Текст книги "Crash Into Me"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
Chapter Nineteen
Jamison was about to jump out of her skin. It seemed like she’d been waiting for her cell phone to ring for hours, but it hadn’t. Not once.
Ryder had called Jared a few hours ago, told him that Wyatt was stable. They weren’t yet sure of how much damage he’d done to himself this time, but he’d come around. Had carried on a short conversation with Ryder and while he’d seemed confused, it had appeared that all synapses were firing. Which hopefully was a sign that his brain hadn’t gone very long without oxygen before they’d found him.
Jesus, she couldn’t believe this, couldn’t imagine that she was thinking about brain damage and Wyatt in the same sentence. If the idiot made it through this okay, she was going to kill him.
That’s if Ryder didn’t do it first.
Ryder. She sighed heavily even as she worried over him—over what to do for him and about him.
She knew something was off between them, had known even when she’d stood in the little dressing room of horrors. It was why she’d backed off from comforting him. The last thing she wanted to do was to add more stress to him in the middle of an already terrible situation.
God knew, this whole thing with Wyatt had to be killing him. It was killing her and she wasn’t even in the band. Part of her wanted to be at the hospital with Ryder, supporting him as he dealt with management and PR and all the other shit she knew he had to be going through. But at the same time, there was Jared, who was an emotional wreck. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving him either. Which was why she was sitting here on her bed,
hip to hip with him and Quinn, both of whom were shoveling in ice cream and watching an old horror movie. Quinn had shown up about half an hour ago, after spending three hours at the hospital with Ryder as they waited to talk to Wyatt’s doctor.
Micah had texted all of them a few times. He was down the hall in Shaken Dirty’s suite while they all hung in her single occupancy room—the irony of that was not lost on her–and he wanted to explain. But none of them were in the mood to listen, least of all Jared. Her brother hadn’t said much since they’d gotten back to the hotel, but she knew he was devastated. He loved Victoria, had been so looking forward to a break in the tour so they could plan their wedding.
Now she wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Wasn’t sure what any of the guys were going to do, especially now that the tour break seemed to be coming earlier than expected. Wyatt was in no shape to go back on the road, that was obvious. And she didn’t have a clue how Jared would be able to step foot on a stage with Micah. She was all for professionalism, and so was he, but for him making music was an intensely private thing, one he only did with people he liked and respected. Seeing as how he was probably one step away from wanting to kill Micah—a small step, likely—she had no clue how any of this was going to work out.
And neither, it seemed, did anyone else. Hence the ice cream and horror movie marathon. Well, they could cope with the worry any way they wanted. She was tired of waiting around for Ryder to contact her. Now that Quinn was here to hang with Jared, she was going to the hospital. If her being there was a problem, she would leave. But she didn’t want to leave him there on his own any longer than she had to.
Getting through security at the hospital was a lot harder than she’d anticipated. Apparently the press and Shaken Dirty fans both had been making annoyances of themselves, until the hospital had posted security guards all over the floor Wyatt was on. Without proof that you belonged on the floor, you weren’t allowed off the elevator.
After trying to talk her way onto the ward to no avail, Jamison finally broke down and called Ryder. He met her at the elevators two minutes later and that’s when she got her first good look at him since this whole debacle began. Her heart nearly broke in half.
He looked exhausted, like he’d been to hell and back in the hours since she’d last seen him. And he probably had. Embarrassment and paparazzi be damned. The second she got off the elevator, she threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as she possibly could. For long seconds, he didn’t move—not to hold her back, not to pull away, not even to breathe. And then he shuddered, the tension in his big, muscular body draining in an instant. She wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have fallen if she hadn’t been there to support him.
“How is he?” she asked, once he finally let her go.
“Addicted to heroin with a side of suicidal thrown in.” His answer was flippant, the pain evident in every line of his body anything but.
“How are you?”
“Not addicted to heroin or suicidal.”
“That’s the best you’ve got, huh?”
“At the moment? Pretty much. Yeah.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course. But he’s kind of in and out. Depending on how the tests go, they’ll be keeping him until tomorrow…”
“And then?” she asked.
“That’s the fifty million dollar question. The backers are pushing for him to finish out this tour before going to rehab—”
“No!”
“Exactly my feelings. The label wants him in rehab tomorrow so he’s ready for the big tour in the fall. They’re pushing me to get him into one of three ninety-day programs. They’ll foot the bill for everything…”
“But you don’t like the programs?”
“Shit, I don’t know anything about the programs. I’m just worried about how I’m going to get him to go. I don’t think he’s there yet, in his head.”
“He nearly died today, would have if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.”
