Chapter 22
“We should only show up for halftime,” Juliet grouses as she stuffs her pom-poms into her cheer bag.
“Better yet, we should switch to cheering for another team,” Keira suggests. “Maybe soccer?”
I shake my head, grab my bag, and head for the parking lot. Juliet drove tonight, so I look for her car. The spaces are half empty, just like the stands were. Seven losses into the season, everyone—including the cheer team—has given up hope of things turning around. We could win all the remaining games on the schedule and still not make it to the playoffs. In all the ways that count, the season is over. Rooting for a lost cause is a hard ask.
I haven’t spoken to Archer since we broke up. I haven’t forgiven him for how he acted that night, and he’s made an obvious effort to avoid me. There are most definitely hard feelings, especially since there’s no way he hasn’t seen—or heard about—me and Ryder.
But I have some sympathy for him, knowing he’s getting most of the blame for the football team’s terrible record.
“Wow, you’re in a rush,” Juliet says, skipping until she catches up to me. “Does that mean Ryder will be there tonight?”
“No. He has to work.”
If he didn’t, I’d be skipping this party to hang out with him.
“Tucker too,” Keira says, falling into step next to me. “I thought garages had, like, normal hours?”
I shrug. Far as I can tell, Ryder spends most of his time at the garage. If not for a paycheck, to work on the car he’s fixing up for himself.
“So, neither of you is single?” Juliet’s nose wrinkles on the last word.
She has a tendency to lose interest in guys pretty fast. My guess is, some of her relationships have only lasted as long as they have because Fernwood has very limited options.
I glance at Keira, hoping she’ll answer first.
Ryder and I haven’t had the talk. We’ve had sex a few more times, and we text multiple times a day. But neither of us has brought up the words we exchanged before I left the trailer that rainy afternoon. We’ve never eaten a meal together or done anything that resembles a traditional date. He’s never referred to me as his girlfriend or introduced me to his mom.
Based on the uncertainty on Keira’s face, Tucker hasn’t been any clearer with her.
For all his faults, at least Archer was very clear about his intentions. He asked me to prom in front of the whole school. Called me his girlfriend at dinner before the dance.
Juliet gets distracted, digging through her bag for her keys, saving us from answering. Once she finds them, we drive to my house. Juliet and Keira planned ahead, packing outfits for the party so we only have to make one stop.
My mom is sitting in the living room, flipping through a magazine. Her eyebrows creep up her forehead as we traipse into the entryway. I toss my cheer bag into the hall closet, not wanting to bother carrying it upstairs.
“Elle?”
“Hi, Mom.”
She strolls into the entryway, smiling politely at Keira and Juliet. “Hello, girls.”
“Hi, Mrs. Clarke,” they chorus.
My mom glances at her watch, then at me. “I wasn’t expecting you home this early.”
“We’re just getting changed, then going to Maddie’s.”
“Oh. You didn’t mention it.”
“Mention what?” I ask.
She lifts one eyebrow. “Could I speak to you for a minute, honey?”
“I’ll meet you guys up there,” I say, then pass the stairwell and follow my mom into the kitchen.
“I would have had some refreshments ready had I known you were bringing company over,” she tells me, pausing by the kitchen island and resting a palm on the granite. Her bracelets clink against the stone.
“Like I said, we’re just getting changed quickly. You didn’t need to do anything, Mom.”
She hums, clearly disagreeing.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“Work.”
My dad works late a lot. I don’t think it’s because he’s cheating or because he’s avoiding being home—he just genuinely loves his job. But it makes me sad, imagining my mom sitting alone in this big, empty house next fall.
“How did the game go?” she questions.
“We lost.”
“Did you talk to Archer?”
I clench my jaw. Shake my head.
She backed off some after we first broke up. My mom thinks she knows better than me, but she’s not on a mission to make me miserable. I told her I wasn’t happy with Archer, and she’s accepted that as much as she’s capable of. Meaning she’s waiting for me to grow up and realize he’s actually perfect for me.
“If the team’s doing that poorly, I’m sure he’s having a hard time.”
“Not my problem.”
“That’s not very becoming behavior, Elodie.”
I exhale. “Juliet and Keira are waiting …”
“Fine. Make sure you’re home by midnight. The Historical Society brunch is tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
The Honor Forum requires a certain number of volunteer hours for membership. My mom arranged for me to do mine through one of the organizations she’s on the board of.
