Fading Out (13 page)

V
ee is ridiculously
happy about this secret party thing the team is planning for the boosters. I’m trying hard not to let on that I know anything about it—which isn’t hard, since I technically don’t. Ryder’s being more than vague, and that makes me wonder if they’ve even planned anything past the actual get-together.

I guess that’s not important, but I was hoping that it would be something classy. I know, a classy college football team party for their devoted fans and groupies. I’m delusional. But after the bonfire, where I was subjected to crudeness, a girl can hope. There’s still a big part of me that enjoys caviar and quiche over chips and dip. Wine and champagne over beer and heavily liquored-up drinks.

Rolling my eyes, I tap the button to slow the treadmill, and pull out one ear bud. Beethoven is doing nothing to soothe my nerves. I’ve been on an anxiety binge since I woke up, zoning out during every class, mentally coaching myself not to run off and find a bathroom stall.

I haven’t had to purge since…I think, since the day Ryder first asked me to the event. I’ve been sticking to my meal plans, exercise routines, and I’ve even gained some muscle mass. This is not fat, I remind myself. I’m going to weigh more as I become toned, but it’s that anxiously blaring voice inside my head that heightens the panic.

I have to keep control over my body—it’s the only thing I have control over.

I’ve been avoiding calls from Becca. The one I did answer, she was attempting to set me up on a date with Lucas. She had a reservation at a restaurant already in place, my outfit picked out, and kept coaching me on his current interests.

After that, I texted her with excuses about upcoming exams and needing to study. And really, since I rarely suffer the morning calls anymore, I feel less stressed. Even with the knowledge that this is temporary. But I’ve made a note on my calendar that I do better when I don’t hear from Becca.

“Oh, my God,” Vee whines next to me. “Jesus, Ari. How do you do this shit for so long.”

A reluctant smile pulls at my lips. I give her a halfhearted shrug. “Hang in there. The endorphins will kick in soon and then you’ll be thanking me.” And I totally get that Vee is messing around, but I’m still so invested in the idea that I’m always in the wrong, not doing things exactly right, that her scolding—even as a joke—makes me feel guilty for overdoing it. Again.

Baby steps.

I haven’t “gotten sick” for a good while. The rest will fall into place. Just have to keep focused on the goal.

Which is what, exactly?

Before, it was being healthy, mentally and physically, for myself…for some reason. Because I know that I don’t want to live the rest of my life this tightly wound. I’ll go mad. If I don’t keel over first. Not that I’m making light of my illness. But it’s just that if I have to go on for the rest of my life in this constant state of push-for-perfection anxiety…I can’t. The thought is too exhausting.

Sometimes I wonder if just going to sleep, peacefully, dreamily, giving up, would be easier. Of course it would be easier, I mentally shake my head at myself. But maybe it’s more about whether or not the fight is even worth the hardship.

“Damn, you’re deep in thought over there.”

Vee’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a sharp blade. Reality bleeds into my awareness.

Glancing over at her, noting her drenched hair and shirt, I say, “I’m in the zone.”

She laughs. “Well, clearly. But save some of that flow for Ryder.” When I give her a puzzled look, she clarifies. “I think that boy has it for you. Bad. You’re going to need all your wits to do battle at the party. Unless…” She tilts her head and nearly stumbles off the walker. “Shit.” She hits the button until the speed is reduced to a crawl. “Whatever. You know what I’m saying.” Then she’s off, not bothering to bring her heart rate down or finish her statement.

She heads toward the showers, and I’m left with her words pounding against my head.

There’s another reason for which I might want to get healthy. A reason that, even though I’m more than reluctant to admit it—openly to myself—seems far more likely the real truth. I know from personal experience that you can’t keep an issue like mine a secret from your other half in a relationship.

Unwanted memories assault me. Stephan always asking if I’m sick. Always offering not so helpful advice on how to get better.
Be
better. Just the always, always talking about it, until I was disgusted with myself.

When you’re broken, your other half makes it their purpose to fix you.

And despite my father’s desire to marry me off like some debutante from the eighteenth century, the real panic flares when I think about all those hours spent “getting to know the guy.” Even though I grew up with Lucas, we’re practically strangers. All awkward smiles and formal conversations. But then again, I doubt we’ll ever have to have a real conversation for the rest of our lives.

Then there’s Ryder. It will never happen between us in a million years. Hardly. Other than my parents practically banning him from my presence, there’s still the question of his intent. With his reputation and proven track record with the girls of Braxton, there’s a huge, gaping hole of doubt.