“More like, he would have died if you hadn’t gotten there, Jamison.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “Thank you for saving him.”
“You don’t ever have to thank me for helping.”
“Yeah, well, he sure as hell won’t, so somebody should.” He pulled away, paced a few yards down the hallway. As he did, a chill worked its way up her spine, though she couldn’t have said why. But there was something about the way he walked, the way he looked at her, that made her nervous.
“This is his,” Ryder said a minute later, stopping in front of the only room on the floor with a huge security guard posted in front of it.
She nodded, following him inside. Wyatt was sound asleep, hooked up to an IV, a blood pressure cuff and a heart monitor. She looked at Ryder quizzically.
“He’s been having some arrhythmia. We have to talk to a cardiologist tomorrow, find out if it’s going to be permanent.”
Worried tears bloomed in her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but when he stiffened, she knew Ryder saw them. “I’m sorry.”
“Maybe this was a bad idea.” He headed for the door.
“I’m allowed to feel bad for him. For both of you.”
“Don’t feel bad for me.”
Someone had to. Why couldn’t he see how much he was hurting? How much he needed someone to lean on? “Come on,” she said after a few minutes passed in total silence. “I’ll buy you a cup of bad vending machine coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee.”
There it was again, that tone that told her something very not good was running through Ryder’s head. Icicles ran down her spine as she forced herself to ask, “What exactly do you want, then?”
…
Jamison’s question hung in the air between them. Though he knew she was waiting for an answer, Ryder was having a hard time giving her one. Not because he didn’t have the words but because—for the first time in his adult life—he really didn’t want to say them. And not just because he didn’t want to add to this ridiculous shit pile of a day they all had going on here.
But, whether he wanted to or not, the words needed to be said. Jamison had nearly been hurt once on this tour, had had to deal with groupies and watching one of her closest friends overdose. Add in the clusterfuck his head was at right now and it was pretty much a guarantee that he was going to screw up. She would get hurt—he would hurt her—and he didn’t want to do that. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—fuck up her life the way he’d fucked up Carrie’s. The way he’d fucked up his mother’s.
After getting the security guard’s reassurance that they wouldn’t be disturbed, he settled her in a chair against the wall in Wyatt’s room. A quick check told him his friend was still sleeping peacefully and that the nurse had just been in.
All of which meant they wouldn’t be disturbed for a while. It was perfect timing, or at least the best timing he was likely to get. So finally, though it hurt more than he’d thought possible, Ryder opened his mouth and forced out the words that would change everything. “I think maybe this thing between us has run its course. The tour’s over, we’ll all be heading out to different places. It’s probably time for us to go back to just being friends.”
For long seconds, she didn’t say anything, just stared at him with those huge amethyst eyes of hers. He waited for her to tell him off, to call him a bastard, to scream at him for leading her on like all the other women he knew would have done.
But in the end Jamison didn’t do any of those things. She didn’t do anything at all, really. Just nodded like he’d told her the weather. Or what she’d expected to hear all along.
Then she stood up and crossed to him. Dropped a light kiss on his cheek. “Okay.”
Okay? That was it? He felt like he’d just ripped his fucking heart out and all she could think to say was okay? “I’m not trying to hurt you, Jelly Bean. In fact—”
She placed two fingers on his mouth. “Shh, I told you when we started this thing that I was a big girl and I could take care of myself. It’s fine. I’m fine. But I should probably get going. I want to check on Jared, make sure Micah and Victoria are leaving him alone.” She walked over to the still-sleeping Wyatt and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “When he wakes up tell him I came by and that I’ll be back tomorrow.”
She headed for the door, pausing only to press a kiss to his cheek as well. “Good night, Ryder.”
And then, just like that, she was gone and he was left staring after her, wondering what the hell had just happened. Before he could figure it out, Wyatt’s voice, weak but with an unmistakable note of authority, rang through the room.
“You’re a fucking moron. You know that, right?”
Chapter Twenty
He turned to his friend. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to hear you tank the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Yeah, well, no offense, but I don’t think you’re exactly in the best position to give advice.”
Wyatt laughed, but it was a rusty sound, painful to listen to. “Actually, I’m in the perfect position. In case you haven’t noticed, my life’s a fucking mess. When you find someone who loves you the way Jelly Bean does, you need to grab onto her, not crush her into the dust.”
“She didn’t seem very crushed to me.”
“That’s because you were too busy dealing with your own emergency triage to recognize she was doing the same thing. She ran out of here because you ripped her open, not because she didn’t give a shit.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Dude, I’m wrong about a lot of things. But not this. Jamison loves you. She always has—you know it as well as I do.”
Yeah, but– “That didn’t exactly feel like love to me.”
