Chapter 20 #4
“Of course I’m not staying here without you,” he said, looking offended by the suggestion. For the first time since I got here, I felt the coil of anxiety in my stomach loosen, unraveling like a tangled chain slipping free from a knot.
He folded me into his chest, wrapping me in a tight embrace, his hands threading in my hair, and I melted into him, tears pricking at the back of my eyelids.
I hooked my arms around his shoulders and clung to him, burrowing into his warmth and blocking out everything but him: the thump of music spilling from the bar, the bodies jostling past us on the crowded sidewalk, the cars whizzing by in a blur of noise and light.
I breathed him in and let myself believe everything was going to be okay.
When I finally drew back, Ryder pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the car.”
“He’s got his own driver. So fancy,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood, though the joke didn’t quite land.
He held me tight against him until the car pulled up, and we were both subdued on the drive back to the hotel.
I knew why I was quiet, but his silence was a question mark.
Was he mad at me for making him leave? Did things feel as off to him as they did to me?
I wanted to ask about his mom, but I’d made a decision not to bring up her treatments too frequently, since the news was never good and the topic only upset him.
The silence in the car was thick, though my thoughts were swirling.
I hated how awkward everything felt. This wasn’t the reunion I’d imagined, not even close.
This is just part of dating long distance, I reminded myself. We’re out of sync, that’s all. You need to give yourselves time to recalibrate.
I gripped my purse tightly in my lap, trying to shake off the pessimism hanging over me like a thundercloud.
Even if this wasn’t quite the baby reveal I’d hoped for, we were finally together, what I’d been dreaming of for weeks.
I wanted to focus on him, on us, on the earth-shattering news that was about to change both our lives.
I wanted to recapture the closeness we’d had back in Seafolly.
But closeness was not to be.
We entered the hotel room, and as soon as Ryder set my suitcase on a luggage rack, he made a beeline to the bar, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey.
My stomach sank. His eyes were already glazed, his laughter too loud back at the bar. The last thing he needed was more alcohol.
“Do you think we could skip the whiskey?” I asked lightly, aiming for casual. I didn’t want to put him on the defensive.
He turned slowly, the glass frozen halfway to his lips. “Why?”
I hesitated, biting my lip, trying to figure out how to approach this without derailing the night. “It’s just us, I figured you might want to slow down a bit,” I finally said, choosing my words carefully. “Unless I’m driving you to drink,” I teased, hoping a joke might take some of the sting out.
It didn’t. “Are you tracking my drinking now?” The shine in his eyes sharpened, his features shifting into something unreadable.
“No, I just…” Want you to sober up so I can tell you something important.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, finally facing the reality that had been staring me in the face: This conversation was not going to happen tonight.
I wanted this to be a positive memory, a productive conversation, and right now, I was destined for disappointment.
I’d have to try again tomorrow morning when he was sober and I didn’t feel like I’d been hit by a truck.
“Forget it. Do what you want. I’m getting into bed,” I told him, already unzipping my suitcase and pulling out a pair of pajama pants. Maybe he’d take the hint and come scratch my head.
I heard the clink of ice against glass as Ryder set his drink down on the bar, then the soft tug of fabric as he pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the bed.
“You know what gets rid of headaches?” he drawled, his voice slurred and suggestive as he came up behind me.
He smoothed a palm down my spine, around the curve of my waist, coasting over my backside as I changed my pants.
He dipped his head and dragged a line of slow, wet kisses along the back of my neck, and when he reached my ear, he nipped it with his teeth. “I’ve missed you,” he rumbled.
I’d never been less in the mood to deal with a drunk, handsy Ryder. This wasn’t like my birthday, when we’d been equally tipsy and desperate for any excuse to touch each other. Now I felt about as horny as a houseplant. “Not tonight, babe. I need a raincheck,” I demurred, pulling away.
“Come on, I haven’t seen you in over a month,” he murmured in my ear, nuzzling his nose into my neck. “God, you smell good.”
All I could smell was the whiskey on his breath, and it hung in the air between us, stirring something sour in my stomach. I turned around, pulling his hands off me and placing them back at his sides. “Ryder, I said no.” It came out a little sharper than I’d intended.
He stared at me like I’d just slapped him.
“Wow,” he said flatly, backing up a step.
“I can’t do anything right, can I?” He shook his head, then stalked back to the bar and downed his entire drink in one swallow, holding eye contact with me over the rim of his glass the entire time. It was a giant Fuck you.
Something about the spitefulness of it flipped a switch inside me. I’d spent the whole night accommodating him, burying my own needs and tiptoeing around landmines, but now I was stepping straight into the blast zone. “So you’re going to punish me because I don’t feel well?”
“Oh no, don’t worry,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t try to touch you again. Message received, loud and clear.”
He was spoiling for a fight, and maybe I was too.
Maybe we needed this explosion of emotions and words, a release for the pressure and restlessness we’d felt for weeks.
After months of being so intertwined in each other’s lives in Seafolly, connecting through a screen fell far short of the intimacy we both craved.
We thrived on passion and intensity, and right now, for better or worse, we had it.
“If you want to feel someone up, I’m sure your ‘work wife’ back at the bar would be happy to stand in for me,” I snapped before I could stop myself. Guess I’m going there.
He paused, blinking. “My work wife?”
“Yeah, you know, the woman who was pawing you like a prom date, who thinks you’re sooo funny, who’s just full of special inside jokes only the two of you understand.”
Ryder frowned. “Did she actually call herself my work wife?”
I smiled tightly. “New set, new girlfriend, huh?”
He exhaled a frustrated noise. “Oh, come on, Scarlett. You don’t actually believe that.”
I didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “I know I didn’t like what I saw,” I said, folding my arms over my chest, a sudden chill blooming under my skin. I chalked it up to the mood between us, frosty and frayed, but my hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
He drove a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable. “She’s a little pushy.”
“A little pushy?” I said, my voice rising in disbelief. “She was draped all over you like a cheap suit! Which you didn’t seem to mind all that much, by the way.”
His jaw flexed. He was still shirtless, chest rising and falling with each sharp breath, tension humming through him.
He was all heat and muscle and pent-up frustration, and the room suddenly felt too small.
“What would you have me do? Make a scene? Yell at her? I have to get along with these people, Scarlett. If I embarrass her, it’ll just make filming that much harder. ”
“So your solution is to just ignore it and hope it goes away?” I was incredulous. He’d never be okay with this if the roles were reversed. He’d been territorial about Jase for much less.
He sighed. “It’s not worth making a fuss about. I know insecurity, and I can recognize it in someone else. She’s harmless.”
“If it’s so harmless, then why didn’t you tell me about it?”
He dragged a hand down his face, exasperated. “What good would that have done? So you could spiral over it from three thousand miles away? Things have been hard enough between us as it is,” he muttered.
His words stung, though I could hardly dispute them.
Still, I refused to be sidetracked. “What I just witnessed was not harmless, Ry. And you’re deluding yourself if you think she’s not going to try something.
If she hasn’t already,” I added, studying him for signs of guilt, wondering what else he’d kept from me.
His eyes narrowed. “So you don’t trust me, is that it? You think I’d cheat on you?”
No way was I falling for that gaslighting. “All it takes is one too many drinks when you’re out ‘unwinding’ and your guard is down for something to happen.”
“Ah,” he said, squaring his shoulders, his tone edged with defiance. “And that’s the real issue, isn’t it? You think I have a drinking problem.”
I held his gaze. “Do you?” There was no bite in my voice, only concern.