Chapter Eleven
Present - Ryder
IT’S BEEN A week since I’ve seen Evie. Why does it feel like another ten years? Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone, staring at her contact for the thousandth time, another internal battle waging on. It feels wrong to leave things as we did, but it’s for the best.
I should remain silent and let her move on, find a nice golden retriever of a man and get that white picket fence she deserves. But a long-forgotten version of me rages at how I treated her, demanding that I find her, drop to my knees and declare that she’s meant to be mine.
A glass hits the bar before tipping its contents all over my chucks.
“What the fuck !?”
Terra makes no move to clean up the spill she just caused, and watches the alcohol seep into my shoe. “Oops. My bad.” Not an ounce of remorse reaches her face as she moves on to the next guy tapping the bar.
Terra’s still pissed about me dodging my shift last weekend, and she’s making sure that I feel every ounce of it. Rolling my shoulders, I let it slide off me as I drag a rag across the drink station. There’s little to be done for my shoe, it’ll be squishing and reeking all night.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but as I reach for it, Preston and his group of goons make their way into the bar. They’re regulars, been coming to this bar for almost as long as I’ve worked here. Terra bats her eyes and gives them a flirty little wave, as if they’re the best part of her night. They’re always the worst part of mine.
The group makes their way to her side of the bar, like they own the fucking place, high on whatever they left with last time. Terra mixes their drinks over small talk before sliding the finished beverages across the bar with a wink. “Be good, boys.”
Preston gives her a pearly smile, slathered in pride, before taking a sip of his drink. “Just how I like it.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, as if he’s relishing in the taste of Terra herself, not whatever she threw together from the top shelf.
I could gag at the sight of it. Of them. Of this.
“Hey, Ryder.” Preston turns his attention to me. “Still living the dream, I see?”
Irritation rolls down my spine, but I distract myself by remembering how it felt to put my fist through his face once, leaving a crook in his nose that even his fancy doctors can’t fix. I’ve been perfecting the recollection of it for years now. The satisfaction that memory brings is what gets me through Preston’s nightly jabs, where he pushes verbal pins into me like I’m his personal cushion.
“Hey, Preston. Still crumbling under the suffocating pressure of living off daddy’s money?” I look at him blankly. “Can’t even imagine how hard that must be for you.”
Pink Polo #2 steps forward like he’ll do something, but Preston puts a hand out. “Fighting the trash isn’t worth it.”
I smirk, rubbing my still-perfect nose. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“That good time is waiting for you, boys.” Terra shoves me toward the button. “Lola is working tonight. Your favorite.”
Preston sneers at me before taking another sip of his drink. They make their way to the back wall, grinding up against every woman in their path, as if they couldn’t easily avoid making contact by sticking closer to the bar. I reach under the bar and slam my fist against the button, opening the hidden door to the lounge.
“Why would you piss them off?” Terra shakes her head. “You know who Stefan would choose.”
“I need some air.” With that, I push out the side door, letting it slam behind me. The night is a particularly warm one, humidity and mosquitoes in full swing, even in the alley. Leaning against the bricks, I take a deep breath before pulling out a cigarette. I don’t smoke much, but there’s some nights where the high is the only thing that carries me through.
With an exhale, I focus on letting the pent-up rage flow out too, Preston’s sense of entitlement knowing no bounds. You can take one look at someone and tell they’ve never gotten their ass kicked. It’s how they carry themselves, never fearing the consequences.
I’d decided to rectify that little situation for him, hence the crooked nose, and it was a miracle I wasn’t fired or killed. Preston was a nobody then, just another barely of age fuckboy who refused to take no for an answer. A girl turned him down, so what does he do? He spikes her drink.
Preston had winked at me like I was an old friend who’d keep his secret for a twenty-dollar bill. He never expected me to go right over the bar and through his friends, none of them having the balls to intervene on his behalf. Stefan’s right-hand man had to pull me off of him. I wouldn’t have stopped until my fist made it through the other side of his head.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The nicotine calms me through the smoke that fills my lungs, at least until I remember my phone. It’d vibrated just before the shit show arrived. The screen lights up and my stomach sinks with guilt just before it soars.
Evie: I accept your apology.
A masochistic idiot with a penchant for torturing myself. That’s what I am.
Ryder: I haven’t apologized…
Evie: We both know you were going to. At some point.
She’s giving me another chance, one I don’t deserve, and one I definitely shouldn’t take.
Ryder: I am sorry.
Evie: Like I said, I accept.
Evie: Plus, I already know how you’re going to make it up to me.
Ryder: Do you?
A few minutes go by, and she doesn’t respond.
Flicking my cigarette into a dumpster, I have no choice but to head back in, suffering through the rest of the shift as the minutes crawl by. Palm after palm lands on the bar, so I make drink after drink until it’s finally last call.
