Come Break My Heart Again by C.W. Farnsworth

Chapter Twenty

“Thank you so much for everything, Elle.” Eliza throws her arms around me and squeezes. I return the hug. “For being here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You’re my best friend. Of course I’m here.”

“I know.” She pulls back, and chews on her bottom lip nervously. “It’s just—with Ryder…” I feel my face shutter to expressionless as soon as she says his name. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“I’m fine.” I wave her words away like they’re unnecessary. Like the various wedding events that have forced me to spend time around Ryder haven’t shredded my heart into bleeding strips of muscle.

I must be a better actress than I thought, because Eliza seems convinced I really am fine. Maybe I should write a self-help book. How to Appear Like You’re Really Over the Ex You Share a Luggage Cart’s Worth of Baggage With at a Wedding. It would be a better use of my law degree than dodging phone calls from potential employers asking whether I’m accepting their job offer or not.

Eliza heads off to talk to more of her guests, and I go back to picking at my dinner as I listen to Paige and Jessica gush over how beautiful the wedding was. It was gorgeous. Last night’s rain cleared into a sunny, dry day that served as the perfect backdrop for the rows of vines Tommy and Eliza got married in front of. The lines of grapes are mostly hidden now, barely illuminated by the strands of lights dripping down the sides of the outdoor pavilion where the reception is taking place.

“Is the chicken bad?” Paige asks me.

“What? No, it’s good,” I reply, belatedly realizing her conversation with Jessica ended and I've just been sitting here staring off into space.

“You’ve barely eaten it. I won't tell Eliza.”

I laugh. “Seriously, it’s good. I’m just not really hungry. I drank too much last night, and I’ve been feeling nauseous all day.”

“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in eight months, and I’ve felt nauseous all day,” Jessica says.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve put me off having children for another five years,” I tell her, and she laughs.

“People say you forget this part.”

“Yeah, well—” Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me” starts to play, and I freeze. My stupid seventeen-year-old self never imagined a world where I might hear those opening chords with Ryder James in the same room, and not be able to kiss him. My twenty-four-year-old self is stuck with the consequences.

“Eleanor? Eleanor!” I finally focus on Jessica again.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I take a bite of chicken and wash it down with more wine.

Mike ambles over to us. “Anyone want to dance? The grandmas keep grabbing me.”

We all laugh. “Sure,” I surprise myself by saying. I catch Paige nodding approvingly. I wonder if she’d feel the same way if she knew I’m only doing it to hold it together for the duration of this song.

“You good, Clarke?” Mike asks as we start to sway.

I chuckle and am well aware it sounds off-balance. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You're single now?”

“Uh, yes.” I’ve only told Paige, Jessica, and Eliza—and Ryder—about me and William, but I’m not really surprised the news has already circulated around.

“You know, I was thinking we should—”

I look at him for the first time, and he bursts out laughing. “I’m just kidding. I make some dumb choices. I’m not suicidal enough to step on the minefield that’s you and James.”

“There’s nothing between me and Ryder,” I reply emphatically.

“Save that line for him.”

I scoff. “That is his line.”

“And he’s probably the last person you should listen to when it comes to his feelings for you.”

“He’s also the only person who actually knows how he feels.”

Mike shrugs. “So keep pushing him.”

“That has not gone well in the past,” I inform him.

“But it’s awfully entertaining for the rest of us.” Mike grins. “Just ask him to dance, the way I just asked you. Come on.” Without even waiting for the song to end, he pulls me off the dance floor and over to the table where Ryder is sitting with a bunch of other guys from Fernwood.

I’m insanely tempted to chicken out as we near him, but Mike is literally propelling me forward. Not very much I can do about it. We reach the table, and Ryder glances up. First at Mike, then at me. He’s totally expressionless; I can’t read a single thing. I summon every ounce of confidence I can muster and paste a smile on my face. “Want to dance?”

“I can’t. I promised Tommy I’d help him out with something.”

Bullshit. But I don’t say it. The sympathetic stares are bad enough.

To Ryder’s credit, he follows through on the lie, heading over to Tommy’s side.

I head for the bar. Mike follows me. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“Not your fault.” I sigh. I mean it. I know Ryder’s rebuff just now was his way of telling me last night didn’t change anything between us. Well, message fucking received.

“I really thought he’d—”

“It’s fine, Mike.” He catches the I-really-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it in my tone.

“Promise I’ll never take up motivational speaking,” he tells me.

I laugh. “Good.” Then I glance over at the dance floor, and any humor is immediately sapped from my body. Because Ryder is now dancing with a beautiful blonde. I turn back to the bar and take a healthy swig of my freshly made drink. Mike doesn’t say anything, but I know he saw him too.

How many times can the same person break your heart? Because Ryder is definitely striving for a world record. Or maybe I am.

I hate that I keep handing my heart to him. Again and again and again.

I hate that he keeps breaking it.

I hate that half the time he doesn’t mean to.

Most of all, I hate that I still love him a lot more than I hate him.