I’m really not the guy’s type, and maybe—like Vee sometimes claims—that’s the attraction. But nothing is ever that clear cut. That simple. Most people are selfish by nature. So there’s more to it than just him wanting to be friends.

“Did you see the outfits? Oh, my shit.” Another member of the boosters, Carly, takes up the walker Vee abandoned. She’s talking to another booster girl (it’s kind of ridiculous that most of the team’s supporters are women; like it’s a women’s only club to swoon over the players).

“I’m going to have some fun with this,” the other girl says. “We should’ve thought of it before they did. It would’ve been awesome to see the surprise on their faces.”

“Did the Bobcats get new uniforms?” I blurt. Really, they’re talking around me, not to me, despite the fact that we run in the same club. There’s a stupid hierarchy among the boosters that is high school worthy.

Carly laughs. Her long ponytail swipes across her back as she begins to lightly jog. “If the team wore those outfits…oh shit, Jessica. That would be hilarious. But no.” Her gaze swings back to me. “Not new uniforms. Our ‘outfits’ for the party this weekend.”

The way she makes air quotes as she says this makes my stomach churn. I slow down my treadmill. “Is it a costume party?”

Jessica looks at me and smiles. “Yup. You can back out, if you want. It’s understandable that only the most devoted fans would be okay with it.” She glances at Carly. “And they’ll probably record it, too. It could end up on YouTube.”

But she actually says this with excitement in her voice, as if that wouldn’t be the worst thing at all. My curiosity has gone from piqued to overly cautious in a matter of seconds.

I’m thinking about texting Ryder to find out just what he’s planning for this party when Carly says, “You seriously don’t have to participate, Arian. Everyone knows Ryder’s only trying to win the bet, and this is probably his way to make that happen. If I were you, I’d tell him where he could stick it.” She covers her mouth as she laughs. “Oh, shit. I guess that’s pretty much what he wants you to do!”

My face flames as Jessica laughs.
Bet
? “You so would not tell him off. You’d be all over that boy,” she says to Carly. “Just like last time. I swear, I had to practically pull you two apart.”

That’s it. I’ve heard enough. I’m not so stupid to think these two are doing anything other than trying to discourage me from going to the party. For being some kind of competition to get to The Ryde. It’s a lame tactic, but one—I hate to admit—that’s working.

I’m off the walker and heading toward the showers before they can glimpse the discomfort on my face. I’m not so worried about either of them being interested in Ryder. Or having been with him before. I mean, it is the guy’s rep. I’m sure he’s had Carly, or hell, both of them, in more positions than my limited imagination can fathom.

But it’s the fact that Ryder has put together some kind of unseemly party. Probably to try to embarrass me—maybe the way he was embarrassed by my family. That he’s using it to boost his rep further, even. Trying to prove to his team or whoever that he can and
will
nail the prude. I was such an idiot to think he was really doing something for Vee.

It’s just easier to believe the worst over him being sincerely interested in me.

That’s what burns. And has me heading right for her now.

“We’re not going to that party.”

She yelps, turning around and wiping the suds from her eyes. “Crap. I was actually relaxing. In a public shower…but still.” She adjusts the nozzle so the water hits her back, not whatsoever ashamed of her naked body.

Again, for a brief and out of context moment, I’m envious of her confidence in herself.

“Something’s not right about this party, Vee,” I say, moving to stand near the tiled wall, gaining balance. I skipped too many meals and didn’t drink enough protein shakes. The workout on the treadmill and the blood rushing to my head with my anger is making me dizzy.

“Dude, it’s a party. Planned by the football team.” She widens her eyes at me. “I’m sure there’s all kinds of wrong with it. But that’s the fun part.” She winks, then turns back around to stand under the spray.

The Bobcats could request that the boosters come dressed as prostitutes, and Vee probably wouldn’t bat an eye. I’m not going to convince her not to go. She’s been biding her time, doing menial things in the boosters, waiting for her opportune moment to get close to Gavin.

I need something more.

But then…am I really looking out for her, or finally finding an excuse not to be near Ryder? What’s the worst this party could throw at us? I mean, other than literally throwing me in a body of water again.

Ryder having some kind of bet doesn’t affect Vee. That’s him being an asshole, not Gavin. This is about me, and my fears, not hers. I’m being selfish. If I have an issue, I should handle it, and keep my focus on making Vee happy.

With that decided, I head back through the gym, ignoring the glances from the booster girls—even though I so badly want to demand they tell me what they know. And why
they
know. How they got their insider info and why I know nothing about it. But I keep moving until the fall air engulfs me, sending a shiver through my body. Trying to ignore the creeping paranoia.

