Chapter 16
Sixteen
I’m back in the catering van with my parents, watching the storm clouds gather ahead of us on the mountain road. But this time, it’s different. This time, I’m not just a passenger; I’m the driver. My hands grip the steering wheel as rain pounds against the windshield.
“Slow down, Alice,” Mom says from the passenger seat, her voice tight with concern. “The roads are getting slippery.”
But I can’t slow down. My foot is stuck on the accelerator, and no matter how hard I try to lift it, the van keeps speeding toward the curve ahead. The curve where everything went wrong.
“I can’t stop.” I gasp, panic rising in my throat. “I can’t make it stop!”
“Alice, wake up!” Dad’s voice comes from the back seat, but when I look in the rearview mirror, he’s not there anymore. Neither of them are there anymore. I’m alone in the van, careening toward disaster, and—
I jolt awake with a strangled cry, my heart hammering against my ribs as I struggle to understand where I am. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of a television screen, and nothing looks familiar. Plush furniture, plastered walls, the scent of something woodsy that definitely isn’t my bedroom.
Panic floods my system as I piece together how I got here. Why am I lying on an unfamiliar couch? Why does my mouth taste like I’ve been crying?
“Alice? Hey, it’s okay.”
The voice comes from across the room, followed by the sound of movement. I turn toward the sound, and a figure emerges from what looks like a bedroom, moving toward me in the low light.
“You’re okay,” the voice says again, and I recognize it now. “You’re safe. You had a nightmare.”
As Ryder gets closer, my vision adjusts enough to see him clearly, and my breath catches in my throat.
He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark pajama pants that hang low on his hips.
His dark hair is mussed from sleep, sticking up at odd angles, and there’s genuine concern written across his features.
“I don’t—where am I?” I stammer, my breathing still rapid and shallow from the nightmare.
“You’re in my room,” Ryder whispers, settling onto the edge of the coffee table, the two chains around his neck gently swinging against his chest. “You fell asleep before the episode finished, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
The memory races back. The fight with Miranda, crying in Ryder’s arms, and watching Cook-Out Champs together.
“Oh gosh,” I murmur, heat flooding my cheeks as I realize I’ve been sleeping in his room. “I’m so sorry. I should have gone back to my own room. I shouldn’t have...”
“Hey,” Ryder interrupts softly. “It’s fine. You needed to rest, and you looked peaceful for the first time since I’ve known you.”
I try to sit up, tangled underneath a weighted blanket, but my head spins with the sudden movement.
“Whoa,” Ryder says, reaching out to steady me as I sway. “Take it easy.”
“I should go back to my room,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. The thought of walking through Miranda’s dark hallways and lying in that cold bedroom surrounded by twisted tree paintings makes my stomach clench with anxiety.
“You don’t have to,” Ryder says, and there’s something in his tone that suggests he understands my reluctance. “Why don’t you take the bed? You’ll be more comfortable, and I can sleep out here.”
“Ryder, I can’t take your bed. Why don’t you go back there? You don’t need to sit here and watch me.”
Ryder’s chin settles on his palm, and his dark eyes fix on me. “It’s just… you look so sad.”
My breath hitches.
“From the moment you got here, you’ve looked sad.” He sighs. “And before you got here, I was just...”
He pauses for a beat too long, causing me to sit up. “Just, what? Sad too?”
His expression hardens. “Angry.”
The bitterness in his voice scares me, and I tug at the blanket for comfort.
“Alice, I need to apologize for how I reacted when you... when my equipment got damaged.” He runs a hand through his floppy hair. “I was cruel to you, and you didn’t deserve it.”
I slump against the chaise lounge, surprised by the changing direction of this conversation. “Ryder, you already…”
“I knew it was an accident when it was happening. But all I could think about was...” He trails off, staring at his hands.
“What?” I ask gently.
“How my parents worked so hard to pay for my gear.” The words come out like a confession. “All the extra shifts my dad pulled at the factory. Both my parents have made so many sacrifices for me. I just don’t think it’s been worth it.”
Something in his voice causes my chest to tighten. “What do you mean?”
Ryder is quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “My parents aren’t like the rich snobs here. My dad has worked at a manufacturing plant for twenty years. My mom was going back to nursing school, but when I...”
“When what?”
“When my music took off, things changed.” He looks up at me, and there’s something raw in his dark eyes. “I got talked into some local gigs and gained some attention. All of a sudden, there were opportunities to make it big.”
I stay quiet, unsure of where these admissions are going.
“So they started investing,” Ryder continues, rubbing his palm over his brow. “Small stuff at first. Gas money to drive me to auditions. Then it was better equipment, studio time, professional photos… All the bull.”
“Are your parents upset that you moved here to work on your music?”
