Chapter 9 Ryder
Chapter nine
Ryder
I’ve drained half the glass even though the beer in front of me tastes like shit. I’m not much of a connoisseur, especially lately, when quantity not quality has been my primary focus. Still, I don’t remember it tasting bad.
It’s not just the beer either. The sandwich in front of me is basically flavorless, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.
My uncle lost his sense of taste and smell out of nowhere almost a decade ago, and no one has ever been able to explain it.
Dude loved to eat—loved to cook too—and now he gets no pleasure from either.
Could that be a hereditary thing? Am I going to lose my senses on top of losing Chase and my desire to ride?
That’d be fitting. I can’t even say I’d be disappointed. One of the best things about traveling the world for competitions is tasting the great food, so I’ve learned to become fond of different flavors. But why should I get that pleasure when Chase can’t have it?
My uncle seems miserable in his tasteless existence, and I deserve nothing less. But he’s also kind of a dick, so maybe losing his sense of taste is the universe’s way of serving him a big old helping of karma. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me. Or is this some new symptom of grief? Or guilt?
That kid lost his leg from a drunk driver.
Jesus, that could’ve been me. I could’ve ruined someone’s life the way Chase’s crash ruined mine. If that’s not a mindfuck I don’t know what is.
“Everything okay over here? You’re looking a little pale?” Beck rests his elbows on the counter and leans toward me.
“It’s December, Beck. Everyone’s pale.”
“Pasty then. Are you sick? You’ve barely touched your food.
” His eyes are full of the concern I’ve come to loathe, though at least now it doesn’t stem from sympathy so much as worry I’ll spew what I’ve consumed all over the bar.
I still hate the attention, but at least it’s about my ability to keep food down instead of the pity I don’t deserve.
“All good, just tired.”
He studies me for a second—looking for the lie I think—but when I don’t falter he sighs and heads off to serve another customer.
It’s rare for Beck to be silent, and I’m actually feeling a little smug that my stony face put him at a loss for words. If only that worked on everyone. I might reach the end of the day without the crushing headache I usually get.
I take a celebratory sip of beer, enjoying my moment of peace. That reprieve is short-lived when Hayden takes the seat next to me.
I smell him before I see him, and the cedar cherry—no almond—scent I now associate with him has my stomach doing backflips. Not the good kind, where I’m excited for the chance to rile him. The kind where I think I’ll care what he’s getting ready to say, and I don’t know how to handle that.
It’s been months since I cared what people said.
What they thought. Aside from my parents, Mom in particular—whom I’m conscious of trying not to hurt more than she already has been—I haven’t given two shits about anyone or anything.
I know there are whispers behind my back, and I could probably guess what they are if I cared enough to try, but I really fucking don’t.
Hell, I can’t even find the energy to care about what people say to my face.
They’re worried, they’re sorry, they want to help…
blah, blah, blah. In one ear and out the other.
Most of the time. Yet Hayden’s blunt explanation of what happened to Max has been ringing in my ears all day, and deep down I know that’s because I don’t want him to put me in the same category as the guy who hurt Max.
Why his opinion of me matters now, after I’ve spent weeks trying to piss him off, I don’t understand.
Hell, it’s still in my best interest that the guy hates me so he doesn’t try to put me on the mountain.
Yet for some reason my stomach twists at the thought of Hayden believing me capable of hurting someone else through my negligence.
Probably because he’d be right.
The thing is, he probably already thought that about me, but I didn’t think that about me, so I convinced myself Hayden was being a jerk because he is one, not because I gave him reason to be.
And I have a feeling he’s about to call me on that.
I deserve whatever lecture he’s about to give, but I’m afraid to get it now that there’s a tiny crack in the wall I’ve built around myself.
A crack that’s making me feel when that’s the last thing I want.
If that stupid crack is the reason I’m starting to care what Hayden thinks of me, I can’t risk it getting bigger.
Maybe if I’m my usual charming self he’ll get so annoyed he’ll skip the lecture.
“To what do I owe this surprise, Frosty?” I keep my eyes carefully forward as I sip my tasteless beer.
“You didn’t tell me the reason you got a DUI.” Is that a trace of sympathy in his voice? I can’t handle that right now.
“Does it matter?”
“As far as making a bad decision, no it doesn’t matter.
It was reckless and selfish, and there are better ways to deal with your grief.
