Chapter 33
Elle,
I promised I wouldn’t write.
You’re right, that I’ve broken promises. This one I intended to keep. If you’re reading this, it’s another way I let you down.
I know you’re mad.
I know you hate me.
I made some mistakes. Little ones. Big ones. Add in some shitty luck, and I ended up here.
I’m stuck here. You’re not. And the only way I’m going to get through this, the only way I can live with the consequences, is knowing you’re out there, living.
You’re going to accomplish amazing things, Elodie Clarke. If I know one thing, it’s that. I feel lucky to have met you.
Since I’m writing this for selfish reasons, here are a few more things I want you to know:
I love you.
I miss you.
I’ll never forget you.
Maybe in another life.
Ryder
Salty air blows my hair straight out of my face. By the time the ferry hits shore, it’ll be a tangled mess.
I don’t care.
I stare out at the white-capped waves, my stomach tumbling with each rise and rock of the boat. Scout is on high alert by my side, focused on the other passengers walking past and the seagulls sailing by.
Some ocean spray splashes over the railing and onto my arm. The July air is warm enough that the sprinkle feels good, but the water is colder than I expected. Maybe I won’t be swimming this weekend after all. I was hoping the temperature would have risen since my May visit.
Twenty minutes later, we disembark from the ferry.
There are three figures waiting alongside the vintage green Land Rover instead of the one I was looking for. I decided not to bother bringing my convertible this trip, so Keira was planning to pick me up.
I shade my eyes and dig through my bag for my sunglasses as best I can while juggling Scout’s leash and my luggage. The sun is sinking straight into golden hour. The ferry I just stepped off was the second to last of the day.
Scout barks as we approach the group. He’s happy to be on solid land again. But he’s straining toward one silhouette in particular.
It irks me that my dog likes Ryder. Likes him a noticeable amount, not just his normal friendliness.
It makes me wonder about all those silly things I decided were myths a long time ago—like destiny and fate and kismet. If there were forces that pushed me and Ryder together, not just pulled us apart.
“Here. Let me take him.” Ryder’s fingers are warm and calloused as he takes the leash from me. My shoulder is suddenly free from the weight of my weekend bag too.
I glance down at a wiggling Scout trying desperately to get Ryder’s attention. “He remembers you.”
“I’m hard to forget.”
My eyes flash up to his.
I wasn’t anticipating that response. Or the teasing smile on Ryder’s face before he leans down to pet Scout. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him since he’s been back. Some of the careful mask has fallen away, allowing a glimpse at the ease behind it.
The last two times we talked were both heavy. Yelling in the kitchen. Breathing on the phone.
Then, there’s the letter, tucked carefully in the bag Ryder’s carrying for me.
He must know I have it. That I read it. Right?
“Yay! You’re here,” Keira exclaims, and I realize the only person I’ve greeted is Ryder. I give her a big hug, and she squeezes me back tightly. “And you are in some desperate need of sun, girl.” She pokes my pale arm, the color of my skin not changing at all.
“I’ve been studying,” I say.
The bar exam is only two weeks away.
“You also have a backyard,” she reminds me.
“I wear sunscreen.”
Keira links our elbows and pulls me toward the car. “Seriously, how have you been? Aside from vitamin D–deprived.”
“I’m good,” I say, glancing back over one shoulder.
Tucker and Ryder are trailing ten feet behind us. Scout is trotting along with the boys happily.
“You look good,” Keira tells me.
“I thought I looked pale,” I tease.
“Pale and gorgeous.”
I smile. “So, what’s the evening plan?”
“I was thinking of going out for drinks, then heading back to the cottage for dinner? Tucker got steaks to grill. We’ll be too big of a group for fancy food tomorrow night. I just bought a bunch of hot dogs to roast.”
“How big of a group are we tonight?” I ask.
“It’s just the four of us.” Keira glances at me, testing my reaction to that response.
My smile isn’t forced. “Okay.”
It’s a surprise. I just assumed more guests would arrive before tomorrow. Not an unpleasant one, but a surprise.
The guys reach the car a few seconds later. Keira insists on riding in the back seat with me and Scout, who spends the short drive straining to stick his head out the window. Tucker and Ryder talk baseball as I stare out at the scenery passing by and avoid getting a mouthful of fur.
It’s even more beautiful here now than it was back in May. Hydrangeas have bloomed. Houses are all inhabited, each clamshell driveway we pass occupied by multiple cars.
Ten minutes later, we stop in front of the Parkers’ house.
