The Replacement (20 page)

“I beg to differ.”

“You haven’t eaten ice cream with me yet.”

“You have me there.”

Ryder strolls down a few more aisles, choosing wine, marshmallows, and caramel syrup. We get in line at the first open check-out counter and Ryder begins unloading the basket’s contents. A hushed chorus of snickering calls my attention to the two guys in front of us, who are waiting to be rung up behind another customer. They’re flipping through magazines as they wait, their eyes glinting with laughter as they watch the customer reach for her wallet.

“Leslie Mann always did look like a
man,
” one of the guys taunts, a little louder this time. My gaze darts to the woman checking out in front of them, and my blood boils. I recognize her. I know Leslie Mann.

Not only was she Tee’s first girlfriend in high school, she was there for me when my mom’s cancer worsened. When Tee had to work, when I’d have a bad night at home and she wasn’t there for me to turn to, Leslie was there. Like my best friend, Leslie was loyal that way. I remember being completely shocked when they’d broken up, because they always seemed to be on the same wavelength, even at such a young age.

More laughter brings a wave of goose bumps springing up on the back of my neck. These assholes are taking cracks at her right there, standing right next to her. Unbelievable.

One of them finally speaks directly to her. “Hey Leslie, long time no see. What happened to your rack, baby? How do you strap those things down, huh? With duct tape?” Asshole Number One jabs Asshole Number Two in the side, cackling like a damn hyena, and my fists tighten at my sides. The cashier glares at the guys, looking nervously at Leslie, but Leslie doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch. Just hands the cashier her credit card and keeps her gaze trained straight ahead, on the register.

“Too bad you’re such a dyke,” one of the guys sneers, not deterred in the least by her silence. “My friend here would bang you, wouldn’t you, Mike?” He chuckles and claps hands with his friend Mike, when the cashier decides to speak up.

“I think that’s enough,” she snaps, ripping Leslie’s receipt from the register. The guys start reaming into the cashier for spoiling their fun, but their retaliation is cut short, because I am suddenly in front of them, weaseling my way in between the tight space that separates them and the checkout counter. I glance at Leslie, who’s stopped short, her hand suspended mid-air, taking the receipt from the cashier. When she regards me cautiously, I don’t see her. I don’t see the woman being verbally stoned to death by these bigoted douchebags. I see Tee.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I spit, glaring at them both. “Are you enjoying yourselves? Is this making you feel better about the size of your dicks or something?”

“Holy shit,” I hear Ryder whisper under his breath. He is next to me in an instant, his hand wrapped around my forearm. “Elise.”

The guy named Mike lights up with delight, the same mean-spirited kind that he’d been taunting Leslie with. “Sorry, honey, how is this any of your business?”

“Yeah,” his friend laughs, stepping forward, bringing his face level with mine. His eyes drop down my body and back up, a slimy grin crawling onto his lips. “And as for the size of our dicks, we’d be happy to show you we’re not lacking in that department.”

I don’t think, just spring forward, like a feral, rabid animal in need of a cage. “Apologize to the woman, you piece of shit.” I dig my fingers into Mike’s chest and shove him backward. He slams into the candy shelf, and chewing gum and chocolates go flying everywhere, skittering around our feet.

“Elise!” Ryder grabs me again, but I am on a mission.

My hand closes around Mike’s throat, and his dumbass friend jumps back, keeling over in laughter. My senses are on overdrive, adrenaline searing hot in my veins. The cashier’s voice hits me from behind. She’s on the phone, calling for security, and Leslie has backed up to the very end of the checkout line, her eyes wide in shock.

“Who do you think you are, treating people like shit, huh?” I give Mike’s friend a shove, slipping out of Ryder’s grasp. “What kind of
sick person
hurts people for his own amusement? Have you seen the news lately?” My hand clamps over the guy’s throat and he grapples with me, pushing forward to reverse our positions. “The world’s asshole quota has been met, so find something more productive to do with your goddamn time!”

Ryder throws his body in between me and the guys, yelling at them to keep their hands off me, but his shouts are muffled. The blood is still pounding in my ears, each nerve ending firing away. All I hear is the fury fueling the flow.

“This, from
Elise Duchamp
?” Mike jeers, his eyes flicking all over my body in disgust. “Are we the only two guys in this town you haven’t banged? What a dumb slut, throwing your weight around, like you’re so much fucking better. What about this dude, huh?” He eyes up Ryder and Ryder glares at him in warning. He looks like he’s two seconds away from pummeling these guys, and I wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him if he tried. “Is he paying you for your services? Or are you still giving that shit away for free?”

And that does it.

Ryder surges forward, leading with his fists, but I sideline the hit, bulldozing my way into the line of fire. Mike and his dipshit sidekick are waving their hands, telling Ryder to bring it, but I talk Ryder down, dragging him by the shirt out of the aisle. Security shows up as I pull him away, and Leslie grabs her bags and takes off, insisting to the cashier that she wants no part of what just went down.

“Elise, my stuff!” Ryder shouts as I guide him to the store exit, his nostrils flaring. He yanks his way out of my grip and storms back toward the check-out counter. Security is escorting Asshole Number One and Two out of the store, while the cashier wipes down her counter and mumbles under her breath.

“Ryder, let’s just go somewhere else.”

“No. I’m not leaving until I get what I came in here to get.” He shrugs past me and silently pays the cashier, offering a quick apology for the scuffle before he rejoins me. I’m standing there with my arms crossed, feeling every eye in the store on us.

“What?” I say, loud enough so everyone can hear me. “You’ve never heard an argument before? Carry on.” My hands wave from side to side and I work to regain my composure, smoothing down the front of my shirt and meeting the gazes of the customers in the next check-out line. They quickly look away, their whispers sinking into me from every direction.