* * *

We disembark from the air-conditioned bus into the humid night. Paige yawns and drapes her arm around my shoulders.

“I want ice cream,” she informs me.

I roll my eyes. Three minutes ago, it was a cheeseburger.

“Oh, look! There everyone is.”

Paige takes off to the right, and I have no choice but to follow her down the path that leads to the beach. Sure enough, the entire wedding party is on the beach. Paige tosses her heels into the sand.

“Seriously, Eliza? You ditched us at your own reception?”

Eliza grins. “You two were busy. We were headed back to the hotel. Then, we just got sidetracked.”

“Uh-huh.” Paige plops down in the sand, and I internally groan.

“I thought you wanted to head back to the hotel?” I ask pointedly.

“That’s before I knew everyone is hanging out here. Come on, you don’t have to head to work early in the morning, for once.”

“You know what? You’re right,” I decide. “Why don’t we go get more drinks?”

“I’m not sure if that’s…”

“I’ll be right back!”

I turn and come face to face with Ryder.

“Oh. Hey.” The greeting every girl hopes for.

“Hi.” I inject a lot into the single syllable.

“You good?”

“Do I not seem good?” I retort.

“No, you seem mad. Are you drunk?”

“I can only be mad if I’m drunk?”

“No, it just seems to be when you’re more… expressive.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “I can’t believe the word expressive is even in your vocabulary.”

Right on cue, his jaw starts ticking.

“Hey, I’ll go up to the bar with you,” Paige offers, rising from the sand. She’s clearly trying to diffuse the tension emanating off me.

But I’m sick of simmering in jealousy and anger and unrequited love. Emotions currently swimming around with a healthy helping of alcohol courtesy of the open bar. And the dam that’s held ever since the morning Lily Sampson called is history. It’s leaked since that day, some more than others, but it bursts now.

“And you know what else? Fuck you, Ryder Jordan James.”

Maybe the self-help book wouldn’t be a good idea, after all. Bye-bye holding it together. The words keep coming, spilling out of me in a flood. Unchecked and unfiltered.

“Fuck. You,” I spit the words like arrows. “In case you’re still not clear, I’m in love with you. Still. Again. But I can’t keep doing this, Ryder. You can’t avoid me and then tell me you thought about how you’d propose. You can’t sleep with me and then ignore me. I know part of it’s on me. I haven’t handled shit well. But some of it’s on you, too. Most of it, actually.”

I step forward and shove his chest, the pain building to the point I need to expel it physically.

“Because you haven’t done anything. You haven’t explained anything. You give me scraps, and I’m so in love with you I take them. I spend hours and hours looking through police reports trying to make Liam pay. I started a charity so your mom didn’t have to sleep with sleazy men to pay for her drugs. I got Christopher a scholarship so he could go to the best college on the East Coast for free. I broke up with an amazing guy because I couldn’t marry him while I still feel this way about you. And what have you done? Absolutely nothing. I have no idea how you feel about me, Ryder!”

I’m crying now, and I don’t even care.

“I don’t know if anything I’ve done matters to you. If I matter to you. I try to figure it out, and you shut me down. Or walk away. And I’d wait and be patient, except for the fact you stole seven years from us, and you won’t even tell me why!”

Silence.

Complete, total, impenetrable silence.

From Ryder.

From all of our friends who just watched my emotional meltdown.

Even the ocean seems to quiet to emphasize the lack of other sound.

I stare at Ryder. He looks back at me, as impassive and hard to read as ever. Nothing. He’s still giving me absolutely nothing.

Water keeps tricking down my cheeks, and I let it.

I let him see how much I meant it.

All of it.

“I can’t—I can’t keep doing this, Ryder,” I whisper. “Either you do, or you don’t.”

I spin and start walking away, not wanting to register anyone else’s reaction to my emotional upheaval.

Leaving Ryder standing stone-faced.

Hoping he knows the lack of expression is responsible for a fresh fissure in the organ that’s a real glutton for punishment where he’s concerned.

I pull it together to walk through the lobby, and then collapse on my bed as soon as I’m back in my room. There’s a knock on the door a couple minutes later. I haul myself up and peek through the peephole. I swipe at my cheeks a few times before I open the door, well aware I look like a complete mess.

Tommy studies me for a minute.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt. “That was totally inappropriate. It’s your wedding. I never should have—”

“Are you okay?” Tommy cuts me off.

“Yup. Peachy.” I try and fail to smile.

Tommy mutters something that sounds a lot like I told him so. “Look. Ryder’s like a brother to me. I’ll always have his back. But everything you said to him earlier? He needed to hear that. Pretty sure you being engaged was exactly what he was hoping for.” He catches the flash of pain on my face. “Not because he doesn’t care, Elle. I mean, if you knew—The point is, you moving on meant he didn’t have any choices. Now he has some. Give him a chance to make the right ones.”

“I’ve given him nothing but chances, Tommy.”

“That’s what we do for the people we love, right?”