“Have fun with your friends.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I turn and head upstairs.
Keira and Juliet have already changed. I pull on a skirt and a cute top, touch up my makeup, and then follow my best friends back downstairs. I grab my keys to drive myself so that I’ll save Juliet a stop on the way home later.
Music is blaring when we meet up again outside of Maddie’s mansion. After three-plus years of these parties, I know exactly what to expect inside.
We head into the kitchen first. I opt for a seltzer since I drove.
Maddie approaches me as I’m pouring the fizzy water into a cup. I hate drinking out of cans.
“Hey, Elle.”
“Hi, Mads,” I reply. “Cute dress.”
“Thanks. It’s new. Figured it’s my last chance before it’s snowing out.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
It hasn’t dipped below fifty yet. I think blizzards are a long ways off.
Maddie leans closer. Her breath smells like sniffing straight tequila. “So, are you, like, dating Ryder James?”
My “Yes” is immediate.
I haven’t forgotten about the study.
Maddie’s not asking because she wants a wingwoman, like Juliet was. She’s asking because she wants Ryder.
“Wow.” Maddie twirls her hair around one finger. “Did not see that one coming. Is he, like, friendly with you? Because he was kind of a dick when I was on his lap.”
“I hate it when strangers sit on my lap too,” I say, then walk off toward the living room.
Was that uncalled for? Probably.
Satisfying? Also yes.
I feel possessive toward Ryder in a way I’ve never experienced with another guy. Claiming him is a thrill, not just because other girls want him. Because I want him. My whole life, most things have come easily. I haven’t had to struggle or fight for much.
I’d fight for Ryder. Fight hard.
Once I’m in the living room, I chat with Kinsley and a few other cheerleaders. Juliet appears and insists we perform the choreography to a pop song we made up a dance to sophomore year. I drain the rest of my seltzer after the exertion, then decide to use the bathroom. Knowing the lines downstairs will be ridiculous, I walk into the hallway.
“Hey. Ryder’s girl.”
I turn. The dark-haired guy from Ryder’s trailer—Phoenix—is leaning against the wall, next to a door I know leads into a closet, his foot propped up against the plaster like he owns the place.
“Hi,” I reply cautiously.
“She speaks.” He grins, that same unpleasant one as before. “Does that mean you are his girl?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. This feels like a test—one I don’t know the correct answer to. This is a very different dynamic than a drunk friend. This is Ryder’s world. Roughness I’ve never had any exposure to.
“Ask him.”
Phoenix is still smiling. “Tried that. James is hard to crack, like Fort Knox. You seem … friendlier.”
“I’m not.”
He raises an eyebrow at my flat tone, then nods and reaches into his pocket. I stiffen as soon as the little packet of white is waved in front of me. “You one of those pretty rich girls who likes to forget how pretty and rich she is?”
Drugs. A little of Ryder’s evasiveness—his vague mention of favors—makes more sense. Phoenix is into drugs—and not weed or nicotine. Hard-core stuff.
“No, I’m not.”
“Suit yourself.” He stuffs the cocaine back into his pocket and straightens. “See you around, Elle.” He heads down the hallway.
I continue upstairs. The bathroom connected to Maddie’s locked bedroom is guaranteed to be empty.
I grab the key from under the vase, unlock the door, then replace the key before walking into Maddie’s bedroom.
Close the door behind me, not noticing the figure sitting on the edge of her mattress until it’s clicked shut.
“Hey.”
Archer doesn’t bother to look up from the cup he’s holding. “Hey.”
“Sorry to … interrupt,” I say. “I was looking for a bathroom. Knew the one in here would be empty.”
“Yeah, it is,” he tells me, nodding toward the door I know leads to the en suite.
Rather than head that way, I walk over and take a seat next to him on the mattress. “Sorry about the game.”
He grunts.
“You … okay?”
“Not really.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not with you.” Archer drains his cup, then tosses it away. The plastic hits the wooden floorboards with a light tap.
I frown at it. “If that changes, I’m here.”
He snorts. “Don’t pretend to give a shit now.”
“I do care, Archer. We were together for months. We’ve known each other our whole lives. Just because we didn’t work out as a couple doesn’t mean that?—”
“Why didn’t we work out as a couple, Elle? Because, as far as I can tell, one day, we were good, and the next, we weren’t.” He reaches down and grabs a can of beer I didn’t notice before, cracking it open and taking a large gulp.
