nice talking to you, Josh,” I say robotically. My eyes are locked on the tall frame looking down at the papers on my desk. I don’t wait to see if Josh replies. I walk forward hesitantly, right past William’s accusing eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as soon as I reach him.

  Ryder straightens and turns. He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies me. I’m well aware I don’t look great. It’s been five days since Eliza and Tommy’s wedding. Since I woke up early, heaped apologies on both of them, and then left the hotel two hours before the post-wedding brunch was set to start to avoid seeing anyone else. I’ve spent most of the past few days here, returning home only to sleep. Or rather, to toss and turn and replay the words I screamed at him in an endless loop in my head. I don't regret what I said. I do wish it had gone down in private. I’ve gotten an endless stream of texts from my friends checking in on me ever since. I also wish Ryder had said a single thing in response.

  “Here.” Ryder holds the stack of manilla folders he’s holding out for me. I accept them hesitantly. They’re worn. Faded. Scribbled on. Torn.

  “What is this?” None of them are clearly labeled.

  “My case file. All of it they’d give to me, at least.”

  I stare at him. “What? Why?”

  He shrugs. “You were right. You deserve to know. But—” His expression hardens. “It’s not going to change anything, okay?”

  “I don’t want to read a police report.” I hold the papers back out to him.

  A muscle works in his jaw as he takes them. “Have you or have you not been badgering me about telling you what happened that night for the past three months?”

  “Yeah. You telling me what happened. Not a stack of folders.” I’m done treating Ryder like a traumatized animal. I’m no longer desperate for any bit of affection or acknowledgement from him. If he refuses it will just make it easier to finally move on. I hope.

  He seems to realize the same, and his jawline moves furiously. “Fine.”

  My heart leaps, but I take a page out of his book and keep my expression inscrutable. “Fine.”

  “Not here.”

  He wants to be able to bolt if this goes badly. I consider arguing, but don’t. This is a conversation best had in a neutral space.

  “Okay. Just let me grab my stuff.” I dump the legal pads I’m holding on my desk and retrieve my purse from the floor, double-checking my phone is inside. “Ready.”

  Ryder’s already in motion, heading in the direction of the elevators. I roll my eyes and follow. He’s got the button pushed by the time I reach him.

  “How did you get up here?” I ask. “They’re supposed to call up with any visitors.”

  Ryder holds up the stack of folders. “Said I was a messenger from Lane, Street, and Avenue and had an urgent delivery for you.”

  I wasn’t planning to smile, but it slips out anyway. “Lane, Street, and Avenue? What’s your address?”

  “We’re centrally located on I Didn’t Think He’d Ask That Drive.”

  I roll my eyes as the elevator dings and we step inside. “Lobby, please,” I tell the attendant.

  The descent down to the lobby is silent. The only sound is the wild beat of my heart. It whooshes in my ears. Answers. I’m about to get answers. We walk through the lobby side by side. My heels click on the marble. Then, we’re outside. On the busy, hot street. There’s a hot dog cart parked just outside the building’s entrance, and the scent of cooked meat permeates the air. Ryder sets off for the raised bed of flowers that lines the entrance to the building, and I trail after him. He stops once he reaches the cement edge, and I stall to a halt as well. Sweat drips down my spine, both in response to the heat and what is about to happen.

  “What do you remember? About that night?” Ryder asks without preamble. When not ardently attempting to avoid a subject, he’s pretty direct.

  I glance at him and then back to the sidewalk. “Not… much. I was annoyed with you, from the argument we had about you playing football. For not telling me you’d decided to play. I drank more than I normally did. We flirted. Danced.”

  A small, involuntary smile twists my lips upward. Even after all the horrible things that followed, those moments still matter to me.

  “I told you to meet me upstairs,” I whisper, remembering this recollection doesn’t have a happy ending. “I ran into Paige and then Danielle. Got delayed. Someone yelled the cops were here. Things got chaotic, and then that’s all there was. Chaos.”

