The Rush (8 page)

             
With his gray eyes watching me intently, I lost the nerve to say anything and instead my attention fell to the toned arm he had wrapped around Kenna’s waist. I grunted when I noticed the green and black tattoo marks snaking up his forearm. Didn’t I just say I liked tattoos? But his… he was so cliché. I swear he had read some kind of bad-boy handbook and followed steps one through twelve to pull his dangerous rep together.

             
Plus a band? Seriously.

             
“You here for an AA meeting?” Ryder asked from the other side of Kenna.

             
“Obviously, those are anonymous,” I retorted, with attitude. Let the record show, I answered with attitude.

             
“Right,” he smirked. And for a moment, for like a moment and a half, I thought he was flirting with me, but then his hand squeezed Kenna’s side and she giggled happily before swatting his chest.

             
“Dedicate a song to me?” she asked in a cute pout I would never stoop to.

             
“Of course,” Ryder smiled down at her. This was his get-lucky-later-play. And Kenna was eating it all up. I of course, rolled my eyes. I had to. The situation demanded an eye roll. “I’ll dedicate one to you too, Red.”

             
“I’m a recovering sex-aholic, be careful with your promises,” I shot back snidely.

             
“No worries,” his smile turned genuine and he looked down at his girlfriend again. “I’m faithful to the girl I love.”

             
Holy hell. It was a warning. He was warning me!
He
thought
I
was into him!

             
I rolled my eyes. Again. And he disappeared to go start his sound check after another agonizingly long public display of affection with Kenna.

             
She had to fan herself when he finally walked away.

             
But true to his word, she did get a song dedication by him and his band Sugar Skulls. So did I, it was a song called “Crash and Burn,” and he dedicated it to me and Folgers Dark Roast.

Chapter Six

              Ryder and his band were good. Like, really, really good.

             
Their sound was something in between a soft indie-alternative like Snow Patrol and something a little bit harsher and more rock and roll like the Black Keys. The blend was solid with all the basics of a garage band: bass guitar, second guitar, drum and at times a harmonica. Ryder held it all together at the mic with vocals and lead guitar.

Was anybody surprised that Ryder played lead guitar?
Anybody?

Nope, not me either.

But he looked good doing it. I couldn’t fault him there. His vocals were perfection, deep, rich and sexy. He caressed the sound as it carried across the room. He connected the enraptured audience as if he was singing a personal ballad for each individual fan. I believed his love songs, I felt emotion in his lyrics, hell, I even danced.

And then there was the guitar.

I really, really hated how good he was at the guitar.

No boy should be that good at something.
Especially not a high school boy.

“He’s amazing
, isn’t he?” Kenna shouted in my ear, probably noticing the drool running from the corner of my mouth to my chin.

Uh, amazing didn’t begin to cover it.

“He’s alright,” I admitted with a shrug of one shoulder.

Kenna
gave me an incredulous look that doubted the nonchalance of my answer but didn’t press me to say anything more. Having no more conversation between us she returned her attention to the stage. She watched Ryder with a rapt attention that left me with little doubt the girl was in love with him.

My chest tightened at the thought and I rubbed against my heart. Suddenly I was really hot and cranky and I had no idea why my lungs felt like they stopped working. I unzipped my hoodie and slipped out of it, se
tting it on one of the tall stools lined up in front of the bar. I signaled to the bartender I was ready for more water and he chuckled at me from where he stood. I couldn’t actually hear him chuckle, but I watched his shoulders bounce up and down in a chuckling motion.

             
“I’ve never heard them play here before,” I announced to Kenna in between songs, while Ryder was exchanging his electric guitar for the acoustic variety.

             
“Um, they’ve had a pretty steady gig here for a while now,” Kenna explained and then her eyes got big with realization. “Oh, probably while you were away. Ryder moved here right before…. uh…. right before Sam. So, maybe you guys just didn’t cross paths before?”

             
I whipped my head back to the stage not able to come up with any kind of response. I tried to focus on Ryder’s fingers gliding across the strings of his instrument and the way he started the song soft and alone. This was the song he was dedicating to Kenna. This was an intimate love song that made innocent girls blush and not so innocent girls horny. But it was all lost to me while Sam’s name bounced back and forth in my brain inciting the kind of drowning panic I was becoming too familiar with.

I didn’t want to talk to
Kenna about Sam. I didn’t want to talk to Kenna about
anything
anymore. My hands started trembling, freezing up into stiff joints and unusable fingers, so I shoved them deep into the pockets of my jeans. But no matter how hard I fought against the spreading ache in my chest or tried to ignore the quickly spiraling thoughts leading me into very dangerous territory, he was still there, still heavy in my head. Sam. Ugh,
Sam
. Heat prickled against the back of my eyes and I felt my nose start running in a sure sign tears were on their way.

             
Damn it.

             
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I shouted sharply against the soft smoothness of Ryder’s acoustic solo and then left Kenna alone.

             
I was gone too fast to know if she replied, I just hoped she didn’t try to follow me. I was so not in the mood for sympathy or worse…. pity. I pushed into the equally dim bathroom and immediately turned on the faucet. I ran my hands under the hot water and scrubbed at the invisible germs I felt caking my skin, clinging to me like grease and filth and tried to scrape away the guilt and self-loathing.

