Chapter Thirty-Six
Ryden
“Let’s stay here, Dove, let’s stay here, Dove...”
Arc & Sheild Records: ‘Paint the Town’
Composition By: Ryden Spectre
Alcohol was a poor excuse to do what I wanted, but it was the only way I knew how to be near her.
So if she wanted sober Spectre, she wasn’t finding him here. I wasn’t fucking ready.
And I’d be hammered out of my goddamn mind for a single second of her time.
…Without her looking at me like the mess that I am.
I stepped down off the table, chugging a glass of water to cool the buzz of coke and C?roc.
Hands pawed at my chest, one girl linking her fingers through my chain. “Dance with me, Ryden.”
I flashed her a smile and shook my head, my gaze forever claiming Scarlett.
You think I want anyone but you? You don’t think I’m miserable without you? You don’t think I’m drowning out my feelings and you’re the water I want to soak in?
No, no. I could never tell her that. You can’t tell her that.
Because you don’t deserve her, do you? With all that she’s done, with how fucked in the head you are?
Mom left town, Tav told me. Gone like a puff of smoke in a windy back alley. I guess I should be grateful, happy even. Problem solved and all.
But what if –
Ah.
The what ifs, right. That’s what tortured me.
What if she meant to stay this time?
What if she wanted to come back?
What if she really needed me?
What if I really needed her –
No, holy fuck, NO! Get it the fuck together, Ryden.
She never gave a damn, did she? And now I’m stuck in my own head dueting with a girl who can’t sing (well, you don’t know that Ryden) and clawing after your best friend who can’t even look at you after you ripped her goddamn heart out in the process of shredding yours –
“We’re leaving.” Scarlett had my hand in hers, dragging me through the back door where Morty waited.
“Forgot I showed you this exit,” I laughed, squeezing tighter.
“Give us a second, will you, Morty?” Scarlett kicked open the heavy steel door, letting it slam behind us.
We were beside the building, nothing but a brick wall and an old photobooth resting near the fence.
I loved that photobooth.
Don’t know why the club got rid of it.
I mean… It’s not gone. Still there.
Just like my dove.
Not like my mom.
Scarlett leaned against the wall, unlatching a pack of Belmonts. “She’s not here anymore, you know?”
“Thought you quit smoking a year ago.” I held out my hand. “Belmonts aren’t sold here, where’d you –”
“Timb,” she said, taking a drag. “Canadian import.”
“Ah.”
“Want to talk about anything else, Ry? Anything else but goddamn cigarettes?”
I stepped over to the photobooth, pulling aside the curtain. “Nothing to say, just wanted your company.”
A plume of smoke escaped her lips. “You’ve had it.”
“When?”
“Right,” she laughed, “your benders cause memory loss. I forgot about that.”
I fumbled with my coke chain, pulling out the vile. “You got a one?”
She stubbed out her cigarette. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
I shrugged. “You already hate me, don’t you? We’re already over?”
“Over? What the hell are you talking about right now?”
“I ruined my image” – sniff – “got the label on my back about a duet with some chick. I hate working with people – I’ve hated working with people since –”
We both averted our gaze, sinking back into the memory of our Emory, a haunting presence we both shared – a ghost chained to our backs.
“The band, they’re good. They’re solid, you know. My boys, Dove. I never wanted to work with another singer… she was too –”
“Good, I know,” she finished. “She could’ve, um.” Scarlett paused. “She could’ve been here.”
“Lots of people could have been,” I choked out a laugh. “Lots of people choose to leave before the curtains rise.”
“Ryden –”
“AND THEN!” I laughed harder. “And then they magically come back, right? As if they never left – as if they were entitled ALL ALONG to the success, the money – all of it. Theirs, theirs, theirs.”
Scarlett stalked towards me, stepping on my boots. Her hand was on my shoulder then, a breath’s kiss away from my flickering pulse. “The dead can’t haunt you.”
“No, no they can’t,” I whispered, resting my forehead against hers. “Doesn’t mean they won’t try.”
Slowly, she pulled back, and I felt my skin detaching from my body. My brain sparred against my heart until my instinct gave way, and my being craved her closeness.
“Don’t move,” I pleaded. “I didn’t drink much, I –” Fuck – “I knew you’d come. I’ll… remember this, I promise.”
