Chapter Forty-Two
Ryden
“Its cold is as mighty as the snow above, ice masqueraded like a gentle hug…”
Arc & Sheild Records: ‘Snowfall’
Composition By: Ryden Spectre
“She’s hot, eh?” Donny juggled a fistful of beer caps, shaking them like fucking maracas.
“Who?” Scarlett?
“Paisley Devora,” he smirked. “You must be stoked to work with her, even if it’s just for show.”
I rummaged through the closet rack, smoothing out one of the six North Face jackets I kept stored in the chalet for each visit. Black was fitting. Black was the mood.
“Should’ve invited her up for the break. Get to know her a bit, yeah. Break her in?”
I turned to him, my mood so fucking foul I needed something strong. Something immediate. “Why don’t you hit her up and get it out of your system, D?”
Goddamn tool sometimes, man. Derek and Donny were the fun brothers – like the Wright brothers but, whatever, we all fucking knew. They were loud, exuberant. I was quiet.
Still carried the same vices, though.
I didn’t do coke off a groupie’s tit, never fucked a fan, despite what the tabloids think – what Scarlett thinks…
I’ve messed around, I’ve been a menace, who fucking hasn’t? Who honestly fucking hasn’t. But no fans, no. They were everything to me.
My industry, my legacy, I protected that shit with an iron fist. I wasn’t popular with the press, my headlines may be seven sorts of whack, but I was adored. I’d never take that for granted.
I wore my best smiles, I let Mallory and Tav parade me like a Greek goddamn God. But when it came to making enemies, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stick up for myself. I couldn’t and wouldn’t let anyone tank my reputation, one I worked so hard to maintain.
But I did in the end, didn’t I?
Mom came around, fucked up my life after the tour closer, and now I’m seriously considering slapping Donny with a ski in a room I’d be sharing with my Dove who’s nowhere to be fucking found because I wrecked us by being so desperate for the taste of her and I’m losing it – I’M FUCKING LOSING MY MIND WITHOUT HER – and I could hate her with everything in me, but if she fell I’d fall too.
The headlines are calling me a villain, saying I lost my edge, that I won’t have a comeback. That’s why Paisley’s coming in. Who the fuck even is Paisley, waiting to save the day.
I could hate her for that too. But then I’d make another enemy. And everyone knows my fuck up with Yasmine. I was too trusting, too welcoming. I’ll try my luck with Paisley, be as closed off as a corpse in a casket.
Just thinking thoughts, are you? Thinking, thinking, thinking.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Donny asked.
Paisley. He was talking about Paisley. I pulled out my flask, took a long, thick swig, took my time answering. “Don’t fuck up my song.”
“Pfft,” he scoffed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I shrugged on the jacket, sizing it up in the mirror before taking it off. Fuck, I looked so rough. Hollow. Cut bones. Empty.
“Hey uh,” Donny scratched the back of his neck. “How you doin’ though, man? You know, all that shit with your –”
“Clara?” I bit back. Not my mom.
Not anymore.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah. Clara.”
Felt so weird hearing someone else say her name. Like a ghost coming back to haunt me all over again. Now she was haunting everybody else.
“She’s gone, so what of it?” I crossed my arms, unscrewing my flask. “Not paying any mind to her absence, am I?” Another sip of poison, another taste of freedom. Burn baby, burn.
“Alright well, if you’re good then, uh…” He saluted, “We’ll see you on the hill at –” His body slammed into red hair, long legs, and lips that tasted like cherries and fucking sin on my lips a few days ago.
My heart hammered like a bat out of hell.
We stared at each other, like two sharks fighting for prey, fighting for peace, a plush carpet separating the waves between us, and a very horny Donny no doubt scrolling to Tav’s contact (for Paisley’s digits).
“Scarlett Red,” Donny ruffled her hair. “Finally hitting the slopes this year?”
She rolled over his toe with her luggage. “I’ll be hitting something, D.”
He winced in pain, “Noted,” and pretended to limp away.
I suppressed the urge to laugh. No matter what she did, she always did it with fire. I hated that. I loved that. I loved her.
Her presence sucked the life out of me, and I said nothing. My eyes burned with the desire to trail up her body, get on my knees and fucking sink –
“Which bed?” she asked, throwing her stuff down onto the double by the door.
I snorted. “Guess you decided for us.”
She rolled her eyes, unzipping her luggage. “Someone had to.”
All those hidden innuendos… they were starting to pull at my patience. “Yep,” I said, shedding the thermal from my body.
She turned to look at me, and I let my lips curve.
I was chiselled, I knew that. Even when I was fucked, I boxed. When I was high, I lifted. It helped battle the demons, helped me forget for a little while. Scarlett couldn’t resist me. And I was done pretending that I didn’t want her.
Pretending prevented me from proximity.
And I was so close to her. I was almost inside her.
And I could see how much pretending she really practiced all those years.
Bad girl, good girl. All the fucking same.
“Looking for something?” I asked, taking time to pick out a sweater from the closet. Back flexed, phoenix wings on both shoulder blades. Yeah, I got one too.
She knew it was there.
One wing for both my girls.
She cleared her throat. I could see her reflection in the mirror. Lusty eyes, oh Dove. Lusty eyes. “How long does it take you to pick out an outfit?”
I slipped off a Moncler wool. “I take my time with things.”
She turned back to her luggage, busying herself with shit that didn’t matter because I mattered. We mattered. And I was so sick of acting like we had to hold back when we were both addicts for each other.
It was for her, my hesitation.
She kept walls on walls on walls.
I fell through mine, and I’d fall through hers if she let me.
We were closer than moths and fire, yet further than Heaven and Hell, orbiting each other. Wanting, wanting, wanting.
If I was a villain for showcasing my desires, than she was Hades for denying hers.
Fuck this. Fuck this.
I made for the door, slamming it shut. She jumped back, and I caught her in my arms, guiding her back to the wall. “Ryden –”
“You don’t want me?” I asked, tilting her chin up. “Tell me that.”
“I plead the fucking fifth.” Her brown eyes, angry with desire, told a different story.
“Prove it, Scar. Prove you don’t want me.
Because the sounds you were making the other night” – I dipped my lips to her neck, hovering just above her collarbone – “they’re echoing in my head.
If you’re going to kill me, take a knife and stab me right here” I held her hand, placing it against my heart.
“Twist it. Put me out of my goddamn misery, Dove.”
Her throat bobbed, fingers curling around the chain on my neck. My coke chain. The itch, so demanding. But with her, it eased. Always… it eased.
“We’ve been fine as friends for years, Ry…” Her voice was that of a mouse, small and frail. “I don’t know why you want to complicate things. I don’t know why,” she swallowed, “why you decided to act on it now.”
I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood, staring into her beautiful, torturous face before pushing off the wall and opening the door.
Why I decided to act on it now. Now. Right, Scarlett.
As if it wasn’t already written in the stars since day one.
“Why?” she repeated, looking so much like the young girl on Slater Street. “Why did you decide to do this now?”
I shook my head, anger bleeding through me as I stepped out of the room, and repeated her words from earlier. “Someone had to.”