“Wow. Nice decorating,” I compliment, studying the exterior.
Keira beams as she climbs out of the back seat. “Thank you.”
Tiny flags have been spaced along the path that leads to the front door. Red, white, and blue lanterns hang from the porch railing. And the pastel pillows on the swing have been replaced by star-and-stripe patterns.
“You should see the inside,” Tucker says. “Took her most of yesterday. And it only required one emergency bookshelf repair that took me all afternoon.”
Keira sticks her tongue out at her fiancé. “How was I supposed to know it would break?”
“Maybe because it’s a bookshelf, not a ladder?”
Ryder is grinning behind Tucker, making me think Keira and Tucker have had this argument a couple of times already today. Our gazes meet, and I look away quickly, feeling weirdly … shy.
Lines from the letter he wrote me run through my head. It was dated six years ago, meaning he wrote it a full year after breaking up with me. Meaning he didn’t let go quickly or easily, the way I always assumed.
Keira and Tucker are still bickering about the bookshelf as we walk inside.
The red, white, and blue color scheme has definitely spread indoors. Everywhere I look, there’s something patriotic.
“Are you up for going out for drinks?” Keira asks me.
“Yeah. Definitely. Just let me get Scout settled and get changed.”
“You’re in the same room as before.” Keira takes my bag from Tucker, who carried it inside for me, and heads for the stairs hung with bunting.
Scout trots after us once I whistle for him.
“You spoil me,” I say as soon as we reach it. “No way this room doesn’t have the best view.”
“It does. But it’s also where my parents stay when they’re here, so …” She smirks. “Basically, you taking this room is helping my sex life.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You could have just said, It’s yours because you’re my best friend and you showed up before Juliet.”
“It’s yours because you’re my best friend and you showed up before Juliet.”
I roll my eyes as I walk toward the doors leading out to the balcony, eager to take in the view I know is waiting. “Too late.”
“Come down whenever you’re ready,” Keira says. “No rush.” She shuts the door behind her.
I stand out on the balcony for a few more minutes, then feed Scout his dinner.
My hair is the disaster I knew it’d be. It takes me a good ten minutes to get the strands unknotted, then change my clothes.
My mom drove into the city last week for a shopping trip. She took the news of my breakup with Prescott better than I had expected, although I’m positive part of her muted reaction was because my dad had already told her. Still, it was one of the nicer afternoons we’d had together in a while. And in addition to more professional clothes, I bought a few fun sundresses, like the blue one I’m wearing tonight.
There’s a knock on the door as I’m debating whether to pull my hair up or leave it down. I walk to answer it, holding the strands up with one hand.
Keira whistles when she sees me. “Damn. New dress?”
“Uh-huh. Frances and I went shopping.” I drop my hair, then gather the strands off my neck again. “Up or down?”
“Down. Here.” Keira hands me a glass that I take a tentative sniff of. Vodka, I think. “It was an early wedding gift from my liquor supplier. You wouldn’t believe what it costs a bottle.”
“It’s going to be that kind of night, huh?” I ask before swallowing the shot.
It’s good. Ice cold and smooth. Only stings once it hits my empty stomach.
Keira quirks a brow. “You tell me.”
She doesn’t bother to hide the burning curiosity on her face. The last time she saw me in person, I was holding back tears on her front steps.
“He had Nina give me a letter,” I tell her.
“Nina?”
“His mom,” I explain.
“You met her?”
I nod. “I … visit her. I’ve visited her for years.”
“You have? Why?”
“Because …” I tuck my hair behind one ear. “Because I couldn’t let go.”
Keira nods slowly. “What did the letter say?”
“It explained some things. Why he ended our relationship. What he was thinking.”
“In a really sorry I broke your heart kind of way? Or an I’ll love you forever kind of way?”
I swallow. “Both. The second one more.”
“Wow. I mean, I’m not that surprised. The way he acted at the bar when you … panicked. Waking up early to exercise your dog. The tension with Prescott? Not to mention what happened when he came over … it’s clear he still has serious feelings for you.”
“Maybe.”
“He turned down Ophelia. And Tuck swears he isn’t seeing anyone.”
“He spends a lot of time at Reese’s,” I say.
Keira shakes her head. “I asked Tuck about it. He swears Ryder and Reese are just friends. And Reese’s kid is always there.”
“She has a kid?”
“Yeah. A son. They’re coming tomorrow.” She takes a step closer to the door. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.”
