Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dinner’s more likely,Ryker told me—but the evening comes and goes without a word from him. I sent him a couple of texts; no response. He’s probably just busy… he seemed particularly stressed this morning, despite the wonderful night we spent together. I don’t want to annoy him. Still, I wish he’d keep me up to date. He knows that I care about him, knows that he can confide in me if he wants.
I’m probably overthinking it. We’ve been seeing each other every single day over the last few weeks, but I should know better than to think that this is our new normal. He’s still a distant person with a plethora of responsibilities on his plate, after all. I shouldn’t begrudge him for that.
“Still nothing?” Harper asks.
I set my phone aside, shaking my head. Almost an hour at the library, and I haven’t so much as cracked open my textbooks.
She grimaces. “Fuck that. I can’t stand ghosting.”
“He’s not ghosting me.” At least, I don’t think so, based on the definition of ‘ghosting’ that I’ve picked up from the other girls. “He’s just busy, probably.”
“That’s what they all say.”
I give her a meaningful look, and she sighs.
“Okay, maybe I’m being harsh. But you’ve been spending so much time with him—I’m bound to get a little bit jealous.”
“You have Omega Phi,” I remind her. “You don’t need to be jealous over someone like me when you’re hanging out with the coolest girls on campus.”
“I don’t care about how cool they are. You’re my first friend here, and one of my best friends, like, ever. The OPs are great—well, most of them—but I can’t just relax around them, you know? There’s always an element of… performance, I guess.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s kind of exhausting, actually.”
“Well, I guess I’m available until further notice.” I tuck my phone away, resolving not to let myself dwell on the growing string of unanswered text messages to Ryker. “Want to go swing by the student union? Yuki told me they serve hot chocolate in the evenings.”
“Chocolate?” Harper slams her textbook so quickly that she almost smashes her fingers under the cover. “Say no more—let’s roll.”
The cafeteria is surprisingly empty when we reach it, mostly occupied by a few students studying over mugs of cocoa, but one table is alight with chatter, and a smile warms my face as I approach it.
“Hey, guys.”
“Lia!” Yuki trills, her bright eyes widening with delight. “You’re alive!”
That rouses laughter from Shivani and Roxanne, sitting on either side of her—the fourth member of their table, Angelica, looks predictably dour. Seeing her sends a quick pang of guilt through my core, just as it has every time since I swore myself to the Order. If anything happens to her, it’s my fault… but I won’t think about that right now.
“Of course I’m alive,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Come on, it’s not like I’ve been that absent.”
“You kind of have,” Shivani replies, stirring her cocoa. “Not that any of us can blame you, considering, well…”
“Ryker Pendragon,” Roxanne finishes for her. She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you’re with him.”
“Roxie’s jealous,” Yuki says, punching her playfully on the shoulder.
“Am not.”
“Are too!”
“Well, he’s totally ghosting her right now,” Harper blurts from my side—then claps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Oops. Sorry, Lia,” she mumbles through her fingers.
I don’t mind, though. It’s sort of nice to have it out in the open like this; the empathetic glances from the other girls make me feel less alone. Even Angelica seems a touch perturbed at the news, a frown tapering her glossy lips.
“Ghosting is the fucking worst,”Yuki groans. “I had this boyfriend in high school who just stopped talking to me after graduation. Not even a breakup text. Turns out he was totally in love with his best friend, and I was just the obligatory heterosexual accessory that he used to divert suspicion or whatever. Just my luck.”
“Well.” Roxanne smirks. “Whatever’s going on with Ryker, I don’t think that’s it.”
“Never mind about Ryker.” Sharing the news with the girls is one thing, but the last thing I want to do is dwell on my budding anxiety. “What have all of you guys been up to?”
An hour later, full of hot chocolate and gossip, pleasantly sleepy, I take a quick shower and get into my lavender silk nightshirt—then, without really thinking about it, I unlock my duffel bag and pull out the envelope tucked inside of it.
My mother’s handwriting, small and neat, reminds me of my own—when I first received the letter, I remember being astonished by how similar they looked. Her paragraphs are long, filling three full pages, but right now I’m looking for one in particular. I know where it is—the second page, close to the bottom.
