Chapter 20 Hayden
Chapter twenty
Hayden
He’s clearly avoiding me. I expected that to a degree—someone trying to escape his emotions isn’t going to willingly put himself in a position where he has to face them.
Although, I didn’t expect him to go full-on coward by instructing Max to meet him by the chair lift for the rest of their time together, so he didn’t have to set foot in the building.
A little backtracking after the tentative connection we made would be normal, but this… So much for that breakthrough I thought he had.
What’s almost worse than the total brush off is the fact that I miss his presence. Even if he was surly most of the time, I’d sort of become used to seeing him every day. Looked forward to it even, because under the prickly exterior is someone I’ve come to respect.
I say that about most of the people who come through here, since they’re all fighting a battle in their own way, but only Ryder is pushing back against the fight, determined to dwell in his darkness.
Yet based on the glimpses of him on the mountain, it’s clear some part of him won’t give in to that.
At first, I thought it meant deep down he'd come to terms with his demons and maybe start to enjoy his life again too. Now, I’m not so sure.
That hits me harder than expected. What’s worse, I can’t tell if I feel that way because of him, or me.
Normally, it’s all about the client. If they’re struggling, my heart goes out to them for what they’ve lost, what they might never regain if they don’t learn to adjust to their new normal and find the joy in that.
With Ryder, I can’t help but think about what I might lose if he insists on dwelling in his self-imposed prison.
I know how selfish that is. How unprofessional. But after a glimpse of what we could have—short moments when he seems to open up emotionally, or physically—it’s impossible for me not to feel sad for myself as well as him.
Knowing he needs time—space—I let him avoid me for days.
I thought that would be enough, that he’d be ready to see me by the time his hours were up.
When he didn't come by on Max’s last day, I was pretty convinced I’d never see or hear from him again, until my phone beeps just as I’m drifting off to sleep.
R-You awake?
I stare at my screen, dumbfounded. Ryder’s never texted me before.
It doesn’t make sense that he’d do it now just to make idle conversation.
Then again, maybe he’s one of those people who finds it easier to talk if he’s not actually looking at the person he’s talking to.
Lord knows, in person he’s not exactly an open book, so I guess I’ll take what I can get.
H-Yes
R-I miss you
Once again, I’m speechless. Or frozen. He misses me? That’s… Wow.
H-I’m here…
Delete.
You know where I am…
Delete.
I miss you too
Satisfied that my response is safe since it mirrors his, my finger hovers over the send icon. Only another text comes through before I can press it.
R-They forced me to go on the mountain.
H-Forced?
R-Long story
A series of text bubbles pop up, disappear, pop up again. I bite my lip, willing my heartbeat to slow down as I wait for the words to fill my screen.
R-I wanted to hate it.
H-Did you?
R-No
H-Is that bad?
R-It’s not fair
H-Not fair to who?
R-You
I’m not sure why that wouldn’t be fair to me when Max is the one he’s been riding with. Actually, I don’t understand why it’s not fair, period.
H-Me? How is it not fair to me?
R-Because you’re dead
Oh my God. He thinks he’s texting his brother.
How he got my number mixed up with Chase’s I can’t imagine, other than he must be wasted.
That makes my reply critical. What do I even say to that?
Do I tell him he’s got the wrong number, or do I keep him talking where I can at least keep an eye on him so to speak.
Shit. I have no idea how to reply, but another text comes through before I can.
R-I wish you weren’t dead. I wish you could see the kid I’m teaching. You’d like him. And Hayden
My sharp inhale echoes through the room. Me? Before I can think better of it, my fingers are flying over the screen.
H-Hayden?
R-He’s my boss. I think. He’s firey
Fireee
Fiery
He’s cool. Doesn’t take my shit. He hates me though
H-Why would he hate you?
R-I screwed up
H-How?
R-I screwed him (gloat later). Then I left
I purse my lips together, ready to type back a fiery response until I remember who he thinks he’s talking to, and his obvious state of mind. And anyway, it’s not like he’s bragging, just stating the facts. Albeit insensitively.
H-Why did you leave?
R-He makes me feel
H-Feel what?
R-Everything
H-That’s bad?
R-Yes. Feelings hurt
It’s probably my inherent nature to fix things speaking, but that kind of makes my heart break for him.
How much pain is he in if he’s knowingly trying to bury his feelings with alcohol?