I flick the overhead light off, leaving a lamp on for Scout. He’s finished his food, and he’s curled up in one corner of the crate Keira—or Tucker—left out for him. The Parkers used to have a Lab they’d bring here when Keira and her brother were younger.
Tucker and Ryder are waiting next to the front door. They’ve both changed as well.
Tucker is wearing a pressed button-down that makes Keira’s influence on his wardrobe obvious. I usually see him in T-shirts, like the navy one Ryder is wearing. Paired with khaki shorts, it’s actually one of the fancier outfits I’ve ever seen Ryder wear.
I feel Ryder’s eyes on me, so I avoid his gaze.
The same shyness from earlier has reappeared, a single shot of vodka not enough to banish it.
“Truck will be a tight squeeze,” Tucker says. “Let’s take the Rover again?”
“I can drive,” I volunteer. That’ll give me something to focus on besides Ryder.
Tucker nods and hands me the keys.
“It’s a tank compared to your car,” Ryder comments.
Finally, I look at him. “Are you calling me a bad driver?”
“There’s a dent in the rear bumper of your convertible.”
“When were you inspecting my car?” I ask.
“I noticed it the last time you were here,” Ryder replies. One corner of his mouth has curved up, like he knows I’m not really annoyed, just flustered.
“I can handle driving to the bar.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“I was trying to be nice.”
Ryder smirks. “By offering to drive one way again? You sucked down the margaritas at this place like they were water last time, Clarke.”
He’s goading me. Teasing me. I’m not sure why, and I’m enjoying it too much to analyze it right now. I’m at the edge of the cliff again, the thrill consuming.
I gasp. “The fuck I did.”
Had another guy mentioned the night I had a panic attack, I’d be a stiff board right now. But that’s Ryder’s magic. The effect he’s always had on me. He doesn’t wash the darkness away. But he changes the light. He makes the hard moments look brighter. Appear livable.
Keira and Tucker exchange a glance that reminds me that Ryder and I spent most of our happy moments as a couple alone.
“Give me the keys, Lo.” He steps closer, holding out a hand.
I grin. “No.”
“You’re already drunk, huh?”
I guess he’s close enough to smell my breath.
“I had one shot. And Keira made me.”
“Hey! Leave me out of this … drama.” Keira waves a hand between me and Ryder.
Her expression is alight with a feverish intrigue I know the source of. She’ll have more questions later.
When he wants to be, Ryder is electric. When I’m around him, I’m someone different.
“I’m driving, Elle. Give me the keys.”
His insistence sparks a memory. He’s only driven me around once before.
“How’d you get home that night?” I say. I’ve always wondered. Never asked. Gave up on getting answers.
Ryder stares at me. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed I’m bringing up the past or just taken aback.
“I walked,” he finally answers.
“That’s a long way to walk.”
“I had a lot to think about that night.”
I start toward the driver’s side.
Ryder heaves a sigh out. “Don’t hit anything.”
He gets in the passenger side while Keira and Tucker climb into the back seat.
“If I do, you can just fix it.”
“Haven’t done that in a while,” he says, some of the teasing leaving his tone.
I slant a glance in his direction before I start driving.
The garage where he worked in high school went out of business a few years ago. If it hadn’t, I think he’d be working there instead of in construction.
Ryder seems content to be a passenger now that we’re moving, and it confuses me even more. It’s almost like he picked a fight just to argue with me, and I have no idea what to make of that.
I suggest going to the same bar as last time, ignoring the concerned looks aimed my way. The worry is why I want to go back—to prove that I can.
Ryder agrees first, and Keira and Tucker follow his lead.
The bar—Beachcombers, I notice it’s called this time—is even more crowded than it was last time we visited. It’s a good thing we’re a smaller group.
There’s no glimmer of panic as I push past people. No claustrophobia. No crush of confinement. I’m annoyed mostly by the slow progress toward the bar.
Several minutes later, we reach an open spot. Keira and I decide on mojitos while Tucker and Ryder order beers.
We cheers, me painfully aware of Ryder’s arm pressed against mine. It’s so packed in here that loss of personal space is an inevitability. But it’s still so overwhelming, being this close to him.
“Oh, hey!” Tuck says. “The signed Williams jersey. You never saw it last time, right?”
Ryder shakes his head.
“Come on. We’ll be right back, guys.”
Tucker and Ryder disappear into the crowd.
“Who?” I ask Keira.
“He’s a famous Red Sox player,” she tells me.
I lift an eyebrow, surprised she knows that. I guess her influence on Tucker hasn’t been one-sided.
“Keira?” a male voice says.