I hope you’ve been patient with your father. He can be overbearing sometimes, and I’m sure that might get worse after I’m gone—but it’s only because he loves you and wants you to be safe. He tried very hard to keep me safe, too, and I don’t fault him in the least for trying. I would have loved him my whole life, if I got the chance. More than almost anything, I want you to find someone like that for yourself. Someone whose smile makes your chest ache. Love is a scary feeling, but it’s a precious one. People say that love and hatred are opposites, but I don’t quite agree. I think that love is the opposite of regret. To have loved, and to have been loved, is the most important thing in any lifetime. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts…
My phone sits on the bedside table, its screen dark. I don’t need to check my messages with Ryker to know what they look like:
Me: Hope your meeting went well!
Me: What time for dinner?
Me: I’m going with Harper, maybe I’ll see you there
Me: You’ll let me know if something’s wrong, right?
Even a simple yes would be enough to assure me. But it’s been a couple of hours now since I last texted him, and still nothing.
Love is a scary feeling, but it’s a precious one…
I’m getting too attached, aren’t I?
Probably. It’s not a big deal—I just need to sleep on it. The stress of everything—midterms, trials—it’s making me paranoid, that’s all.
I’m trying, Mom. I promise.
In the morning, he still hasn’t messaged me back.
Anxiety kicks in. Feels like my stomach is shrinking in on itself. I skip breakfast and find myself distracted during Greek, blanking out after every few lines of Rowan’s lecture. My mind won’t stop replaying my last night with Ryker. I must have done something wrong. He’s not the most communicative person, but he wouldn’t go a full day without checking his phone, and he definitely wouldn’t ignore my more frantic messages if he saw them.
In contrast to his radio silence, the group chat with my friends from dance is all but blowing up, making arrangements to meet for meals and study sessions. Nobody seems to notice that I haven’t responded for a while—though, scrolling back, I can’t blame them. I’ve been pretty quiet over the past week. If Harper noticed it enough to comment, I’m sure the same is true of Yuki, Shivani, and Roxanne.
Well, there’s no use trying to insert myself into their plans now. I’ll just bring the mood down—and I don’t feel like telling anyone other than Harper what’s going on.
Instead, I hole myself up in my room until my afternoon seminar rolls around. He’ll be in class, at least. I can ask him what on earth is going on to his face. The prospect is a little bit nerve-wracking, but in any case I’m going to have answers within the hour.
Harper seems to be on the same wavelength as we walk to the tower together, her lips pinched together in a sour expression. “Can’t wait to see the look on his face when you ask him what the fuck his problem is.”
“I’m not going to ask him—that.” I can’t even bring myself to repeat her words. “I’m just going to see if anything’s wrong.”
“If anything’s wrong?” She grimaces. “Lia, I think it’s pretty clear at this point that something’s up. I just hope it doesn’t have to do with you.”
“Yeah.” My fingers drift to my hair, winding through it uneasily. “Well, me too.”
My face must betray my discomfort, because she’s quick to change the subject, waving a hand in dismissal and pulling on a sunny grin. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask—you remember those OP pledges, Faith and Vaya? They’re, like, totally obsessed with you. They thought you were super charming. So did Rashel, I think, but she kind of intimidates me, so I can’t tell for sure. Do you think you might try again next year? I mean, that’s kind of weird, but not unheard of, I think.”
She’s trying to play around the obvious topic, but it’s not working too well. As much as I appreciate her attempt to distract me, the anxiety writhing inside of me only grows fiercer with every step.
My stomach drops when we enter the tower classroom. He’s not there. We’re a few minutes early, though, and his usual chair next to mine is still vacant… there’s still plenty of time to show up. I take a seat and focus on organizing my notes, trying not to dart constant glances over to the room’s entrance.
This can’t all be in my head. I grab my phone again, pulling up my contacts list and selecting Freddie’s name, which I’ve opted to change from the ridiculous bunnykiller nickname he gave himself.
Me: Haven’t seen Ryker around. Everything ok?
He’s probably going to show up now with a perfectly good explanation, and then Freddie will have a field day making fun of me for worrying about nothing. In fact, those are footsteps approaching the room right now?—
“Good afternoon, class!”
Professor Winters. Oh no.
Ryker isn’t coming.
Or he’s just late—not that he’s ever the type to be late, at least from what I know. Maybe even sick. God… all this time, I’ve been thinking about my own situation, assuming that the radio silence is somehow my fault—but what if something happened to him? The news would be all over campus, right? Ryker’s a huge deal—the hugest deal at Crimson Elite University. If he’s hurt or something, really hurt, to the point where he needs to stay back from class…
No. I can’t let myself think like that.