On the other hand, he’s acknowledging that he’s got them, which is a bigger step than he took the other night.
Back then, it was clear he was acting on his feelings even if he wouldn’t admit having them.
Now he’s acknowledging they’re the root of the problem.
That’s positive, right? Now, I just have to help him see they don’t need to be avoided.
H-Sometimes feelings hurt. Sometimes they don’t. You won’t know which is which if you avoid them by drinking.
R-How do you know I’m drinking
Shit. Well, he always did say he appreciates how I don’t sugar coat things so to speak.
H-You’re texting your dead brother.
I cringe as soon as I hit send. That was maybe too direct. Then a little Ha Ha bubble pops up next to my text.
R-Smart ass. It’s easier this way
H-What’s easier?
R-Not getting close to people. Then it doesn’t matter when they’re gone
H-Easier doesn’t always mean better.
R-Maybe not
H-Would it be so bad if you got close to someone?
Okay, selfishly I hope he thinks of me as that someone, but even if he doesn’t it’s still good advice. Probably.
Text bubbles pop up and disappear once, twice, then nothing.
H-Ryder? Are you there?
Silence. Either he doesn’t agree, or he passed out. That’s probably for the best, since he didn’t know he was talking to me.
My stomach clenches as that thought crosses my mind.
I shouldn’t have played along like I was his brother, especially not to satisfy my own curiosity about where his head is at.
Okay…what he thinks about me. Maybe if I’d stuck to yes or no responses instead of asking questions, I wouldn’t have crossed any lines.
As it stands, I’m pretty sure I abused his trust.
At the same time, I feel like the fact he admitted why he’s drinking is a step in the right direction.
I’m sure on some level he already knew it, but saying it out loud—or over text—would make it more real.
After all, they say the first step to solving a problem is to admit you have it, and that’s what he just did.
Or am I trying to justify the role I played tonight?
***
My free hand slides nervously over my stomach as I take a sip of champagne from the delicate flute pinched between my fingertips. Breathe.
I’ve never been to such a fancy party—not even my high school prom was this nice—and it’s mildly overwhelming, which leaves me awkwardly trying to figure out where the heck to put my hands.
Black and white tablecloths, monochrome roses in crystal vases, shiny glasses, even the mahogany bar with a polish so thick it practically glistens.
I know the guys said this is the only fancy event of the year, but it surpasses all my expectations.
The colorful atmosphere on Main Street and dilapidated facilities for my guests must've conditioned me to expect a subdued version of fancy rather than the upscale scene before me.
It feels like I should be in Hollywood, not a small resort town deep in the Colorado woods.
“You made it!” Beck’s enthusiastic hug nearly has me spilling my drink, which would be disastrous in the white suit Ally dressed me in.
“I did.” I return his hug by wrapping one arm around his waist and extending the other with my drink away from my body, just in case.
“That suit is incredible on you.” He smiles as she gives me an appreciative once over. “Ally has such a great eye for these things.”
Smoothing my hand over the fabric once again, I nod in agreement. I wouldn’t have the first idea how to pick out a suit, especially not an ivory-colored one, but she pulled this off the rack the moment I walked in and boom—I had a suit.
I’m pretty sure she ordered it specifically for me—because who has an ivory suit just lying around in my exact size—which is more slender than most of the guys I’ve seen in this town. But since she looked so proud of her choice, and I doubt it would fit anyone else, I took it.
“I was a little worried I wouldn’t be able to lift my arms—" I gesture to the slim cut of the jacket “—but so far so good.” I don’t add that I’m grateful the jacket covering the white shirt that will hide how bad my armpits are sweating, but I’m thinking it.
Thanks Ryder. “Let’s just hope I can keep it clean. ”
“That’s why I went with black. Last year, I bumped elbows with Deacon and I ended up wearing half the Cosmo I was holding. I looked like an advertisement for Target.”
“Here’s hoping neither of us have any wardrobe malfunctions.” I clink my glass against his with the first genuine smile I’ve worn all night, though I can’t help feeling slightly guilty that his embarrassing story sets me at ease.
“Ally, these two look amazing!” Sloan casts his sister a beaming smile as the two of them stride up to the bar.
Ally is dressed similar to me in the sense that her elegant pantsuit is white, while Sloan has a black suit similar to mine, minus the button-up shirt underneath, showing off a sliver of his fair, hairless chest. It’s sexy yet classy at the same time.