“No, of course not. They love that I’m making something of myself.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“All the money they’ve spent doesn’t stop me from messing up,” he confesses. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be carrying Chase and Brooks because I get stage fright on my own. But I’m stuck. If I play on my own, I fall apart.”
“I’m sure your parents are still proud of you. And besides, you’re still young. After a few years, you could move on from the band and—“
“My dad’s hands are destroyed!” he shouts, slamming a fist on the glass coffee table with a hideous smack.
“He’s busting his butt, operating heavy machinery for sixteen hours a day, while I wear a stupid blazer and tie.
All that overtime, with bleeding, callused, permanently damaged hands, and for what?
I freeze and fumble my chords if the other guys aren’t playing. I’m a joke.”
“Ryder, don’t say…”
“My mom’s working nights at a diner, on top of her day job at the grocery store,” he continues. “She paused her nursing school plans and used the tuition money to buy me a keyboard.”
I’m dry-heaving, pressing my sweaty palms into my stomach. The sickening flash of that keyboard crashing to the ground and cracking along its side.
Ryder plants his hand on my shoulder, the weight keeping me from spiraling. “I’m not trying to guilt you. It’s just, if you knew where I was coming from...”
“Ryder, I...” I gulp for air. “I had no idea.”
“I know,” he whispers, lifting his hand off me. “I just thought, if you knew my story, maybe it’d kick some of the animosity between us. I don’t want to keep making things tough for you, but I’m fighting for my life too.”
I suck in a breath as a vortex of sickness spirals inside me. “Wait, isn’t Miranda funding your music career? Shouldn’t your parents be getting a break because you moved here?”
“Miranda is just my manager. She’s not financing my career.” He lets out a heavy breath. “Hopefully, if the showcase goes well and we wow Mr. Kensington, then the label will fund our equipment and all the other stuff. But right now, it’s up to me and my family.”
“Is Miranda not doing anything to help?”
“Well, I get to live here,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, Miranda can barely afford to fund her own life.”
I deadpan at him. “What do you mean?”
“I heard she bought this place because it was under foreclosure. It was the only place she could afford.”
“Seriously? Surely she could’ve rented a modest home in town instead of buying this creep-factory.”
Ryder smirks. “I don’t really care about the nitty-gritty.
All I know is, with all her years of experience, Miranda is opening doors for me.
My parents didn’t have to go along with this.
They chose to fund my music career. I just assumed I’d pay them back by now.
But, between school and my stupid nerves… Ugh, I feel like I’m drowning.”
I catch his hands in mine. “That’s a feeling I know too well.”
“I’m sorry things between you and Miranda blew up.”
“I’m sorry you have so much on your shoulders. You’re a rockstar. You shouldn’t be shouldering all these burdens.”
“I’m not a rockstar.” His fingers curl around mine. “I had one TV appearance, and I choked.”
“You had a minor quirk at the start. Ryder, I watched it over and over. I noticed the stumble, but it didn’t stop me from loving the performance.”
He frowns. “I hate how easy my mistake was to notice.”
I squeeze his hand. “I loved it.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Ryder, I don’t think you understand how real you are.” I give his hand another squeeze before releasing it. “A few nights ago, I was having nightmares, and the only thing that settled my nerves was listening to that performance.”
He shifts nervously. “Are you serious?”
“Your performance makes me feel less alone. Like, if someone so popular at school, has millions of views online, and has incredible talent can be nervous, then maybe I’ll be okay as I fall apart.”
“I really made you feel like that?”
I give him a weak smile. “It’s nice to know the guy off the stage can also show emotion.”
“Wow, Alice. For you to say that when you’re going through… Thanks, just thanks.”
“Thank you, too. I’m really glad I’ve been introduced to your music. Even if it’s just the one song I’ve been listening to on repeat.”
Ryder gets up and moves back over to his bed. I lower on the chaise lounge, reposition the blanket over me, and whisper, “Good night,” to him.
“I’m coming back,” he whispers, his footsteps nearing again. He perches on the coffee table, scrolling on his phone. “I’ll find you something else to listen to.”
My heart beats faster. “Another one of your songs?”
“Yeah.” He lowers the phone as electric chords play through the speaker. “It’s one of the new tracks the band is working on. Maybe you’ll like it?” He settles the phone near my pillow and gets up from the coffee table. “There’s six songs on the playlist we recorded a month or so ago.”
I close my eyes, listening to the rock ballad. “Wow. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. It’s nice to have a fan.”
I open my eyes and catch his smile before it disappears into the darkness.
“Sweet dreams, Ally,” he whispers, moving back to his bed.
I can’t help smiling as my eyelids grow heavy. My heart’s a flutter as Ryder’s gravelly voice sings a new melody and coaxes me back to sleep.