There’s a message waiting for me as I make my way to my bike parked outside.
Evie: Wear your usual. I’ll handle the rest.
Ryder: My usual?
Evie: You know the one. All black. Hasn’t been cool since 2009.
I snort.
Ryder: I’m not emo.
Evie: Could have fooled me.
Evie: Meet me outside Oxford tomorrow. 11 PM.
Ryder: Tomorrow is Monday…
Evie: And?
Evie: Don’t be late.
Me: Ok.
Evie: Seriously, though, don’t be late.
Ryder: OK.
Ryder: But what the hell are we doing at 11 on a Monday?
Evie: You’ll see.
Sometimes in life you’re faced with what you should do and what you want to do. Oftentimes, they aren’t the same thing. As I race through the streets, the wind carries questions on its back, pushing and pulling against me.
What if fate is finally trying to do me a favor?
Dare I risk continuing to piss in its face?
· · ·
“Hey.”
“Hey.” My chest aches, knowing I’m the one who founded the uncertainty between us. When I walked away from her last week, I never planned to face the fallout. Assessing the damage, I struggle to find the right words, voice cracking with sincerity. “I’m sorry, Eves.”
She considers me, weighing my apology and stripping me down before glancing at her watch. “You cut it awfully close.”
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t late.”
Evie smirks, taking in the black, long-sleeve crew neck I paired with my black jeans. There’s an appreciative gleam in her eyes at the way they fit me.
Just like that, the ice cracks, leaving me more concerned about what’s waiting for us inside Oxford. On any normal night, I’d say they’re our biggest competitor as far as trendy bars go, but as we approach the bouncer at exactly 10:59 pm on a Monday, the screaming tells me it’s nothing usual.
Evie holds out her phone, presumably showing the bouncer whatever he needs to see to let us in. “You’re good, guys, enjoy.”
We take a few more steps inside— toward the screaming—before Evie pulls me to a stop, handing me a soft, knitted scarf that’s as red as her lips tonight. “Put this around your neck and we’ll be considered even.”
“A scarf?”
“Never listened to ‘All Too Well’, I take it?”
I shake my head.
“Your loss.” Evie shrugs. “But don’t worry, by the end of the night you’ll be fully educated.”
“In what?”
“ All of the Eras.”
“Fuck’s sake, Evie, are we at a Taylor Swift thing?”
The answering smile on her face is the only thing that has me putting one foot in front of the other, before pushing through a wall of sparkling streamers and emerging on the other side, speechless. The screen behind the DJ booth is divided into a kaleidoscope of revolving photos, from when Taylor Swift was a little girl with a dream, to more recent pictures that were taken with crowds that were hundreds of thousands strong.
A giant clock sits in the middle, counting down.
This is so much worse than I thought and yet, I deserve less.
“Let’s go get some drinks before they start the first song.” Evie leads the way toward the small bar at the back, requesting a gin and tonic just as I’d guessed she would, the big girl version of Sprite. It’s whiskey on the rocks for me.
My eyes catch on a brunette laughing from down the bar, wearing a shirt that reads, “ Where’s the scarf, Jake !?” She bumps her friend, pointing at me, and they laugh some more.
Suddenly, the scarf wrapped around my neck starts to feel more like a noose. “Why are they looking at me like I’m a form of entertainment?”
Evie giggles, a little too pleased with herself. “I chose Red —Taylor’s Version—obviously.”
“ Obviously .” My sarcasm gets me an elbow to the ribcage. “What exactly is my role here?”
“You’re the Swifties’ public enemy number one.”
“Lucky me.” The bartender slides our drinks over and I pass him two twenties.
“Nobody else brought a Jake with them, so we’ve already succeeded.” Evie pulls on her trench coat, straightening and adjusting. “I’ve won this whole damn thing.”
“What’s the prize?” It better be fucking good.
“Sweet satisfaction, which I now have.”
Of course. There’s not even a real competition. It’s just Evie being Evie, the very best at everything, or considering herself a failure. I can’t help the side of my lips that pulls away from the other, stretching farther than I’m used to. Evie beams at me, like I’ve offered her the only reward she truly cares about.
With our drinks in hand, we make our way toward the front, sticking to the wall that connects to the bar. We pass a photo booth, where a girl in gold holds a Scooter graphic with a big red X through it, taped to a stick. Her friend is in a shimmering midnight blue, holding an envelope and finger over her lips. Everyone around them is looking on, as if it’s a stroke of genius, waiting for their turn.
“These people speak a different language.”
Evie laughs, the only confirmation I need that all has been forgiven.
“So, what’s with your trench coat and the weird hat?”