” I breathe a little easier knowing he’s still pissed at me for that.
I’ll take pissed over sympathy any day. “But maybe making a mistake doesn’t make you a bad guy. ”
Oh hell no.
“Don’t play nice cause you suddenly feel bad for me.
” I’ll be damned if I’ll accept his pity.
Besides, if he starts acting nice it’ll take away what little pleasure I get from riling him up, and I need that.
I can’t explain why, I just know I do, and he’s the only one who can give it to me since he’s the only one that doesn’t hold back around me.
“This isn’t me being nice. It’s practical.”
“How so?” I twist my glass in circles on the bar top.
“A guest really wants to ride with you, and we want to give them a good experience. They’re only here for two weeks.”
“The kid?” It’s hard not to choke on those words. Why would anyone want me close to him when I could’ve been the one to hurt him?
“Max.” Hayden nods his head.
“You tell them why it’s a bad idea?”
“If you’re referring to the fact your presence is court ordered, no. I didn’t tell them that.”
“Shouldn’t you?” I risk a glance in his direction, and while his eyes aren’t exactly friendly, they don’t hold any malice, either.
Most people would find that reassuring, but I find it unsettling.
The only difference between now and this morning is now he knows about Chase, and he’s making concessions because of it.
“That depends on you.”
“How do you figure?”
Hayden takes what looks like a calming breath before speaking. “I’ve got a boss and a client who both want you on the mountain, so unless you give me a reason to ignore their requests, I’m willing to give them what they want.”
Tension floods my shoulders. “Sounds like you’re breaking the rules for me. I thought you didn’t do that?”
Hayden rests his elbow on the bar and props his head on his hand, settling his steady gaze on me. “I don’t. And I’m not breaking the rules, I’m giving you a chance to follow them.”
“So, you trust me now?” I meet his stare, hoping it makes him back down.
“Let’s not get carried away, but I’m willing to give you a second chance as long as you’re willing to avoid making the same mistake.” His eyes drift to the glass in front of me, and my body relaxes a bit now that I know he’s not backing down.
Now we’re on familiar ground.
Yet for some reason, I don’t let him have the last word. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
“You’re not really convincing me of that, right now.”
My hand closes around the glass as I lean forward, tipping the contents into the sink behind the bar as I arch a brow in his direction. “You were saying?”
His eyes hold mine, expressionless, though I spot the corner of his mouth lift in my peripheral.
It's almost like he wants to smile but is too proud, or stubborn, to do it. Either way, it's fucking adorable, and I almost smirk in return. Almost. Then I remember that I don’t even like guys. Plus, enemies—or whatever we are—feels safer than friends, and since I’m starting to care about what he thinks, I need to do everything I can to keep us at each other’s throats.
“You expect me to believe you won’t get another drink the second I leave?” That-a-boy, keep fighting me.
“You want to sit here and babysit to make sure I don’t?”
He mimics my arched brow. “Do I need to, or are you willing to stay sober and make that little kid’s day tomorrow?”
That’s a cheap shot, but effective. I’m still terrified of getting on a board, moving on without Chase there next to me. But I’m even more terrified of turning into the type of person who would ruin a kid’s life because I was too wrapped up in myself to think of anyone else.
Maybe Chase would forgive me for strapping on a board if I’m doing it for Max.
“I’ll be there.”
***
“Well, that didn’t last long.” Hayden shakes his head back and forth with obvious disgust the moment I walk through the door. Evidently, I look as shitty as I feel, but I’m not drunk.
“Calm down, Frosty, I haven’t had a drop since you left, yesterday.”
“Your bloodshot eyes say otherwise.” He purses his lips, which I might find kinda cute if my head wasn’t too foggy to admire them.
I shake my head to get rid of that errant thought, only to wince from the way the motion rattles of my brain.
“This isn’t from drinking, it’s from lack of sleep.
” I haven’t tossed and turned like that since the day Chase died.
Getting too wasted to think is the only way I’ve been able to sleep since, and facing a day on the mountain had my mind on overdrive.
What if I get up there and love it? Am I betraying Chase by doing what he can’t?
What if I hate it? Does that mean the life I thought I’d have is over? Do I even care if it is?
The questions kept coming at me all night, but I didn’t drink them away.
Hayden arches his brow as he crosses his arms.