  “I went upstairs to wait for you,” Ryder tells me. He clears his throat, and I tense, reacting to what I know is coming. “I opened the door to one of the bedrooms, and Liam was on top of her. I—” He clears his throat again. “Do you remember what you were wearing that night?”

  A sickly, heavy realization slithers its way into my stomach. “You thought it was me,” I whisper.

  Ryder nods. “There was just one lamp on. I couldn’t really see her. I just saw that dress and I—I lost it. I got in a couple good punches before I even realized it was Liam. One of the football guys—Steve—heard the commotion and came in. Kennedy wasn’t even conscious. It was pretty obvious what had happened to her. Other people started coming in, trying to wake her up. The cops showed up, and it was chaos for a bit. Someone told them Steve, Liam, and I were the ones in the room with her. We got taken to the station. I was there for hours until a couple of detectives came in. Started asking me all these questions about Kennedy: how I knew her, if we’d ever had sex, stuff like that. That’s when I realized they thought I’d done it. They told me both Steve and Liam said they’d seen me assaulting her. They also had all these files on me, shit from Florida. They told me no one would believe I hadn’t done it, and I believed them.”

  “I would have believed you.”

  “I know. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Would have only dragged you into it.”

  “There was a rape kit, Ryder!”

  “Because physical evidence always gets tested? You’re a lawyer, Elle, come on.”

  “You didn’t even want to try?”

  “I’d done plenty of illegal shit, Elle. It probably would have caught up with me one way or the other.”

  “If they’d had any evidence of that they would have charged you with that, too.”

  “Maybe,” Ryder admits. “I didn’t know if they did or didn’t. Wasn't exactly in a position to be making demands.”

  “So you just gave up.”

  “I could have rolled the dice and gotten forty, or take the ten.”

  “But you didn’t do it!” I explode.

  “I spent my whole life being told I’d probably end up in prison, Elle. The truth doesn’t always matter in a courtroom. It was my decision, and I can’t change it.”

  “You decided wrong.”

  “It’s my life.”

  “But it affected mine. A lot, Ryder. Then. Now.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that the other night.” And… apparently that’s the only response screaming at him on the sand is going to get me. Glad I didn’t opt for a subtler approach.

  “That’s all yo
u’re going to say?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  I huff out a sigh that’s almost a sob. He meant it when he said it wouldn’t change anything. I told him I couldn’t move on until I knew the truth, and now that I do, I know he was right at all along.

  How it happened doesn’t really matter. It happened and neither of us can change it.

  I thought he needed to tell me in order for me to move on.

  He already has.

  “Nothing,” I answer. The solitary word hovers between us. “I don’t need you to say anything at all.”

  I turn to start walking away, but Ryder surprises me by grabbing my arm. “Elle…”

  I whirl back around. “Do you blame me? For being the reason you were at that party? For asking you to meet me upstairs? For being the reason Liam had it out for you? For not visiting you in jail?”

  Ryder’s head snaps back. “What? No. Of course not.”

  “Then why have you been pushing me away every chance you get?”

  “You were engaged.”

  “I’m not anymore.”

  “Our lives are too different. Especially now.”

  “What about what I told you at the beach?”

  This time I get a reaction. Ryder pulls in a shaky breath accompanied by a flash of what looks an awful lot like uncertainty in his green eyes.

  So, I press on. “You broke my heart. Maybe that means you’re the only one who can put it back together again.”

  “Or it means I’m the last person who should.” Pressed too far, clearly.

  “Shouldn’t that be my decision to make?”

  I’m not sure why Ryder stopped me from leaving a minute ago, but I’m fairly certain he’s regretting it right now. I’m bracing myself for another rejection, so I’m surprised when he finally responds. “I don’t know.”

  But it’s not enough. I yank my arm out of his grip. “Well, I’m sick of waiting for you to figure it out.”

  I stride back toward the entrance to the building.

  Wishing I wasn’t so reluctant to leave.