Keira and I both turn to face the man who spoke.
“Cash!” Keira exclaims. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“You too.” He gives her a quick hug.
Keira glances at me. “Oh, Elle! You remember Cash, don’t you?”
“I think so,” I say, shaking his offered hand. I don’t, not really. I must have met him when I was in college, and I’m guessing I was drunk at the time.
Cash flashes a wide smile at me, the sight almost blinding. “I definitely remember Elle.” His grin turns flirtatious. “Nice to see you again.”
“You too,” I reply.
“You ladies headed to the fireworks tomorrow night?”
“Of course,” Keira tells him.
“I’ve got a prime spot staked out. Right by the pier. You can’t beat the view over the water. Make sure you come check it out.”
“We’ll be a big group,” Keira warns.
“Everyone is welcome,” Cash assures her. “Plenty of space.”
“All right then. We’ll be there.”
“Here you guys are.” Tucker appears.
“Hey. I’m Cash.”
“Tucker.” Tucker shakes his hand.
“Where’s Ryder?” I blurt.
Everyone looks at me.
Tucker looks over his shoulder. “Dunno. I thought he was right behind me. I’ll text him.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing.
I set down my drink. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”
But rather than push toward the restrooms sign that hangs above the back hallway, I walk out the same side door I did last time.
The porch is empty, no sign of anyone. But I keep walking, around the corner to the back of the bar. Two giant dumpsters take up most of the small paved section. But past them is an unobstructed view of the water, so the area seems much more open.
Ryder’s leaning against the shingles, smoking. There’s a sexy nostalgia to the sight, but I mostly hate it.
“You said you’d stop.” I pause a couple of feet away, staring at him. Waiting for him to look at me.
He doesn’t. “I say a lot of things.”
I cross my arms. “Not to me you don’t.”
A quiet scoff before he exhales a cloud of smoke.
“Your mom is dying of lung cancer.”
“Don’t need the reminder, Elle, thanks.”
The next time he lowers the cigarette to exhale, I take it from him and toss it on the ground. Ryder sighs, then takes a swig from the beer bottle he’s holding loosely in his left hand.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“I was smoking.”
“Well, stop.”
His jaw works as he stares straight ahead at the water.
“I don’t understand.” I hate how young my voice sounds. How lost. “I thought we were …”
“Were what?”
“Good,” I conclude lamely. “I thought we were good.”
I thought we’d talk and laugh and drink with our best friends tonight. I thought he was done avoiding me.
“I just needed a minute.”
“You got seven years of minutes, Ryder. And you’re still avoiding me.”
His fingers flex on the bottle. “Wasn’t in the mood to watch another rich prick pant after you, okay?”
My exhale is more of a huff. “This is about Cash? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Cash.” Ryder snorts. “Fitting name.”
“At least those rich pricks have the balls to pursue me, Ryder. They don’t sulk outside, alone, poisoning their lungs.”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s basically a growl. “Go inside, Elle.”
“No.”
One second, I’m standing and scowling at him. And the next, my spine is pressed against the hard ridges of the weathered wooden shingles that cover the exterior of the building, and Ryder is kissing me.
I’m so stunned that it takes my lips a minute to unfreeze and relax.
There’s a rush of heat and urgency. An avalanche of unfamiliar sensation. It’s been so long since I was kissed like this. So long since Ryder kissed me.
I melt into him, not putting up the slightest fight, and there’s a noticeable stutter in Ryder’s movements as my willingness registers. When he realizes I want this. How bad I want this.
He kissed me as a punishment. As a consequence for staying out here and not letting him run away.
He pushed, expecting me to pull away and abandon him. Forgetting that last time, he forced me to.
So, I call his bluff. I reach for the waistband of his shorts, groaning when my fingers brush the hot, taut skin between his hips.
Ryder tenses even more when I touch him, but he doesn’t pull away. His mouth presses harder against mine, exerting enough pressure that I feel it everywhere.
I run a finger along the elasticized band of his boxer briefs, smiling when I feel him react.
Ryder can lie to me. His body can’t.
He wants me.
My hand explores lower, finding the hard length of his cock. Ryder grunts as my fingers tighten, tugging his erection free from his clothes.
My lips move to his neck. I graze the soft skin there with my teeth. “Fuck me.”
His breathing is heavy, his heartbeat racing against my palm. My other hand is still wrapped around his cock, barely moving. Just fisting enough to tease.
If he turns me down right now, I’m not sure we’ll ever recover. I need him to fight. Need him to care in other ways than old letters and new apologies.