“It’s from the Red era. Everybody here chose one of the albums as their outfit inspiration.” Evie points to a girl wearing a short, frilly purple dress. “She chose Speak Now .”
I point to a girl dressed in all black, with a snake bracelet that climbs all the way up her arm. “Why didn’t you pick that one?”
Evie rolls her eyes. “Of course, Reputation would be your favorite.”
“Why’d you pick Red ?”
“It represents the entire spectrum of emotions, being afraid of not fitting in and never being cool enough. Achieving success, just to wonder if it’s really what you wanted. The beauty that comes with diving straight into danger rather than shying away from the thrill.” Evie’s eyes flick up to mine. “And most of all…it reminds me of being young. And in love.”
Her words strike a chord in me, stirring something I’ve spent years putting to rest.
There’s no saving myself now.
The clock starts ticking louder and the crowd starts chanting a countdown.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Pink smoke shoots out from behind the stage, and screams erupt as the first song comes on. The energy in the rooms spikes, as if for one night every single person can set aside the depression and fears that stalk us all.
Lyrics appear on the screen, and I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t a captivating experience. Every line intrigues me, my eyes glued to the screen as I wait to find out what the next combination of words will be. Song after song, my gaze alternates from the screen to the head of dirty blonde hair, body swaying back and forth to the melody.
And then I’m making my way through the crowd again, bringing us another round of drinks. When I return, Evie is screaming along to a song, tears running down her face, letting out an embarrassed laugh as she accepts the drink. “Something about ‘Long Live’ gets me every time.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
She doesn’t. I’ve always imagined there to be invisible layers that form this world. There’s the plane of trauma, and the one that’s made up of the things we can touch. There’s the layer that is made up of our souls, as tattered as they may be.
And then there’s music, a source of healing that winds through every single one, preventing the echelons of the universe from combusting into a fiery hell. A feeling starts up from within my chest, a buzzing of sorts, as if there’s music weaving through my own soul.
Another song comes on.
“Gorgeous.”
Unable to help myself, I look over to Evie, whose face is plastered with the biggest smile I’ve seen since we were kids. She steals a glance in my direction, just to find me already staring. Even with the outfit she put together for tonight, I find myself admiring how gorgeous she looks and how fitting the song is.
The dark-red beret brings out the color in her face, complementing her lips that are tinted maroon, as her hair falls into soft, natural-looking curls. The black dress she wears under the light brown trench coat does wonders for the legs covered by black stockings. A blush creeps over Evie’s cheeks as she tucks her hair behind her ear and she blinks up at me from beneath her lashes.
And that’s how the rest of our night goes. Evie stealing glances while I’m held captive by her, the music giving us a night of our own, free from the world that threatens to crush us with its hate. Eventually we come to the close of the last song, and I find myself wishing it wasn’t over, silently begging them to play another song.
“Thank you for coming with me, Ryder. I know this isn’t really your scene.”
“What do you mean? I come to these things all the time.” I shrug, earning an eye roll. “I owed you.”
“You did.” Evie hits my shoulder playfully. “I bet you would have enjoyed yourself if I got you a little more drunk.”
“I would enjoy playing in elephant shit if I was drunk enough.”
Evie laughs, looking at me the way she used to, when I’d bring her roses I’d pick from Cyrus’ forbidden garden. For a moment, I struggle to remember why I’ve bothered resisting against this force that’s between us.
“But seriously, Eves,” I motion to everything around us, the crowd now pushing past us toward the exit. “Consider me converted.”
Evie takes in the red scarf around my neck, face morphing from something smug to something warmer, heavier, as her eyes drift over the rest of me. The space between us turns electric, crackling with a sudden charge.
Someone in the moving crowd bumps into Evie, knocking her off balance and right into me. I catch her around the waist, making sure she’s steady, before I allow myself to marvel at the way she’s pressed up against me, the contact sending a shock wave throughout my body.
My heart pounds, as if someone has taken a defibrillator to my chest, and it’s now furiously determined to bring the rest of me back to life. Evie doesn’t pull away, but grips the hemline of my shirt, as if it could somehow ground her.
“I had a plan,” Evie whispers, voice equally heated as it is defeated. “And I can’t tell if finding you again is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me…or the nail in my coffin.”
It’s what I’ve known from the very start. Being together like this, away from the lives we’ve carved out for ourselves is easier than breathing, but our reality is that I don’t fit into the life she’s built.
And I never will.
Despite whatever signals the universe may be sending me, I should not try to change that, even if she’d gladly bury it all for me. Slowly and gently, I run the back of my hand over her cheek, wishing I’d somehow found her sooner. Evie leans into my touch, golden fire burning brightly in her eyes, hot enough to melt the pretense away.
And it’s then that I realize that should not and will not are two different things.