I breathe in the crispness, the faint scent of wood and leaves, and keep walking. I only stop when I’m right in front of a vending machine, sliding in my credit card, and hitting the letter and number combo for the most fattening item behind the glass.

When I sink my teeth into the giant chocolate chip cookie, an explosion of taste assaults my senses. I close my eyes and moan, savoring the sweet chocolate. My stomach feels nauseas after the first few bites, like I’m stretching it as I hurriedly eat, but I ignore the piercing pain. I’ve felt it a million times before; it will go away.

Right now, I just want to enjoy the indulgence. I’ll deal with the guilt later.

Last bite, then I’m quickly chewing and digging out my phone before the haze of food and sugar can cloud my mind. I send a text.

Me:
Anything you forgot to tell me? About the party…or the bet
?

Standing there, staring at the screen, I realize what time it is. Ryder’s probably at practice. The fact that I’m sort of tracking his schedule and away games, makes me feel more ill than the damn cookie I just inhaled.

I shove my phone into my pack and hike it over my shoulder. Not waiting to see if he replies. Actually, I wish I could take back the text I just hastily sent. I didn’t even think it through. I should’ve never let on that I knew anything.

The ball always needs to stay in your court. My father always says keep the advantage. But maybe I can still save some dignity.

Feeling thoroughly disgusted, I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead and start for the dormitory. Saliva is already coating my mouth, thickening in my throat. I crave just one second where the stress melds away after the purge. I hate myself for knowing so well what that feels like. Only I can’t stop the desire to feel it.

The emotions continue to wage a battle inside me as I push through the bathroom door.

H
and clamped around my phone
, I stare at the message. My eyebrows pushed together. My jaw clenched.
The fuck
?

After the phone conversation with my brother, I wasn’t feeling practice. I headed straight to the locker room with a plan to change out before any of the guys got here, but I’m regretting that decision as the bangs and shouts surround me, and as I continue to stare at my phone. Like Ari will send another message, saying the last one was some kind of joke.

“Brah,” Gavin says, sidling up beside me. “Staring at it won’t will her into existence.”

I blink. Look at him. “What?” I seriously have to wonder about his brain capacity sometimes. The shit that comes out of his mouth.

“That chick still has you on frustrate, man.” He nods to the phone. “But that’s okay. I fixed things for this weekend. You’ll love the surprise.” He laughs.

A wave of alarm crashes over me. I snag his shoulder, stopping his retreat. “What did you do?”

He shakes me off. “Relax. Trust me. You’ll enjoy this shit.”

I let him walk off, but I’m determined to get answers. Turning to Beck, I demand, “What’s he talking about?”

Beck just shrugs. “Does anyone ever know?”

Hell.

Whatever. I’ll just have to go right to the source. As the guys slam lockers and leave, I cradle my phone, not really wanting to text Ari and dive head first into the damn drama, but knowing I have no other choice.

I really didn’t need anymore shit on top of this already shitty day.

With a shake of my head, I start typing. Me:
The party is…Gavin’s doing. Sorry. I took credit because I wanted to impress you. Lame, I know, but don’t hate on a guy for trying. And bet…? Not sure what you’re talking about there.

Taking a seat on the bench in the middle of the locker room, I wait. Like the sorry-ass loser that I am. For this girl to text me back. When did I become that guy? Fucking
again
?

I’m not sure how long I wait, but soon I’m fuming and tossing my gear into my locker. Then I’m off through the school, hunting down Ari. Best to do some things in person.

It wasn’t so much the words…but the tone of her message. Something’s wrong.

After I’ve exhausted everywhere I can think of, all the places she might be—the gym, library, boosters—I stuff my ego way down into the pit of my stomach and make the trek to her dorm. Stares and whistles follow me through the halls, and I smile, nodding and giving half-waves of acknowledgment.

I still think it’s ridiculous the way everyone treats me now. Not that I didn’t eat it up that first year. It was like becoming a different person. New, and improved, even. And it’s the reason why my reputation continues to precede me, even though I haven’t been that guy either for a long time. That doesn’t matter, though. It’s who they all want me to be—The Ryde.

But I’m thankful reality eventually caught up. That’s what put it all into perspective. My mother’s failing health and my brother’s constant problems helped with that. I guess it forced me to figure out what’s important fast.

If Jake wouldn’t have fucked up his chances, just threw it all away, I wouldn’t be where I’m at now. It’s a messed up truth. A guilt riddled dilemma. One that he wants me to believe he did all for my benefit—and in some way, I do trust that. But I know him too well. It was mostly for himself.

Damn. Too much time spent thinking on the past lately, and how things turned out, how they could’ve been different—I can’t do this forever. At some point, I just have to accept that it is what it is, and move on.

