Chapter 17
Seventeen
My consciousness returns as I slowly wake up. My eyelids flutter, bringing into focus the cream-colored walls and plush furniture. It takes me a moment to remember I’m in Ryder’s bedroom.
The sound of running water comes from somewhere nearby. Ryder must be in the bathroom. I sit up on the chaise lounge and run my hands through my hair, hoping I don’t look like a shaggy mess.
The bathroom door opens, and Ryder emerges with damp hair from the shower. He’s in jeans and a dark green sweater that makes his eyes appear darker than usual. I suck in a breath and heat burns my face, as I’m both relieved and disappointed he’s no longer shirtless.
“Good morning,” he says with a small smile, towel drying his hair. “How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly good,” I admit, stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the lounge. “What time is it?”
Ryder tosses his towel back in the bathroom. “About ten-thirty.”
“Ten-thirty?” I bolt upright, panic flooding my system. “Ryder, we’re supposed to be in school! We’re super late! Miranda is going to kill us!”
“Relax. I already texted my driver to pretend he took us to school on time.”
I stare at him in confusion. “But what about Miranda? Won’t she find out?”
“Miranda left at seven this morning for a business meeting in the city,” Ryder explains. “She won’t be back until tonight.”
“So you just... let me sleep in?” I ask, processing the fact he’s given us both a day off school without consulting me. “Ryder, Miranda gave me a lecture about going to classes.”
“I doubt she’ll take any of the school’s calls,” Ryder replies. “No offence, but she doesn’t prioritize the school over business.”
“Oh, I got that. But you didn’t see the way she looked at me last night.” I sigh, letting my gaze fall to the floor. “And the awful things she said.”
Ryder steps forward and tucks his fingers underneath my chin, gently lifting it upward. “Exactly why Miranda doesn’t call the shots today. Besides, it’s Friday; basically the weekend anyway.”
I suck in a breath, fixating on his pupils. “What about your essay? It’s due today.”
Ryder mumbles a laugh, slipping his hand away from my chin. “Girl, relax. I’ll upload it to the school portal. Just needs to be done before school finishes for the day.”
My shoulders relax a millimeter. “Okay. So maybe we can polish it before you turn it in?”
His eyebrow arches. “You want to do schoolwork?”
“Miranda questioned whether I could actually tutor you. Ugh. She actually implied my parents bribed my previous school to fake my grades. How crazy is that?”
Ryder shakes his head. “Forget all that noise. You don’t need to worry about Ashworth Academy and all its BS. Instead, why don’t we head downstairs for breakfast?”
The mention of breakfast makes my stomach churn. The thought of sitting in Miranda’s formal dining room, putting on a show of pretending to eat scrambled eggs, is too exhausting to imagine.
“Oh, I don’t think I could eat right now,” I fumble for an excuse and get off the chaise lounge. “Anytime I oversleep, it takes me ages to get my appetite. Weird quirk, I know.”
“Alice, are you really…”
“I really should head to my room and shower,” I cut him off, folding the heavy blanket. “I need to change. I feel so gross.”
“Yeah, okay. But do you really not...”
“Want to meet at the library?” I interrupt again with extra fake cheer in my voice. “We can work on your essay.”
Ryder nods, seemingly getting off the breakfast topic. “Yeah, the library. No problem.”
I’m still a little woozy as I stumble around the furniture, waving off Ryder when he shifts to help me. “It’s cool, I didn’t trip. See you soon, okay?”
He nods, and I’m quick to leave his bedroom. My heart punches its way out of my ribs on the journey through the quiet hallway. Oh my gosh, is this real? Ryder basically watched me sleep, and now we’re staying home to study. A few days ago, you couldn’t have paid me to believe this would happen.
I take longer than usual in the shower. Heck, I’ve got all day. I let the warmth and steam from the shower relax my body, as memories of last night jab me with unwanted tension.
Everything is so topsy-turvy. I would never have guessed Ryder came from a working-class background.
The attitude of belonging at Ashworth Academy drips off him.
Even worse, Miranda is making him attend that school, and it’s bleeding his family dry.
She says Ryder is so precious to her, but she doesn’t give a damn about his family.
Figures.
She sure doesn’t care about her own.
Once out of the shower, I’m grateful not to wear the restrictive Ashworth uniform.
For comfort, I wear a pair of light gray sweatpants and dig my feet into fluffy slippers I haven’t been brave enough to wear in front of Miranda.
I pick out a pale pink cashmere sweater and pull it over a white tank top.
There’s no doubt our study session will be casual, but there’s a part of me that wants to look cute.