“Right now?” His hand skates up my thigh, slipping under the skirt of my dress. “What if someone comes out here? Do you want them to see perfect Elle Clarke getting fucked against the side of this bar like a slut?”
I whimper. His words are crude and rude and raw. And they only strengthen the storm building inside of me. That’s what Ryder does. He amplifies everything. Pain … anger … lust. The power of it is devastating.
I have to grip his shoulders for support when his hand reaches my underwear.
My knees are useless, buckling beneath my weight, as he strokes two fingers back and forth before tugging the flimsy lace to one side. My fingernails dig deep into the cotton of his shirt, scoring half-moons in the skin beneath. His touch inflames me, igniting that deep, forbidden place only Ryder has ever been able to reach.
I’ve blamed Archer and that awful night in Maddie’s bedroom for most of my hang-ups about sex. But it’s really Ryder’s fault. He ruined me, showing me what this is supposed to be like and then taking it away. Leaving me to try to find it somewhere else, only to fail miserably over and over again.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he tells me. “Has it been a while, Elle?”
I don’t respond to his taunting tone. I like that he’s jealous, thinking about me with other men. And I have absolutely no idea how he’d react to the truth—I’ve only ever been with him.
I reach for his cock. He’s so hard that the skin looks shiny, the heat radiating from his substantial length searing into my palm.
He makes a strangled noise when I guide the head of his dick to the place where I need him. I’m nothing but nerve endings, all of them focused on that point of contact.
Ryder’s eyes are fixed on the same spot.
Then they dart up to meet mine.
Ryder regards me in that way only he ever has. Like he can see my soul. Like he understands me on a cellular level.
Then, he thrusts inside of me in one confident stroke.
I cry out, the sudden stretch hitting like a euphoric shot of adrenaline. I forgot how good this feels. How primal and overwhelming. Like finally scratching an itch you’ve been struggling to reach.
Immediate relief.
Ryder’s breathing is harsh as he slides out and then shoves right back in, creating that delicious friction my body is craving.
I slump against the wall, an unintelligible flurry of noises tumbling out of my mouth carelessly. I don’t care about anything, except that Ryder keeps filling me. Keeps stoking the heat that’s steadily building.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my thigh as he lifts one leg higher, hitting a spot deep inside of me that makes black dots dance in the corners of my vision.
“Ryder.” That’s all I can manage to say that’s an actual word. Just his name, on repeat.
I never ever want this feeling to end. Yet I’m so, so desperate for the release that’s approaching.
“God, you look good taking my cock.” His voice is low and husky and intimate as his hips pump into me. His pace is quickening, sending tingles skittering across the surface of my skin.
All I can manage in response is a moan.
It’s too much. Too overwhelming. Too consuming. He’s like the devastating strength of a riptide, pulling me under. I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to.
A hot rush of pure pleasure floods my body, the same weightless sensation of flying off a cliff tumbling through me as my muscles tremble and quiver and pulse.
Everything around me blurs. I couldn’t tell you the name of this bar. The day of the week. Where I went to college.
But Ryder’s face is crystal clear. The focal point turning my world. He never takes his eyes off of me, those gray irises missing nothing. Watching like he’s memorizing this moment too.
Once I’ve stopped shuddering, he withdraws. Takes a step back. Immediately, I miss the heat of his body.
My arms drop to my sides, my nails digging into the wood behind me as I watch him tuck his dick back into his shorts and zip them up.
My dress is half bunched around my thighs, but covering the essentials. And my underwear is still on. All he did was pull it to the side.
We both look disheveled. But no more so than you would following a windy walk on the beach.
The salty breeze blows a few strands of my hair into my face, and it’s like the past few minutes never happened.
And I’m confused. I’m always confused, it feels like. Ryder hasn’t mentioned the letter he wrote me, and I haven’t brought it up either. We’re stuck in this perpetual cycle of uncertainty.
I freeze suddenly, the foreign sensation of warm stickiness soaking my underwear breaking through the blissful haze of my stunned brain.
Fuck.
“We should head back in,” I blurt, then turn and rush toward the porch before Ryder can say anything.
Or ask if I’m on birth control.
“I have to run to the store,” I tell Keira. “Do you mind if I borrow the car?”
“The store?”
She gives me a weird look. The same one I got at Beachcombers, starting when I found her and Tucker in the crowd again. We’re back at the cottage now, making dinner. Keira’s in the middle of chopping cucumbers for the salad.
“Yeah. I forgot to bring toothpaste.”