“Why? Because she didn’t cry all over you? You’re a bigger asshole than I thought if that’s what you want from her.”
“Of course that’s not what I want.” Or at least he didn’t think so. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Jamison, had in fact gone out of his way to avoid doing just that. He’d ending things because he’d wanted to protect her from his fucked up life, from the bad shit that always happened to the people he cared about.
And yet, watching her walk away like that had wounded him in a way few things ever had. He felt empty, bereft, and had no idea what to do about it.
“She’s not Carrie, you know. She’s stronger than that. And you’re not the same person you were back then, either.”
He wanted to tell Wyatt to shut the fuck up, not to talk about Carrie. But he couldn’t, because if anyone understood her damage—understood what had happened to her and why she’d chosen suicide over him—it was Wyatt.
“She got hurt because I wasn’t there to protect her.”
“No. She was raped and beaten because the world is full of fucked-upness. And she killed herself because she wasn’t strong enough to move past it. She lost the light and it’s damn fucking hard to live without it.” Wyatt’s voice broke and Ryder knew he was talking about himself as much as he was Carrie. “That won’t happen to Jamison. You couldn’t knock that girl off her path with a fucking baseball bat.”
“What about you?”
Dead silence. And then, “What about me?”
“You nearly died.”
“I’m fine—”
“Jamison and I did fucking CPR on you, asshole. I walked into that room and you were fucking dead. Not unresponsive. Not passed out. Not fine. You were fucking dead. You weren’t breathing and we couldn’t find a heartbeat. That is not okay. Watching you kill yourself is not okay with me.”
Seconds, minutes, ticked by. Then “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you are. You fucking dick.”
Wyatt laughed weakly. “For the record, I’m not okay with watching you throw away the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Yeah, it is. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re having a damn hard time breathing without her.”
And here he’d thought the tightness in his chest was the first sign of an impending heart attack. He absently rubbed the area in question. “It’s better for her to get away from all this. In case you haven’t noticed, this life isn’t exactly normal.”
Wyatt snorted weakly. “That’s your problem, dude. You haven’t figured out that no one’s life is normal.”
“Well aren’t you the fucking philosopher?”
Wyatt ignored his snideness. Asked instead, “Do you want her?”
“I want what’s best for her.”
“That’s not what I asked, asshole. Quit being so damn selfless and answer the question. Do. You. Want. Her?”
More than he wanted his next breath. Why had it taken losing her for him to realize that? “Yeah. I do.”
“Then go get her.”
“It’s too late.”
“She left here a couple minutes ago. If that’s too late then you’re a bigger pussy than I thought. Get your ass up. Go fix this. And then bring her back to me and prove you did it. You do that and I’ll go back to rehab. And this time I’ll actually try to stay sober.”
Everything inside Ryder froze. That was a bigger concession than Wyatt had ever before been willing to make. “Don’t screw with me on this.”
“I’m not. But don’t you screw with Jamison. I want her to be happy.”
So did he. Jesus, so did he. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was the one to do it, but what if Ryder was right? What if he’d just broken Jamison’s heart and never even knew it? He couldn’t live with that.
“I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll talk about which rehab you’re going to.”
“Bullshit. You’ll be back tonight—with Jamison—or I’m going to get out of this bed and kick your ass.”
Ryder snorted. “That’s big talk for a guy in a hospital gown.”
“Don’t make me prove it. Nobody needs to see my ass hanging out the back of this thing.”
…
Jamison blew her nose on the rough paper towels near the sink, then splashed cold water on her face in an effort to alleviate the redness.
It didn’t work. She still looked like she’d been on a three-day crying jag. Which at the moment didn’t feel that far from the truth. It had been six hours since Ryder had ripped her heart out of her chest and this was the first time she’d been able to go longer than five minutes without bursting into tears. Could she be more of a loser? Then again, could he be more of a jerk?
The worst part? She’d been holed up in the back of a coffeehouse two blocks from the hospital for the last four hours. When she’d left the hospital, she’d originally planned on going straight back to the hotel. But she couldn’t—not when she was this big of a mess. Jared’s whole life had fallen apart that day. The last thing he needed was to deal with his hysterical sister.
But there was nowhere else for her to go. So she’d wandered the streets of suburban Houston for two hours, pretending to window shop. But everywhere she went, people stopped her to see if she was all right. Damn Texans. They were too nice for their own good—or anyone else’s, for that matter.
After the sixth person asked her if they could call someone for her, she gave up. Thank God she’d been in front of Genuine Javas, a coffeehouse equipped with very dark corners and customers who had no trouble minding their own business.
