Chapter Thirty-Seven
Scarlett
“What. The. Fuck. Ryden.”
It was lightning, and air, and heroine.
He tasted like the cinnamon hearts he gave me over a decade ago, the candies I learned to love because they were his.
I was his.
I’ve always been his.
This wasn’t a book, no matter how capricious.
This was real life.
A real story of two people destined from the beginning, fates interconnected, souls intertwined –
One woman’s Eagle, another man’s Dove.
***
Three Days Later
“I’m SOOO EXCITED for this trip, Scarlett, EEE!!!” Zayla jumped up and down, Hermes scarf swatting her in the face. “A Christmas getaway is EXACTLY what we all need.”
“View count not high enough?” Derek jibed, rolling his luggage down to Barnett’s Suburban.
“Swallow nails, Spindly.” I scoffed, in a half decent mood for once.
I wonder why, the little joker in my head whispered. I resisted the urge to knock my face into the snow-crusted sidewalk of Ryden’s townhome.
Every time I thought back to the photobooth… what happened behind the curtain, a heat pooled beneath my stomach.
“He’s swallowed more than nails, little toad.” Zayla threw her middle finger up at him, then hopped into Caralee’s (my driver) Cadillac.
Polly placed a mitted hand on my shoulder. “How’ve you been?”
Great. More than great. “Just getting by,” I replied.
She tilted her head, eyeing me with suspicion. “Something’s… different, about you.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “Hm?”
“New lipstick?”
I veered back, appalled. “You honestly think I’d cheat on MAC’s Red Rock?”
She laughed, ducking into the Cadi. “How dare I ask.”
“Yes, how DARE –”
“You okay?” A finger looped into my belt, tugging me backward.
Ryden.
Control yourself, Scarlett. He’s still your best friend. Even though he…
“Dove?” His green eyes flashed with greed, an all knowing stare flooded with desire. “All packed?”
We were flying to our chalet in Banff. It sort of became a Christmas tradition when Ryden signed to Arc & Sheild Records, and we formed our little friend group of the band and my girls. No press, no noise, just our little clique in Canada, soaking in the jacuzzi and whisky warmers for three days.
Amidst all the chaos since the tour ended, Zayla was right in saying we all needed a vacation.
Ryden and I had yet to take our dice ritual holiday.
And where I’d usually be stamping on his neck to book something, I didn’t know if I trusted us with that much alone time.
The photobooth… It was the heat of the moment. It had to be. A demanding distraction due to the reappearance of his mom, a tiny reprieve above the raging tide.
“Why…” I fought the strain of his lips, giving in to my own betraying desires. “You’re not thinking straight, Ry, you’re not –”
His lips found the soft spot behind my ear, fingers dancing over my spine. “Dove,” he groaned like he was in pain. When my hand (accidently) brushed against his groin, I could feel how much pain he was in.
Really hard, torturous pain.
“This…” My breath disappeared onto his lips. “This can’t happen. You’re not…”
Tentatively, he slid a careful hand down my side, hovering just below my waist. “You say I’m not thinking straight, that I’m not in my right mind, Dove – Dove, my mind’s never been right around you. And I can’t give a fuck anymore,” he panted, pupils dilated, haunted. “Give me a place to drown in.”
“I won’t be your distraction,” I swallowed, “I’m not going to let you sink.”
He pulled me closer, moved his hand lower. And lower. “If I die, I die doing the only thing I never acted on. The only drug I never took.” He leaned in, pinching a lock of my hair. “And that pill’s red.”
I pushed my thighs together, shutting my eyes in disbelief that this was it.
My best friend.
My eagle.
We were doing this – something – acting on impulse, pushing the boundaries we fought so hard to lock up.
I felt… everything.
Dread.
Grief.
Sorrow.
Lust.
Want.
Desire.
Heat – so much fucking heat.
And I wanted him to touch me, to nip me, to bite me – to destroy all my inhibitions and hesitations.
I used to keep a thrifted notebook underneath the couch cushion of our basement apartment, filled it with song lyrics about my life before Ryden.
I thought, if he could use singing to cope, maybe I could use writing.
Maybe I could write him a song one day.
But nothing worked. I imagined the feeling of kissing him, feeling him, being his in a different way.
If only young Violet could see me now. Red hair, tangled in the arms of her rock star, alive –
Alive.
Filled with the ache of forever.
I wanted him since we were kids pulling grass out of the ground.
I wanted him since we were teenagers playing dress up for Halloween.
I wanted him between the fighting, the protecting, the pain.
… The loss.
No, I didn’t just want him now.
I fucking needed him now.
I pulled him in, wrapping my arms around his neck, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth.
His response sent me over the edge as our tongues melted together in perfect synchronicity, fingers tearing the exposed string of my thong, as he hoisted my leg over his waist.
I hadn’t done this in such a long time.
I hadn’t felt someone’s touch since –
“This is your pace,” he whispered against my lips, reading my thoughts. “I’m at your mercy.”
…
I’m at your mercy.
…
I’m at your mercy.
…
I’m at your fucking MERC –
“Dove, hey,” Ryden’s hands were on my shoulders, snapping me to reality. “You good?”
Pipe down, Scarlett. Jesus. “Plane rides always make me antsy, you know that.”
There was a curve to his lips. “The girl who fears nothing, afraid of private jets.”
I rolled my eyes. “You make me antsier than planes.”
He leaned in. “Recent events have shown that.”
In one swift motion, he lifted my luggage and stored it in the Cadi, regrouping with the rest of his band, Morty, and Barnett.
Not even a glance back.
Just leave me breathless, why don’t you.
“Are you all ready to go, Ms. Emory-Blake?” Caralee asked, keys in hand. She was referred to me by Tav a little after I came for Avenue records (and Ryden’s shitty ex with it). Let’s just say, I made a few enemies.