But that guilt, and the fear that my involvement is what triggered…

I stop the thought before it takes over, pulling me under into that dark void. It won’t change anything. I can’t turn back time—I can’t alter reality. All the clichés I try so hard to keep out of my writing come barreling toward me, threatening to tear me apart.

Ari’s dorm room is before me, one solid wooden door separating me from her. If she’s in there. I don’t hesitate a moment longer. My fist bangs against the wood. Muffled voices bleed through the door, then it’s yanked open.

“What—oh.” Vee’s green eyes widen with surprise. She opens the door wider, revealing Ari sitting on her bed, an iPad propped on her knees and obscuring her face, ear buds dangling from her ears. “I guess I should give you guys privacy…again,” she says, and my gaze snaps to her. “But I’m getting kind of tired of you guys always needing it. Why can’t you just figure it out, already? Be. Nice.” She lowers her head as she says this last part, delivering a stern glare.

“I agree,” I say, sliding by her as she leaves the room. “I’d like us to get past…whatever the issue is.” She shrugs, as if she knows nothing, but I wish she’d give me a clue before I face down the wrath of Ari.

I close the door quietly, then tuck my hands into my pockets as I ease toward her bed. She doesn’t notice me until I’m standing directly above her. Her large amber eyes glance up, then back to her iPad screen, then back to me.

“Shit!” She bounds up, yanking the ear buds out and tossing the device on her bed. “Jesus, Ryder. Creep much?”

Despite her obvious irritation with me, I smile. “I figured you must’ve lost your phone and was desperately trying to find a way to contact me.” I raise my eyebrows. Challenging.

Her hand pressed to her chest, as if she’s trying to contain her heart from leaping out of it, she says slowly, “Ryder. What do you want?”

That’s a loaded question. I want a lot of things. I want the Bobcats to cream Engleton and bring home the championship. I want my brother to get straight, stop drinking and stay on his meds, stop fucking his life up. I want my mom healthy. But in relation to Ari—to this specific desire—I want her to trust me.

I’m not sure if I’m deserving of her trust, or her time, but I’d at least like the opportunity to try to be. And that’s a hard thing for me to admit. Even to myself. If she rejects me, proves in some way that I’m not worthy, nothing but a dumb, poor, talentless jock, then I’m afraid of what it could mean. The possibility that my brother’s fate should’ve been mine.

She’s staring up at me, waiting for an answer. I’ve gone so far past a simple explanation in my head. “I want you to talk to me.” Simple. Direct. A start.

She huffs, then pushes herself back up against the wall. As far away from me as she can get. I’m aware of the wall solidifying between us. The one she’s raising that I have no control over bringing back down. If it was ever lowered in the first place.

But that’s not all her doing. I haven’t really let her in further than the surface, either.

She pushes her hair back away from her forehead, as if she’s stressed. “You kept your promise. So I’ll keep mine. Nothing’s changed.”

“But it has.” I sit down on her bed. Her socked feet just graze my thigh, and I can almost feel the strain in her body as she forces herself to keep them there. Not to pull away. “What bet?”

Her eyes close briefly. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

Frustration seizes my chest, and I release a heavy breath to ease the constriction. “You’re pissing me off now.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “I’m pissing you off? Oh, sorry. I always seem to forget the amount of narcissism that’s involved with jocks.”

That’s it. I tug her foot, bringing her forward. “What’s your deal with jocks? Why don’t we just get that one out of the way?”

“Hey!” She scrambles to push herself away again, but this time not nearly as far. “You have a real problem with maneuvering people wherever you want, you know that?”

I hold eye contact with her, waiting.

She sighs, then, “The guy I was steady with at my last college was this big lacrosse star.”

I raise my eyebrows, prompting more from her. “And?”

“And,” she says, drawing out the word. “There was a bunch of stuff. But mostly, I was expelled.”

My face contorts with my confusion. Little Ari. Little uptight, perfectly in control, levelheaded Ari, expelled. I find this hard to believe. “Care to elaborate?”

She shakes her head, ejecting a strained huff from her mouth. “Not really. Let’s just say he was really into himself, like super conceited, and he thought that me taking the fall for something would work out better for our relationship.” She wriggles her fingers, making air quotes. “He said he couldn’t get an expulsion because of his sport’s career, whereas I—because of my family’s connections—would be able to get away with it.” She rolls her eyes. “That didn’t happen. I took the blame, got expelled, and he dumped me the next week. Through a text. Before I was admitted to rehab.”

