Chapter 18 #2
“I had an idea of who I was going to meet,” Ryder continues, uncertainty in his voice. “And you broke my equipment, just fanning the flames already in my head. But I see you differently now. I see you as hurting.”
I claw at the fabric above my racing heart. “You’re without your parents right now. Why wouldn’t you have felt bad for me from the beginning?”
“I told you I was already angry about being stuck here.”
“You should’ve had compassion.”
“You’ve spent a week in this town. Can’t you see it’s not normal here?”
I clutch my elbows, turning away from him. “I hope this place never changes me like that.”
His hand is on my shoulder, and he turns me back to face him. “I see you, Ally.”
His dark eyes glimmer with sadness and a touch of hope.
“Stop.”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Pity isn’t friendship.”
His hand leaves my shoulder. “Did I say I pitied you? You’re the one who wanted me to feel bad for you.”
“I just wanted you to have feelings.”
“I have feelings.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Don’t.”
“Don’t, what?”
I keep my eyes fixed on his, no good answer on my tongue.
“I know everyone thinks I’m dumb because I don’t care about school, but my instincts never let me down.” His thumb draws a circle beneath my chin. “And my instincts tell me I want you in my life.”
With nothing better to say, I utter, “Why?”
It makes him mumble a laugh, and he releases my chin. “Because I’ve liked getting to know you. Because you’re the person with the most substance I’ve met since moving here.”
“Okay?”
“You haven’t fawned over me. You haven’t tried to use me for clout. You’ve barely wanted to acknowledge my existence.”
My turn to whisper a laugh. “And that’s all positive in your book?”
“You’ve kept standing at school, even though I made it hellish for you. Believe me, I’m gonna set everyone straight on Monday.”
I wave off the suggestion. “Don’t bother. I don’t want any friends at that school.”
“They might not be all fake.”
“I’m just not interested. The thought of it is too exhausting.”
“What about me? Is being around me too exhausting?”
Looking up at him, I study his features. “Kinda.”
His posture droops as he laughs. “Brutal.”
“Well, it’s the truth. I never know what I’m going to get with you. You flip from kind to cruel like it’s nothing.”
Hesitation creeps across his face. “That’s how you see me?”
I nod boldly.
He blows out a breath and rests his hands on his hips. “I guess I’m glad you saw me as kind some of the time.”
I try for a joke. “Sorry if it messes up the rockstar image you’re trying to cultivate.”
He smirks, striking a goofy pose. “Trying? Girl, I’m already a rockstar.”
I find myself smiling. “I know you are.”
He drops the facade and takes a quick breath in. “Are we good?”
I nod. “I hope so.”
“I’ll take hope.”
I rub my hand across my chest and notice the racing of my heart. “Ryder, how did you know that breathing technique?”
“Huh?”
“The other day in the library, when I had that panic attack… Yesterday in the rain… You knew about the four counts. Where did you learn that?”
“My mom.” He takes my hand and guides me back to the stool, gesturing for me to take a seat. “I told you she was studying to become a nurse. She really helped me through my stage fright when I was doing solo open mic nights.”
Ryder watches me, sitting on the stool and rubbing my aching chest.
“You want to do it together?” he offers. “Ready? Inhale for four…” I breathe in sync with him. “Hold.” I focus on the broadness of his shoulders until his chest deflates. “Out for four.”
I breathe out, feeling slightly more relaxed as tingles race down my arms. “Your mom must be pretty great.”
He nods, standing in front of me. “She is. I miss her a lot.”
“Have your parents come here to visit?”
“No, it’s pretty far and they can’t take the time off work.” Ryder shrugs. “Maybe for the showcase?”
I sit taller. “I bet they’ll be there with bells on.”
Ryder grins. “Don’t give them any ideas. They might actually attach bells to themselves.”
“If they come for the showcase, maybe I could meet them.”
“That wouldn’t be too triggering for you?”
“I hope not.” My mind wanders to thoughts of home. “Come to think of it, my neighbors have acted like second parents to me, and I’ve totally ghosted them.”
“I’m sure they understand.”
“They’re probably thinking bad things about me because I turned them away.”
“Or, they’re well aware you’ve had to move to a new town with people you don’t know. They’re probably giving you time to adjust.”
“You think?”
“Totally.”
I rub my chest, noticing the lack of an ache. “That’s a better thought than what’s been bouncing around my head.”
He rubs my arm. “You need to give yourself a break. I’ll give you a break too.”
“If I don’t keep giving you a hard time.”
He crosses an X over his heart. “I’ll try my best not to go on the attack when your defenses come up.”