I take my time in front of the bathroom mirror, applying glossy watermelon-flavored lip gloss and framing my eyes with lash-extending mascara.
A knot ties in my chest as I take in my appearance.
It’s the first time I’ve wanted to wear makeup since the accident.
Even if the effort is small, I have to admit; it makes me feel slightly human again.
Without humoring the idea of getting something to eat, I make my way to the library. When I push open the doors, I’m surprised by what I find.
Ryder sits at the large mahogany table with his tablet, books, and pens. But there’s a distinct smell in the room. A food smell. In the middle of the table are two white paper bags, along with cups of what smells like coffee.
“What’s all this?” I ask, settling into my chair.
“Lunch,” Ryder replies. “Or brunch, I guess, since we missed breakfast.”
“We?”
“Yeah, you said you didn’t want to eat right away.”
“So you had food delivered?”
“From a place in town.” He slides a bag across the table toward me. “Had to pay an extra surcharge on the app because we live so far out.”
I don’t reach for it. “You shouldn’t have bothered getting anything for me.”
His head tilts, watching me. “We’re not doing this again, are we?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hello? Alto Burger. It was the first time I saw you properly eat, and I had to hold my essay hostage so you’d do it.”
I rear back in my chair. “Look, Ryder, I know at Alto Burger you basically became my savior when I was frozen. And then last night you… But I…”
“Alice, I’m just trying to get you to eat.” The undertone of concern cuts off my argument, and he leans forward. “I know it’s tough because of your parents, but I don’t want you getting sick over this. You’ve only just started having some color in your face.”
I chew my bottom lip, wishing I’d applied foundation to cover up my blush.
Ryder nudges the food bag closer to me. “Why don’t you try eating something? It wasn’t so bad last time, was it?”
“It was a burger last time.”
He smiles. “Check the bag.”
I pull the bag closer. I’m nauseous at the thought of putting something in my mouth. Holding my breath, I peer into the bag and fall into relief.
French fries.
Golden, crispy, and over-salted fries.
I take one out of the bag, grease coating my fingertips, and take a bite.
I smile, grateful it wasn’t vegetable soup or tuna mornay. The thought of real food still paralyzes me.
“Try the bacon and egg sandwich too,” Ryder suggests, pulling a wrapped sandwich from the second bag. “It’s sure to make you feel better.”
I eye him with curiosity, struck by his brunch choices. “Why do you care if I eat comfort food or not?”
Ryder pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He gestures at our books and pens on the tabletop. “If you’re gonna teach me, I need you to be functional.”
“Oh, right.” I take another fry out of the bag. “How could I forget the self-serving element?”
He takes a bite and casually talks while he chews. “If being selfish gets you to eat, then selfish I’ll be.”
I take another fry and scoff. “I’m sure my prim and proper aunt would hate the thought of me eating this greasy food.”
Ryder chuckles to himself. “Nope. Never seen that woman scarf a burger.”
“Who is she fooling with all this fancy food?” I shove my hand into the paper bag and snatch a handful of fries. “And this house? Does she really think she’s impressing anyone?”
“Ah, Alice…”
“Ugh. She makes me so mad.”
I’m shoving fistfuls of fries into my mouth, and Ryder drops his sandwich at the sight of it.
“We…” The word hangs in the air as Ryder’s wide eyes stay glued to me. “We don’t have to talk about Miranda.”
I tear open the bag, revealing my fully loaded bacon and egg sandwich.
“Believe me, I’d love not to, but I’m stuck.
My whole life now revolves around this woman I don’t even know.
Where I go to school, where I live, and how I spend my time.
It’s all about Miranda.” I take a big bite of the sandwich and let the grease and fat slide over my numb taste buds. “Miranda, Miranda, Miranda.”
Ryder lifts a placating hand. “Okay, I get it. Your life has been ripped apart and put back together in the worst possible way. But if Miranda doesn’t care about you, why do you care about her?”
I take another big mouthful and speak through it. “I don’t.”
“You’re clearly mad right now. She’s made you mad. You care enough to be mad.”
I swallow the chunk of food as the tears seep out of my eyes. “Because she’s the only family I have left. She should care.”
Ryder nods. “She should, but she doesn’t. You said it yourself. She and your mom hadn’t spoken in years, and she didn’t show at the funeral. She doesn’t care about you. She doesn’t check in with you. Just delete her from your mind.”
With frustration at boiling point, I toss the sandwich at him. Yellow yolk and bacon grease smears his green sweater.
He stares at the mess and then his head rolls up, his dark eyes full of questions. “Umm?”