I’d have a lifetime more of that.
For safety reasons, Caralee was the best bet. An ex-marine, small but mighty. We boxed a few times. If you want to call her six-to-zero an even match.
She was badass, she had fire.
I liked fire.
My eyes flitted over to the boys’ SUV. Ryden was leaning against the window, twirling his guitar pick between his fingers. He wore a smile, accepted the flask from Donny, and glanced in my direction.
“Don’t drink too much before the flight,” I mouthed. Always protecting. Even on a holiday.
He nodded, pressing his lips to the centre of his guitar pick, then rolled up his window.
I blushed, snuggling into my seat.
“Everyone buckled?” Caralee called, warming the engine.
“Good as gold, Cara!” Zayla peeped. “Pollllyyyy, quit it with the emails –”
“I have a potential buyer for a twelve-point-two Manhattan condo, I’m pretty sure I have every right to –”
But their voices trickled off into inaudible sounds behind me.
All I could see was Ryden kissing his guitar pick, lips pressing right into the emblem of a dove.
***
“Were you written by a woman?” I asked between breaths – our breaths – as he unhooked my bra from underneath my shirt.
“If that woman was you.”
My nipples hardened as his thumb grazed over my chest, slipping the lace material aside.
“I don’t –” I panted. “Wait –”
He stopped, green eyes like jade.
“You’re not…” I held his stare. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”
A laugh escaped his throat, hoarse and low. “Trust me, Dove,” he pushed off me, lowering his body, “I’ve never been more sober.”
His knees hit the bottom of the photobooth, fingers working the front button of my jeans. “This is your pace,” he whispered. “We’re not used to this side of each other.”
I bit my lip, tracking his motions like a fever dream.
“Tell me you don’t want me, tell me this was never how it was supposed to go. Tell me you want me to walk away,” he breathed. “Tell me this was all in my head, from the second I met you.”
“I…” I swallowed, “I can’t tell you that.”
He sighed, resigned for a moment. “Sometimes a person’s addiction is another person.”
I leaned forward, cupping his chin in my palm, and slipped my tongue back into his mouth.
Sometimes a person’s addiction is another person.
In this moment, we were just two people in the back of a club, getting high off each other’s intoxication.
And right now, my withdrawals were sick with want.
I was fucking aching for him.
Slowly, he pulled off my jeans, spreading my legs apart – one stilettoed heel over his shoulder, the point digging into his muscular skin – the other propped up on his thigh.
He palmed my ankle, a wicked smile on his face as he pushed my heel down harder.
His throat bobbed as he saw the torn, red thong already discarded in anticipation.
“I’m going to be so honest with you right now, Scarlett,” he licked his lips, pleading eyes flicking to mine, “I’m never tasting another woman after you.”
***
“Woo-hoo, daydreamer,” Polly snapped her fingers, and suddenly we were at the airport.
What a fucking embarrassment I’ve become.
“Are you sick? You’re really red.” Zayla placed a mitted hand to my forehead.
“You’re not going to feel her temperature that way.” Polly took off her glove but I dodged her touch.
“I’m not sick, let’s just get the bags.”
I watched as the boys moved up the steps to the jet, luggage in tow.
“Go any slower and it’s gon’ be Spring!” Donny joked, backpack bouncing as he climbed.
Polly threw her middle finger up, then waved shyly as Dean carefully picked up her luggage, then Zayla’s, without saying a word. “You got anything else, Ms. Real Estate?”
My eyes darted between the two.
What. Was. I. Seeing.
Was I seeing something?
No way.
“Just my purse, thanks Dean.” Polly grabbed Zayla by the arm, then linked arms with mine.
“Wait, I’ve got to get my bag –”
“Ryden already brought it up,” Dean responded. “Guy doesn’t have the patience if it burned him at the stake.”
The girls chuckled but I could only stare as Ryden made his ascent, patting Reggie (the pilot) on the back before ducking into the aircraft.
He was holding my bags.
Three days in a Christmas cabin, I thought, biting my lip.
Three days of temptation and torture.
***
We sat thigh to thigh, Derek, Donny and the girls booking boarding slots while Dean strummed his guitar, earbuds in.
“You can sit with them, you know?” I had a paperback in hand, as always. Reading was my church. I could escape this reality between the sentences, the paragraphs. No noise. Just little people, little worlds.
Happier stories.
“I’m fine right here,” Ryden responded, stretching out his long legs. “Cozy. Isolated.”
I swallowed, returning my eyes to the book.
“Was thinking of getting a few more tattoos,” he said, placing his hand on my thigh. I practically jumped. “Steady there, Dove. I wanted them on my fingers. Maybe the knuckles.”
I closed the book. “Those fade fast.”
“Well, in the meantime,” he smirked, dropping his voice, “they look good around a neck.”
What. The. Fuck. Ryden.
I crossed my legs, adjusted my turtleneck to conceal the blush creeping up my spine. “It was one time.”
“Is that what we agreed on?” He leaned away, admiring the ink on his skin. “I don’t remember you saying that when I was between your –”
“Shut up!” I clamped my hand over his lips. “That was a moment of weakness for both of us, and I can’t afford to lose my grip because of you.”
Slowly, I retreated. His expression was taut. “A moment of weakness,” he released. “Some moment.”
…Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why do you always do this, Scarlett?
FUCK.
“Ryden –” But he was already out of his seat, grabbing a Prosecco mini from the tray, downing it in one go.
I heard his laughter, the ferocity of it extending to a howl as he progressively indulged, more and more, in whatever substance he could find.
That was Ryden.
And where I loved all parts of him, some were destructive to himself –
And most were destructive to me.