She obeyed. “You’re a functioning alcoholic, Ry.”
“I can’t function without you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, you know that.”
“But that doesn’t mean you want to stay,” I veered back to look at her. “I know you want to leave. I know you feel tied to me. I know this isn’t what I promised us – what you wanted. I could’ve done better. I tried to do better.
Remember when we were kids, and I got that job for Ms. Beverley, at the estate?”
She nodded, a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “You walked up and down the highway with a yard sale sign.”
“I did, I really fucking did,” I chuckled, brushing the hair from her temple. Leaning down, I placed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done, Scar.”
She swallowed. “I know.”
“We made it this far.”
“I know that, too.”
“I’ve been through worse.”
“We both have.”
I knocked my head against the booth, still cradling her in my arms. “Then why can’t I shake this shit? Why can’t I be strong?”
She gripped my shirt, balling her first against the fabric. “You’ve been strong for too long.”
“I feel weak,” I admitted, sucking in a breath. Fire bubbled in my lungs, a single tear dripped down to my lips. It tasted like mezcal.
Her fingers wrapped around the back of my neck, and I fought the urge to lift her into my arms, wrap her legs around me and take her right in this fucking photobooth because let’s face it –
She’s all I yearned for.
Since the day we met, she was my dying wish.
Every day since my dad passed, since my mom let the abuse carry on, since she left [and came back], I threw my heart in the trash.
She always collected it, always brushed it off – restored it to something new.
And every day, I was reminded that I didn’t deserve to be mended.
The buzz was long gone.
It was the intoxication of her I craved.
“You should’ve left me a broken mess, Dove.” More tears began to fall. “You would’ve lived a better life – OW! What the hell?!”
Her acrylic pinched the skin behind my neck.
“Don’t say that to me ever again. Get out of your head, enough with this pity party.
It’s been a month and a bit. Your tour ended, but you had a tour.
Two, actually. You are the hottest rock star on the planet, and you need to own it.
Own your mistakes, they’re yours. Own your flaws, they’re yours.
Own your fucking talent, Ry,” she stabbed my chest, “it’s yours. ”
Before I could say anything, a chortle of voices carried over the wind.
I think I saw him leave the club!
Where do you think he went?
Let’s scour the area, get the scoop in for tomorrow morning’s paper!
“Just great,” Scarlett seethed, yanking me into the photo booth and shutting the curtain. “Legs up, come on.”
“Wha –”
“Legs,” she lifted my calf, “up.”
I did as I was told, knocking my knee against hers with a smile. “This could not have played out better.”
Her delicious lips pursed in anger. “You get excited over the worst things.”
I leaned in, smirked. “How fast did your Ducati take you last night, Dove?”
She turned to me, scornful.
I egged her on. “Got room for one more on that seat?”
She turned away, peaking through the curtain. I knew she could feel me, my hand grazing her thigh, my body so close to hers – the weight of want heavy in both our hearts.
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
And I can do it again.
Better.
More deserving.
Desperate. Hungry.
Right.
Because that’s what I was for Scarlett Emory-Blake.
“Are you fucking listening to me?”
“What?” I snapped out of my trance, feeling the heat from her breath. “What did you say?”
“They’re gone,” she pinched me again, but not before I grabbed her hand, and pulled out a quarter from under my sleeve. She turned away, smile wide. “Dumbass.”
“The magic shop days still come in handy,” I teased, sliding the coin into the photobooth. “Let’s test this dinosaur.”
“It’s ancient, there’s no way it’s going to –”
“Work?” I interrupted, as the lights turned on and the countdown started from ten.
Nine.
Eight.
“You’re kidding,” she laughed. And for the first time in a long time, that childlike sparkle returned in her eyes.
My heart fucking caved, and I scooted near her.
Seven.
Six.
“Do we… pose?” She threw up a middle finger, and I couldn’t help but follow her.
Five.
Four.
“I think I have some cards in here. Could be your next album cover, Ry, you never know.” She winked, fishing around in her purse.
Three.
Two.
…
Don’tfuckingdoitdon’tfuckingdoit –
…
Fuck it.
I grabbed her face.
Cradled the back of her neck.
One.
And claimed my fucking Dove.