Ryder and I finally exit the store and walk quietly to his Jeep.

Not a word passes between us as he drives us to wherever the hell he’s driving us. Only the sound of The Animals’ “House of the Rising Sun” fills the car, carrying my mind to a former time, to a wistful place, where youth was pure and time hadn’t tainted the blood of the old. Every cell in me craves that untouched place.

I look out the window and watch the trees pass. I think of Tee and of Leslie. I think about the man sitting next to me, and how that little scene at the grocery store gave me a sad dose of reality. I can’t keep Ryder, and I’m a fool to think I ever even had him.

CHAPTER 11

Ryder doesn’t say much as we pull up to a small cabin near South Bend, buried deep in the woods.

“What’s this?” I ask softly as he turns off the engine.

“My place for the winter.” He gets out and jogs around the Jeep to open my door, and I let him guide me out and up the front porch.

“Your place? But I thought…”

“The campground shuts down in November. Won’t reopen until March. Richard is letting me rent this place until then.”

“This is Richard’s?”

“Yup.”

“So, where does he live, then?”

“His RV. Shares it with a few of his friends—some of the people you met on Thanksgiving. They drive to California for the winter.”

“Where does everyone else go?”

“All over.” He shrugs. “Some crash with friends, some stay with family for a while. Others couch surf or head south, like Richard. Here.” He unlocks the door and flips a light on as he steps inside. Wafts of evergreen and remnants from burnt embers hit me as I follow him inside and I inhale deeply, surveying the quaint living space. Native American art lines the walls and coarse, timeworn rugs cover the bare floors, hugging the corners of the red plaid couch and rustic coffee table. There’s an old stove and fireplace near the far window and no TV or telephone in sight. Duke trots happily over to Ryder and Ryder greets him, filling a bowl with some dog food.

“This is amazing,” I say, moving toward the fireplace mantel. I trail my fingers along the top, rubbing the dust between my fingers. Pictures line the mantel, painting a vivid portrait of Richard and his travels.

The guy’s lived a colorful life.

Ryder finishes feeding Duke and then unloads the bags from the grocery store. I hear him sift around in the kitchen cupboard for dishes. When I turn around, he’s regarding me closely, spooning ice cream into two bowls.

I remove my jacket and rub my hands up and down my arms. “This is a nice place.”

“I think so, too.”

My fingers itch at my sides and my gaze turns to the plaid couch. “Mind if I use this?” I point to a folded up blanket, beneath a stack of pillows.

He nods and places the ice cream cartons into the freezer, keeping his eyes on me the whole time.

I wrap myself in the blanket and take a seat on the couch, directing my stare ahead at the fireplace, which is the focal point of the cabin. Duke finishes up the last of his food and makes himself comfortable on a big floppy pillow near the window. “So, you get to crash here all winter? Nice.”

Ryder doesn’t respond, just walks over to hand me a bowl of ice cream, then walks to the fireplace and crouches down to start a fire.

“How about some of that wine?”

“Sure,” he says, retreating quietly back to the kitchen once the fire’s lit. He returns with a deep red, one glass for each of us. I thank him and pull my legs up, folding them beneath me so I’m cocooned in the blanket’s warm wool. The couch dips next to me as Ryder sits, taking a long, slow sip of his wine. I place the bowl of ice cream on the cushion between us and we both stare straight ahead at the fire.

A bout of solemn silence stretches between us before he finally speaks.

“What happened back there?”

I raise my wine glass to my lips, keeping my gaze fixed on the fire. The sound of my tight gulp punctuates his question and I don’t move. “What do you mean?”

“Elise.”

I chance a peek at him, and he’s watching me now, his expression curious but guarded. I glance down and reach for the spoon in the bowl. I toy with it for a second, rolling it over the colorful scoops of ice cream. “I know that girl. Leslie.”

“That much I gathered.”

“She was my best friend’s girlfriend in high school. We were close for a while. People teased her all the time, like those dicks at the store. I just…lost it, I’m sorry.”

The weight of my explanation hangs between us, but I know it’s about to get heavier. “And those guys? What about them?”

I stop twirling the spoon.

“What about them?”

Ryder releases a frustrated sigh. “Come on,” he says with an affronted laugh.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I wanted to pound the living shit out of them.” His knuckles crack as his fists tighten. “I’m not a violent person.”

“Look, I get it if…” I swallow, my fingers gripping the edges of the blanket, “I told you I don’t do this, okay? There are reasons I don’t…I have my reasons.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Elaborate, please.”

My gaze darts to his, and his brown eyes ensnare me. There’s no looking away now. “I don’t get involved. I’m not in to relationships, and you seem to be interested in something like that, so…I get it if you just want to drive me home right now and let this thing go.”

Ryder lets out a deflated sigh and he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. He stares at the fire, watching it acutely. “My ex, Lauren, hounded me for two years to get a real job. I grew up with her, ya know, we were high school sweethearts and all that.”

He quiets for a moment and I remain still, just listening intently to the sudden change in subject.

“Anyway, one day she came home from work and looked straight at me. We were standing across the kitchen counter from one another. I’ll never forget it. And she says to me,
You’re never going to settle down, are you?
I ask her what she means, and she proceeds to lay it all on me, how she hates when I travel because I’m gone for so long, and how she wishes I’d take my parents up on their offer to go to college.

“I tell her she should come with me, that she might actually enjoy it, and how traveling gives me perspective. How it’s something I’d never give up, not for anyone or anything. This look came over her, like the veil had finally lifted—hell, I guess it probably did—and she finally realized I would never change for her. I’d never change for anyone. She tried to argue that she’d only hold me back and that I’d probably rather be on the road with my friends or go solo, so I could hook up with whomever I wanted and be young and free and all that shit.”