“You don’t want me. Not really. You’re mad about how things ended. But when we were together? You never even noticed when I was around.”
“That’s bullshit. Don’t rewrite history just to make yourself feel better.”
“I-I didn’t think you cared, Archer. Honestly.”
He scoffs, drains the rest of the beer, and tosses that away too. I flinch, the clang of aluminum louder against the wood.
“I fucked Maddie on this bed last weekend, you know. How’s it going with your Two? Has he figured out you won’t give it up yet?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’m honest, Elle. We’re going to end up together. You’ll see.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong?—”
His mouth covers mine, cutting me off. My entire body goes rigid, the press of his lips against mine somehow both familiar and foreign. My brain has no time to catch up to current events before he’s rolling on top of me.
The cushion of the mattress pressing against my back feels strange and unexpected, not soft. Lying down wasn’t part of the plan.
The malty taste of beer fills my mouth as Archer’s tongue takes advantage of my shock. His hands roam down my sides to cup my ass, pulling me into his growing erection before sliding lower to hoist the material of my dress higher.
A hot flash of alarm unfreezes me. I start to struggle, the heavy weight of him above me crushing and claustrophobic.
My nails find the bare flesh of his biceps and dig deep. Archer groans into my mouth, his hips humping greedily. Either he can’t tell I’m an unwilling participant or he doesn’t care. I hope it’s the former, that he’s deluded himself into thinking I still have feelings for him—that I ever had feelings for him—but I can’t tell. He’s drunk and angry. And any pity or guilt I was experiencing a minute ago is long gone.
His fingers are creeping higher and higher up the inside of my bare thigh.
I don’t want this.
Annoyance flares into true fear as I panic about how far he intends to take this. I’ve known Archer Hathaway my entire life. He can be selfish, but I never thought he’d disregard me so entirely and just take what he wanted.
A buzzing sound starts in my ears. My stomach rolls with nausea. I’m still struggling, but it’s hard to move. He’s all I can see and smell and feel. Each second, it seems like he’s growing heavier. And my movements are muffled by shock. A large part of me can’t comprehend that this is truly happening. That searching for a bathroom evolved into this situation.
I fight through the numbing disbelief, a sharp stab of terror fracturing the senselessness. I bite down on his tongue as hard as I can, rewarded and repulsed by the taste of blood filling my mouth. Archer swears, shifting so there’s enough space for me to lift my knee straight into his crotch.
“What the fuck, Elle?” He’s curled on his side, his features twisted with pain.
I don’t stick around to explain it to him. I flee the bedroom as fast as I can, my heartbeat a chaotic pounding in my ears as I rush downstairs. The sudden commotion is overwhelming, the laughing and joking and loud music no longer muted by the floorboards.
Juliet is standing over by the fireplace. She spots me and heads this way. I run a hand through my hair hastily. I have no idea what I look like. I feel disgusted. Violated.
“Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just have to go to the bathroom.”
Juliet’s forehead wrinkles with confusion. “You just left to go to the bathroom.”
“Couldn’t find an empty one,” I lie. “Going to try the basement.”
“Okay. Be quick. Keira wants to do another dance routine.”
I force a nod before turning around. Nothing sounds worse right now. The girl who laughed and shimmied earlier feels like a foreigner. And at some point, Archer is going to come downstairs. Facing him fills me with dread.
I pass the kitchen, turn left, and head out onto the back deck. It’s still warm enough that plenty of people are outside. I smile at everyone who calls out to me, but I don’t stop walking until I’m around the house and on the street.
I climb into my car and start driving. The wind whips through my hair as I speed along, my tight grip on the wheel relaxing some once I’m a few blocks away from Maddie’s house.
There’s no specific destination in my mind, but I’m unsurprised when I see the garage sign ahead.
I reach into the glove compartment and pull out a pack of gum once I’ve parked, popping a piece into my mouth and crushing the silver wrapper in my palm. The taste of mint explodes on my tongue, overpowering the less pleasant flavors lingering. I grab a jacket out of my trunk, then head for the one open door.
Male voices become audible as I walk closer. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed that Tucker is still here.
Both guys glance at me as I reach the doorway. They’re standing, staring at a bunch of metal car parts laid out on a green tarp.
“Hey.” I manage a smile. “How’s progress?”
Tucker grins back. “Great. It’s?—”
“What’s wrong?” Ryder interrupts, frowning.