I make an X over my heart as well. “I’ll try to stop biting your head off. I have therapy tomorrow. Maybe Dr. Novak can help me.”
“Focus on yourself, not me.”
“Not fighting with you will help me a lot.” I rub the side of my head. “It’ll save a lot of headaches.”
Ryder mumbles a laugh, and then throws a thumb over his shoulder. “You wanna chill out and watch some TV or something?”
I clasp my hands together, getting ready to plead if necessary. “Are you going to practice today? I’d love to hear you play again.”
“Really? You have the day off school, and that’s what you want to do?”
“Please? Live is so much better than recorded.”
Ryder leans back against the counter, looking unsure. “I did say I would. I just don’t know if I can actually do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean...” He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Last night was different. You were upset, and I just wanted to help you. There was no time to think about it.” He shifts his weight.
“But now it’s daylight and you’re sitting there specifically waiting for me to play, and my hands are already doing the thing. ”
I look at his hands. He’s gripping the counter edge behind him.
“I know you like the imperfections,” he says, and there’s something almost embarrassed in the way he says it.
“But if I can’t even play for you with zero pressure, what does that say about the showcase?
There will be industry people in that room.
People who can end my career before it starts.
” He shakes his head. “If I fall apart in front of you, it’s more proof that I’ll fall apart when it’s all on the line. ”
I slide off my stool and cross to the fridge. Stuck to the door is a magnetic notepad, the kind with a pen clipped to the top. I peel it free and uncap the pen, then cross back to Ryder and hold them both out to him.
He looks at them. “What’s this?”
“Write down what scares you.” I nudge them closer. “Everything. Whatever is sitting in your head right now.”
“And then what?”
I nod toward the stovetop. “We burn it.”
He stares at me. “Over the gas burner?”
“Over the gas burner.”
“Alice.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds insane.”
“My friend Jill and I used to do things like this. Like, if we were super nervous before entering an art show. She’d bring a candle, and we’d sit on her bedroom floor and write down everything that terrified us about putting our work out there.
” I look at the notepad and tap the counter space beside it.
“Then we’d burn the paper and watch it go.
And somehow, after that, walking into the show felt easier. ”
Ryder’s expression softens slightly. “Jill sounds like a character.”
“She was full of ideas like that.” I smile, but it’s the kind that aches a little around the edges. “Crystal healing, moon rituals, and writing letters to the universe.”
“Is she still doing all that with you now?”
The smile fades before I can catch it.
“Jill can’t handle death.” I say it quietly, looking down at the notepad. “She pulled away from me after my parents...” I don’t finish the sentence. “She just couldn’t help me anymore.”
Ryder’s jaw tightens. “I’m sorry about that.”
I nod, swallowing the tightness in my throat. Then I nudge the notepad toward him.
“But this might help.”
He looks at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, he uncrosses his arms and takes the pen from my hand. He stares at the blank page for a moment and then starts to write. Short, sharp strokes at first, like he’s just getting words down before he can talk himself out of it.
Then he stops, lowering the pen. “This is stupid.”
“Keep going.” I reach over and nudge the pen back toward his hand.
My fingers brush the back of his hand, and I feel a spark.
Neither of us moves.
But the air in the kitchen shifts, and when I look up, he’s already looking at me. It was barely anything. The lightest contact. But Ryder’s shoulders drop, and his tension quietly gives way.
He looks back down at the notepad and keeps writing.
I watch him without meaning to. The way his brow furrows slightly as the words come. The way his grip on the pen loosens the further down the page he gets. When he finally sets the pen down, he tears the sheet free and folds it once.
He holds it up. “Do you want to see it?”
I shake my head and move toward the stove. I turn one of the burners to low, and the blue flame catches with a soft click.
“It’s not for me,” I tell him. “It’s for you to release.”
He comes to stand beside me, folding the paper again and again, and pressing it into a small, tight square.
For a moment he just looks at the paper in his hand, and then he holds it over the flame.
The corner catches first. A small orange glow that creeps inward, curling the edges black.
We watch it travel across the page, consuming his handwriting word by word until there’s nothing left to read.
He loosens his fingers as the last of it goes, letting the final scrap of ash drift down toward the grate, and then he turns the burner off.
The smoke thins and disappears.
Ryder is still looking at the place where the paper was. Then he shifts, leaning in close, and I feel the warmth of him against my shoulder before I hear his voice. Low and unhurried, his lips near my hair.
“Thank you.”
I don’t answer. I don’t think he needs me to.
I stand there beside him in the quiet kitchen, watching the last curl of smoke disappear into nothing, and let the moment be what it is.