Her gaze swings to mine and widens in panic. She did not mean to reveal this last part. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, thinking hard. She’s been in rehab. And she said, “take the fall,” but I have close, personal experience dealing with people who suffer from substance abuse. I know the denial and blame that accompanies it. I hate that my mind jumps right to that conclusion…but it’s my automatic response. Triggered from years of accepting my brother’s collect calls from jail. There’s always an excuse and someone else to blame ready on his tongue.

This is Ari, though. And I can’t expect her to dole out the trust if I don’t offer at least some in return.

“So they sent you to rehab after you took the blame for…?” I trail off, trying to fit the scenario together in my head. “For finding some drugs on campus?”

A heavy exhale, then she follows with, “It was speed. I didn’t know he used all the time, just on occasion, to get through exams when he had practices and games. I’m such an idiot, I know. But I guess we believe what we want. Anyway”—she draws her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins—“I never bothered to ask how he got his supply. Maybe I didn’t want to know. But he was using
my
mailbox. He had his dealer actually mail it to him. He started using my box after about a week of us dating, saying he didn’t have his own, so it never even crossed my mind. I didn’t know how drug rings worked.” She laughs mirthlessly. “But, after four months in rehab I do. I now know more than I ever wanted to.”

I don’t interrupt. I let her vent. It sounds like she needs to, and I wonder if her parents know the truth. How much punishment and shame has she been dealing with, trying to get back into their good graces? And it hits me; dating me probably won’t do her any favors there. Not a guy from the poor side of town, getting by on an academic scholarship.

“When they uncovered a package of speed, it was addressed to me, in my college mailbox, so there wasn’t much of an investigation. I told them straight up it was mine, and I thought maybe I’d be reprimanded, or have to pay a fine…I didn’t really know or understand.” She swallows hard, the column of her throat strains. “But I was kicked out. Of Dartmouth, by the way. Not Yale, but I guess you were close. And to defer the charges, I accepted voluntary drug rehabilitation. My father arranged it all with the judge. I stayed in the facility until my father felt confident all was buried, and then I was enrolled here.” She looks around, her eyes settling on my face. “No one knows. Not the full story, anyway.”

I open my mouth to say something, but she quickly continues. “So yeah, I really don’t have a soft spot in my heart for jocks.” She shrugs. “Call me crazy, but I only had to get burned once to learn my lesson.”

“You’re too smart for that,” I say. “Tossing everyone who plays sports into the same douchebag pile…I don’t buy it. You were hurt badly, betrayed, but that’s because you cared for someone who you thought you could trust, and he took advantage of you. Jock or not makes no difference there. People can be assholes.”

She releases a quick laugh. “That’s true enough. But I guess the full truth of it is that I don’t trust easily.” Her stare intensifies as she holds my gaze. “Anyone. But especially jocks. It’s just a bit too fresh, I guess.”

“Fair enough.” I’m so lost in her eyes, soft and vulnerable, that I’ve completely forgotten why I came here in the first place. There was something I wanted clarity on…her text. “So I’m assuming something was said, or you heard a rumor that made you question my intentions.” Around here, that’s not too far off of an assumption.

“Truthfully, Ryder, I’ve never trusted your intentions from the start.”

Ouch. “But today. Something happened today specifically.”

She turns her head away, breaking our connection. “Do you have a bet to sleep with me?”

I release a groan. I expected as much, but I was hoping for something a little more original, at least. “No,” I say honestly. “I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?” Tentatively, I reach up and touch her chin, turn her face in my direction. “You believe me?”

Tilting her head just enough to be released from my hold, she says, “Yes. I thought it sounded a bit too juvenile. Even for you.”

I laugh. “As opposed to sharing my cake with you?”

A slight smile touches her lips, but she schools her features quickly. “Ryder. What
do
you want from me?”

Her question is so direct, so simple, I’m taken aback. She’s been through hell; I can hear the anger in her voice, the hurt, and that question sums up her pain.
What do I want
? Because in her experience, even the person you trust the most wants something from you.

Trying to have a meaningful conversation with Ari is like crossing a minefield. I’m wondering the same thing suddenly; what do I want from her? Why am I putting in this much effort? Could I walk away, right now, and never give her another thought?

It started with a physical connection. An initial attraction. She reminded me of someone whom I cared about. She was some kind of possible redemption. But I no longer see Alyssa when I look at her, and I don’t feel I’ll earn some form of forgiveness through her that I was never able to seek from Alyssa.

Ari represents a new beginning, away from the demons of my past, and I’m a dumbass for just now figuring that out.

I’ve taken too long to respond, though, and she’s sliding off the bed. “I have a lot I need to do. I’ll just see you at the party.” She motions toward the door. I’m being dismissed.