“What are we drinking?” Ally props her elbows on the bar next to me.
“Champagne.” I hold up my glass.
“Ooh, good call. Finn loves when I drink champagne.”
“You mean he loves how forward you get when you drink it,” Sloan snorts.
“I told you to crash with Lennon after the ball last year.” Ally smiles wickedly. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
“Did I hear my name?” Lennon wraps an arm around Ally’s waist to give her a side hug, looking somehow both edgy and graceful in a black leather skirt with a matching vest and suit jacket.
“I was just reminding my brother it’s his own fault he got an earful last year when he came home with me instead of you.” Ally returns the embrace.
“Well, we won’t have that problem again this year. I’ll be making noise of my own.” Sloan takes a glass from his sister and clinks them together.
“Ugh, the ball’s just getting started,” Beck groans. “Can we not talk about what happens after? Especially in front of two people who will be going home alone.” He gestures between me and him.
“Who says you have to go home alone?” Sloan frowns.
Beck looks at everyone in turn, except me. “You all won’t even talk about sex in front of me since I’m the baby.” He punctuates his phrase with air quotes.
“Baby?” I ask him.
“As good as.” He rolls his eyes. “My mom made Lennon swear to look after me when I started working at Murphy’s as a kid and he’s taken that very seriously when it comes to guys and sex. They all have.” Beck crosses his arms in front of his chest with a frown.
Three sets of eyes drop to the floor around me.
“I suppose maybe it’s time to let you grow up.” Ally nibbles on her lip as she risks a glance around the circle.
“We might be a good resource. For advice and stuff.” Sloan mimics his sister’s expression and turns his gaze to Lennon, who closes his eyes as he seems to wrestle with what to do.
Finally, he exhales and looks at Beck. “Don’t let your mother find out. I’m the one she’ll blame if you end up with the wrong guy.”
Beck’s face seems to glow as Ally squeals next to him. “Ooh, where do we start? How about that guy over there?” She points to a clean-cut guy who’s decent looking though a little on the short side.
“Too short.” Beck wrinkles his nose.
“He’s probably like, five-ten. You’re around five-six,” Sloan points out.
“Okay, he’s too… nice-looking,” Beck offers a new objection.
“What’s wrong with nice?” Lennon balks.
“Would you date him?” Beck fires back.
“I’m spoken for.” Lennon smirks.
“Fine. Would you date him?” Beck turns to me.
I’m wholly unprepared for the question, and given that my sights appear to have locked on someone already, I can’t honestly say I would. That has nothing to do with this man, but my pause is all the answer Beck needs.
“Exactly,” he declares. “Next.”
“That one.” Sloan points to a less clean-cut guy with hair hanging past his shoulders.
“His hair is as long as Ally’s,” Beck objects.
“So? I bet it’d look hot pulled back.” Ally licks her lips.
“I’m not going out with anyone who might overwhelm my shower with hair products, thank you. Next.”
We take turns making suggestions, only to have Beck shoot down each of them for one reason or another. I don’t know if he’s extraordinarily picky, or still a bit shocked at this new development and unsure how to respond. Either way, I haven’t laughed like this in ages.
“Oh my God, this might actually be worse than having you guys baby me. How are you so bad at this when you all scored hotties?” Beck pouts. “Pick someone good.”
“How about that one?” I point to a tall, dark-haired man across the room. With his back turned I’ve no idea what he looks like, but Beck has objected based on less. Besides, he’s tall with short hair.
As if he senses he’s the topic of our conversation, the man turns in our direction, and there’s a chorus of firm, “No’s.”
It takes me a moment to realize I know him; Deacon from the bar a week or so back. Though, aside from Ryder’s warning, which I’m not sure was even valid, I don’t follow the objections.
“Why?” I ask.
“He’s… too experienced,” Sloan says.
“Not boyfriend material,” Ally adds.
“He’d take advantage of our boy,” Lennon finishes, and they all nod.
Except Beck. He’s not saying anything at all, just sipping on his Cosmo with his eyes cast downward.
Before I can dwell on that, Maddox and Kane join us, and the mission to find Beck a date is forgotten.
So is the fact that Ryder is probably here somewhere, until I feel a slight tingle along my spine, and turn my head to find him staring at me.