Screw this. After class, if Freddie still hasn’t responded, I’ll go to the GODs house myself and find out what’s going on. Even if he’s not there, I can ask one of the brothers if he’s all right. They might not know what Ryker’s problem is, but they’ll surely be able to tell me whether he’s okay. That’ll be something, at least.
“You okay?” Harper asks when class is dismissed, her voice low and urgent. “This is messed up. Do you think he’s in trouble?”
“No,” I half-lie, staring down at my phone. Nothing from Freddie—and, of course, nothing from Ryker either. “It’s probably nothing—it’s barely been a full day.” Never mind the fact that he’s taken to always warning me when he’s going to be busy.
“Okay, but…”
“It’s fine. I’m going to go by the house right now and figure out what’s up.”
She nods rapidly. “That’s smart. Want me to come with you? Moral support and all?”
“No—no, I’d rather go on my own. But I’ll catch you up with everything afterwards.”
“Well… okay.”
I don’t miss the worried glances that she shoots in my direction as we descend the tower stairs and make our way through the castle. I’m also aware of the other stares from students passing by. I’ve gotten used to the way people look at me ever since my relationship with Ryker went public, but this feels different. Judgmental… disgusted, even.
Maybe—hopefully—that’s my imagination. Just a projection of my own anxieties.
“Good luck,” Harper tells me at the castle doors. “Text me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Of course.”
I start across the field at a fast clip, but find myself slowing down as the GODs house looms nearer. How can I possibly know what to expect? No matter how many scenarios I try to conjure, nothing quite makes sense… and the only things that do make sense are the worst-case scenarios. Like the idea that I’ve done something to make him hate me.
By the time I reach the front door, my heart is pounding at triple speed.
It’s a stupid idea to just walk in—I’ll at least try knocking at first, and if there’s no response, I’ll take a peek inside. If there is a response, I can play casual about it: Hey, I was just wondering if Ryker is around? He wasn’t in class, and I wanted to make sure that everything was okay…
I raise a hand?—
But the door swings open before I can get the chance to knock.
And he’s there.
He fills the whole doorway, his muscular arms crossed, biceps tight beneath his T-shirt. The stiffness of his stance is all wrong—nothing like the lean, laid-back way that he’s been holding himself around me lately—and, to make matters a hundred times worse, he’s glowering at me.
“Ryker?”
His cobalt eyes show nothing but disdain as he looks me over, lip curling. “What the fuck are you doing here, Lia?”
No—no. This is all wrong. “What do you mean? I was worried about you; I?—”
“Worried about me?” he repeats with a disgusted scoff. “Why? You know that I can take care of myself.”
I stare desperately up at him, trying to find something in his expression that will give me even the slightest hint as to what on earth is going on—but his face may as well be sculpted from stone.
“You weren’t answering my texts,” I murmur. “And you weren’t in class. I thought something might have happened.”
“The only thing that’s happened is your refusal to take a fucking hint.”
My head spins, mouth agape. Is this some sort of messed-up joke? If so, it’s far from a funny one. “But… you… we?—”
“Had our fun. So? I’ve been with plenty of girls. What the fuck made you think you were any different from them?”
Everythingmade me think that. The way our eyes locked during the first party. The dates in the city. The Crypt. The look that he gave me beneath the morning rain when we went to breakfast together. The motion of our bodies together, shuddering with pleasure, and how I would lay my head on his chest afterwards, listening to the steady beating of his heart…
My body is trembling, but Ryker is stone-still, his face twisted into an icy glower.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.
“Yeah? Well, you better start. This isn’t a fucking game.”
“I don’t think?—”
“My word is law.” He doesn’t shout—instead, his voice grows low and deadly, and it’s somehow far worse. I wish he’d scream at me, lash out, show some trace of the passion that has always radiated between us. Instead, he just seems… annoyed. “What the fuck makes you think you’re so special?”
“I don’t believe you,” I repeat, just because I don’t know what else to possibly say. “This isn’t you. This?—”
“This is me. And I’m not someone you want to fucking cross. My word is law,” he repeats, spitting out every syllable, “and if you think you can defy that, believe me—you’ll pay the fucking price.”
And with that, he slams the door in my face.