             
I took a stuttering breath and allowed one tear to slip from my right eye. The lonely drop made a trail down my cheek, ending at my jawline and falling to my t-shirt where it left a small wet spot. A screech of frustration followed, echoing in the long tiled bathroom. I slammed my hands against the wet counter, splashing water on my jeans and bare arms.

One more tear was allowed freedom
, landing on my shirt where it was lost in the other water spots left from the counter splash and then I decided to get ahold of myself. I slowed down my scrubbing and inhaled deeply. I counted to five and then I forced my eyes to the mirror.

             
It was easy to avoid mirrors usually. Most of the time I wished I never had to look at my face ever again. I didn’t care what I looked like. I didn’t want to care what I looked like. And I really didn’t want to see the accusing, hate-filled eyes that I knew would be staring back at me.

But I still made myself do it.

I had to get through this with my mind intact. My soul was shot to all hell, and my emotions were one tear-fest away from a doctor-recommended Xanax prescription. But I had my mind. My mind was my savior, my ticket out of here, my future. I had to stay sharp.

That meant facing my
demons
.

At least some of them.

I turned the water off and gripped the sides of the sink basin. I slid my eyes upwards and readied my nerves to face myself.

Rich auburn hair streaked with brighter reddish gold highlights pulled up high on my head. Deep, disturbingly green, emerald eyes. Plump, perfectly bowed red lips. Flawless skin. And that small smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose.

Mine was the kind of face that guys didn’t forget
and girls hated on principal. I was a genetic mistake. A freak of nature and fate and a curse.

My face was a curse.

I stared myself down and dared my heart to give up now.

Sam. Sam didn’t die. Sam is alive. I am alive. Sam will get better one day. Sam
has to
get better one day. And
I
will be better one day. One day, I will leave this all behind.

One day I will be free.

It was a practiced mantra, one that I said constantly to myself. And it worked. I molded my mouth into a smile, tightened my hair-knot and rubbed at my bottom lip since I hadn’t brought Chapstick with me.

I shook my hands of left over water and then reached for a paper towel. This was my night of absolute reprieve from my life. I could put up with
Kenna and Ryder for a little while longer if it meant I didn’t have to be home alone, or worse with Nix and my mom.

I turned for the door
and decided that I was done wallowing and needed to get over myself when it was suddenly thrust open and Ryder came strutting inside. My hand flew to my neck instinctively and I took a few beats to steady my breathing. My pulse thumped wildly against my fingers and I tightened my grip against my throat. Ryder and I assessed each other from a few feet apart, his eyes were cool and calculating, mine were wide and frightened.

“You scared the hell out of me!” I finally
yelled at him.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and his eyes softened into careful amusement. “Sorry,” he finally relented. “
Kenna was worried about you. She asked me to check on you.”

“And that meant storming the girls’ bathroom?” I snapped.

“I was waiting outside, but you were taking so long I started to wonder if Kenna had a right to be concerned,” he explained. His gray eyes were heated in the low lights of the bathroom but full of excited adrenaline from being on stage. The ends of his hair were damp from being under the hot lights and curled around his neck and over his ears, slick with sweat. His shirt clung to his body, sticking to him from the performance. He was full of feral energy; his presence was completely intrusive and demanding. His energy was infecting the room, reaching every molecule and atom around me, making the air bounce off the walls in excited frenzy.

He was overwhelming.

And for once in my life
I
was the one get pulled in.

“
Kenna’s sweet, but as you can see, I’m fine,” I broke the silence that had settled between us. It was in no way comfortable. Being alone with Ryder felt dangerous and explosive.

“Yes, I can see that,” Ryder nodded, pulling in
his bottom lip with his teeth.

After establishing that I was fine I expected him to escape. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable being around me, which only made me want to explore this phenomenon all the more. He was dominating in the
doorway, he took up so much space. But it wasn’t just physical, it was like his presence hovered in every empty space in the small bathroom, pressing against me, crowding me. Pushing
me
out of the way.

I sucked in a breath, needing to brea
k the silence, “You guys were….” I paused, not sure what to say. Any compliment I could give him didn’t feel like enough, there wasn’t a word for how great he was. But at the same time, saying something nice felt like a betrayal of everything that I was. He didn’t even like me! I couldn’t give him that.

I was saved by a pack of girls stumbling into the bathroom and directly into his back. They burst into giggles when they realized he was a boy and then glanced between us with knowing looks.

“Sorry,” one of the girls announced on a laugh. She was petite and tiny, with a short blonde bob highlighted with pink and purple streaks. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s no problem,” Ryder announced
benevolently, but his eyes had yet to leave mine, making me feel like they actually were interrupting something.

I just didn’t know what.
             

“
Oh my gosh!” another girl announced. She had red hair not at all like mine, vibrant, blindingly red and obviously from a bottle. “You’re Ryder Sutton! You’re from Sugar Skulls!”

And then the three girls squealed in unison.

“Oh my gosh, you’re
Ryder Sutton
!” I intoned obnoxiously, taking a step forward and laying a hand on his chest bravely. I was annoyed with the girls, both for their intrusion and the way they were ready to drop their panties for him. “I didn’t know it was you!” And I went to move past him. I pushed through the crowd of groupies, but left my hand on his chest. His skin was hot and muscled underneath my hand, holding me to him like an intense magnet, locking my skin to his.