I shake my head as my smile collapses. Damn, he’s perceptive. “Nothing. I just?—”
He’s in front of me in a few strides, his eyes stormy as they search my face. “Tell me.”
“I’ll, uh, I just remembered I need to do something, with, uh, something.” Tucker hustles toward the opposite end of the garage and away from the tension rolling off Ryder in waves. The intensity is overwhelming.
“Just a weird night. I thought I’d say hi before heading home.”
“Weird how?” Ryder questions.
“Um …” I wet my lips nervously.
Do I tell him? I wasn’t planning to. Wasn’t expecting him to instantly know something was wrong either. I want to forget it happened. I’m not sure if talking about it will help with that or make it harder.
The longer I hesitate, the more pronounced the crease between Ryder’s eyes becomes. “What happened?” he asks softly.
My eyes prickle with the telltale warning of tears.
I’m not emotional because of what happened with Archer. I’m devastated by the tenderness in Ryder’s expression, the concern on his face so blatant. I’m not used to sharing my struggles.
“Promise me you won’t do anything,” I say.
“Do anything about what, Elle?”
“Promise me. Please.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You don’t trust me?”
“Of course I trust you. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t trust you.”
Ryder’s exhale is all frustration. “Can we stop talking in circles? Tell me what?”
“Promise?”
He studies me for a second, more gravity appearing in his expression as he considers why I’m insisting. Finally, he nods. “I promise.”
I play with one of my bracelets, too nervous to meet his gaze. “I was, um, looking for an empty bathroom at the party earlier. I ran into … Archer upstairs. We were talking and he was upset and he started, uh, kissing me. It lasted a few minutes, until I could push him, um, off.”
When I gather enough courage to glance up, Ryder’s expression resembles a thundercloud. “That motherfucker did what?”
“You promised,” I remind him quickly.
Ryder’s nostrils flare with anger. “He assaulted you, Elle. You should tell your parents and the police and?—”
I shake my head wildly. “No! No. I don’t want anyone to know. He was drunk and mad, and I’m fine. Really.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. There is no excuse.”
I nod. “I know. But I just want to forget it happened. He did a bad thing. He’s not a bad person.”
“You’re too forgiving,” Ryder tells me.
“I forgave you,” I say.
His eyes harden. “That’s my point. Someone should protect you from yourself. Actions have fucking consequences.”
I close my eyes briefly. I’m too drained to argue with him about this. “I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to work.”
I turn to leave, but Ryder reaches for my hand. As soon as I feel his warm fingers weave with mine, I pause.
One gentle tug, and I’m pressed against his chest, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and sandalwood soap.
“I love you,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m mad because I love you so fucking much, Lo.”
My arms lift to wrap around his waist. I exhale, a sense of peace washing over me for the first time since I stepped into that bedroom. “I love you too.”
We stand like that, him rubbing soothing circles on my back that make the rest of the tension melt away.
“I saw Phoenix at the party.”
Ryder stiffens slightly. “Yeah?”
“You know he’s a drug dealer?”
“Yeah. How’d you find that out?”
“He offered me some.”
Ryder swears under his breath. “I’ll take care of it. Make sure he stays away from you.”
He says it like it’s that simple. Like he has more power than Phoenix.
“Have you ever done … favors?” I ask.
He pulls back far enough to see my face. “No. No, Elle. I know those guys from … they live right by me. But I’m not involved in any of that shit.”
“Okay.”
“It would be really easy to make sure Hathaway stays away from you too.”
There’s steel in Ryder’s voice. As much confidence as when he said the same thing about Phoenix.
I’m seeing a lot of Ryder’s world tonight. And maybe it should scare me a little. But I trust Ryder, trust him implicitly.
“You promised,” I remind him again.
“Promised if you didn’t want me to do anything. I’m asking if you’re going to change your mind.”
“He’s not worth it,” I say. “He didn’t … you know.”
“It’s not okay because it didn’t go that far, Elle.”
“I know. But it’s not okay for you to do whatever making sure he stays away means either. You’re better than him.”
His jaw flexes a couple of times. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.”
“Promise?”
I smile. “Promise.” I glance at the tarp. “Can I help?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Help?”
“Watch.”
He smiles. “Yeah, you can watch. C’mon. I’ll find you a chair.”
I never thought I’d feel so at home in an auto garage.
But I know it’s not the garage.
It’s Ryder.