“We have toothpaste here, you know.”
“I know. But there’s a specific brand I like. Some kinds … bother my gums.”
Keira raises a single eyebrow. Maybe if we were alone, I’d be honest.
But Ryder is only a screen door away, grilling with Tucker outside, so honesty isn’t an option right now. If I hurry, I can be back before dinner is ready. They just started the meat a few minutes ago, and I found a pharmacy online that’s only a couple of miles away.
“O … kay.” Keira still looks confused. “I mean, yeah, of course you can borrow the car. Do you want me to … come with you?”
“No. Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
There’s a soft hiss as the screen door slides open.
“Right back?”
“Elle is running to the store.” Keira answers Ryder so I can continue avoiding his gaze.
“I’ll go with you,” Ryder offers.
“You guys are grilling,” I reply without looking at him, fiddling with the car keys Keira handed to me. “I just need one thing. I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t mind.”
I swallow the swear that wants to come out. “Fine.”
There’s no teasing about driving this time.
Ryder climbs into the passenger seat silently as I start the car. The radio is still on from our drive home. Tucker turned it on, noticing the tension between me and Ryder, same as Keira.
I’m tempted to swear again when Ryder climbs out of the car once I park at the pharmacy. I was really hoping he’d decide to stay in the car.
I browse the toothpaste aisle first to keep my cover.
After randomly picking a brand, I keep walking. I’ve never bought an emergency contraceptive before. My best guess is, it’s by the tampons and pads, but there’s no sign of what I’m looking for there.
Ryder’s expression is carefully neutral as he follows me back down the aisle. I’m going to have to ask someone.
The only store employee I can find is the teenager working behind the counter. He’s ringing up a woman with diamonds the size of quarters hanging from her ears. She must be close to my mom’s age, but she checks Ryder out pretty obviously.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the guy asks as I set the toothpaste on the counter. His name is Cyrus, according to the white name tag on his chest.
“Uh, no, actually. I also need a morning-after pill. I didn’t see it in the aisle.”
Twin splotches of red color Cyrus’s cheeks. “We keep that back in the pharmacy. I’ll have someone bring one up here.”
“Great. Thank you.” My eyes stay straight ahead, studiously avoiding the gray gaze I can feel on me.
Cyrus picks up a walkie-talkie. “Hey, Frank?”
A garbled, “Yeah?” comes through thirty-two seconds later. I count them, just for something to do.
“Could you bring a box of Plan B up to register two?”
More static. “Bring what?”
“Plan. B. The morning-after pill.”
It’s shocking I’m not a puddle of embarrassment on the carpet right now.
“Oh. Yeah. Give me a few minutes.”
Those few minutes feel like several hours. Finally, another teenage guy appears with a purple box.
Cyrus scans it, then announces, “That’ll be seventy-six forty-two.”
Way more than I was expecting. But I nod, opening my wallet and pulling out my credit card. When I glance up, Cyrus is already holding cash. We all wait in excruciating silence for him to count the change, which he hands to Ryder.
My stomach squeezes when I register his stony expression.
“Have a great night,” Cyrus says.
Doubtful.
“You too,” I reply. I aim a forced smile at the teenager, then head for the automatic doors.
Ryder’s footsteps follow me in an ominous rhythm.
As soon as we’re outside, I expect him to say something. But he’s silent as I set the plastic bag in the back seat and then climb into the driver’s side. When I turn on the car and snap my seat belt into place.
It’s not until the car’s headlights are sweeping the dark, sand-lined road that he speaks.
“You didn’t want to take any chances?”
“I’m not on birth control.”
Another long beat of silence follows. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, forcing my eyes to remain on the street ahead.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally asks.
“I thought you’d freak out.”
“No. Before.”
Because I wanted it. Because I needed it. Because rational thoughts disappear when he’s touching me. It didn’t even occur to me we’d had unprotected sex until I felt his cum dripping out of me.
I can’t say any of that.
“Got caught up in the moment, I guess.”
Ryder’s hands form fists in his lap, and I don’t think I’m the only one who recognizes those words from our breakup.
I couldn’t tell he was lying then. And I can’t tell if he believes me now.
“I’m sorry, Elle. I should have … asked.”
I close my eyes for as long as I dare to while driving. I hate his apologies. They’re just empty words, following broken promises.
He might as well have just said he regrets having sex with me.
“There’s no chance I gave you anything,” he tells me. “Just so you know.”
I nod.
Neither of us says anything else for the rest of the drive. Or for most of dinner.