But she couldn’t stay here forever. In the last hour, her phone had blown up with texts from Jared, Quinn, even Ryder himself—all asking if she was okay or demanding to know where she was. Normally, she’d ignore them all, but it had been a hell of a day. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the drama. Besides, it was two in the morning and the coffeehouse was about to close.
Which was why she was now standing in the bathroom, washing her face and trying desperately to erase the damage caused by her six-hour freak out. She’d texted Jared that she was fine and would be back at the hotel soon. But she couldn’t show up looking like this. Not if she didn’t want him to wrap his hands around Ryder’s throat and squeeze until he was in as bad a shape as Wyatt was.
While that might have been a little satisfying—okay, more than a little—the fact of the matter was Ryder hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d warned her going in that the thing between them was just temporary. That it was just for fun. Hell, she’d said the words more than once herself. It wasn’t his fault that she had let it become more than that.
Which was her own stupidity. After all, hadn’t she always known she wasn’t enough for Ryder? He was a rock and roll god and she, she was just one of the little people. Or not so little people if she was being brutally honest. It wasn’t a shock that he’d dumped her, just that he’d ever looked twice at her to begin with.
She glanced at the clock on her phone, wondered if the cab she’d called had shown up yet. Figuring there was a good shot it was waiting on her, she wandered outside only to be slapped in the face by the darkly humid heat of a summer night in Houston.
Sure enough, there was a yellow cab waiting next to the handicapped spots. She climbed in, gave the driver the hotel’s name. He nodded, then called in to his dispatcher. She didn’t bother to listen to what he was saying—she was exhausted, completely worn out from the emotional roller coaster she’d ridden all day. Settling back against her seat, she closed her eyes and prepared to zone out for the length of the trip. She’d spent the last six hours locked in her head– not a pretty place at the best of times, let alone after everything that had happened that day—and it was more than time for a break.
Except the driver didn’t seem to understand how tired she was. He’d barely pulled into traffic before he started fiddling with the radio, moving through a bunch of stations and a lot of static before settling on one that declared it was the home of rock in Houston.
Her stomach pitched and rolled. “Please,” she said in a voice little above a whisper. “Can you turn that off?” With her luck, they’d play a Shaken Dirty song, and she just wasn’t up to hearing Ryder’s voice right now. Not if she wanted to get to the hotel without having a complete and total emotional breakdown.
“Sure, sure,” the man said in heavily accented English. He tossed a nervous glance over his shoulder at her. “But this is a good station. Good music.”
“I’m sure it is. But I have a headache. I don’t want to listen right now.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He stopped at a red light, reached for the dial. But instead of turning the radio off, he just played with it for a minute, before tuning it back to the exact same station.
She started to ask again, but before she could get the words out, the song ended and the DJ came back on. “That was ‘Take Me’ by Darkness. Now, we have a special treat for you—an in-studio performance of a brand new song by one of your favorite bands. Earlier tonight, Ryder Matthews, lead singer of Shaken Dirty, stopped by and did a quick interview with us, which we’ll be playing in its entirety tomorrow morning at eight a.m.
“But he also sang a brand new song for us, one that’s not on any of Shaken Dirty’s albums. In fact, it’s never been recorded before. So, with no further discussion, here’s Ryder Matthews singing, ‘Pieces of You.’”
Confused, Jamison froze as the opening chords of a song played on acoustic guitar filled the cab. She knew it was Ryder playing—she’d heard him often enough to recognize his style—but the idea that he’d stopped by a radio station today made absolutely no sense. Not when Wyatt was in the hospital. And not after everything that had happened.
Unless he’d been trying to do damage control, to get the word out that Shaken Dirty was just fine, despite the disasters that were recorded in that damn dressing room. But then, why the song? Surely a quick interview would have been enough to at least start on the damage control.
She was still trying to figure out what was going on—while feeling like she’d fallen down a rabbit hole—when Ryder’s dark, husky tones filled the car. Only it was a Ryder that few people ever got to hear, one even she and the other band members didn’t see very often. Somber, languid, heartbroken, the gravelly roughness of his voice worked its way down her spine before arrowing straight to her heart.
Silent tears slipped down her face as the wounds she’d spent all evening cauterizing tore wide open.
“Please,” she choked out. “Please turn it off.”
“Listen,” the driver told her. “Listen.”
She didn’t want to listen. Only she didn’t have a choice, because he was making no move to turn off the radio and she was in no shape to do it herself.
Though she did her best to block Ryder out, it was only a matter of seconds before the words he sang sunk into her consciousness.
“Pieces of you,
Like a puzzle in my mind—
fitting together
In a pattern I just can’t find.
The freckles on your cheeks,
A perfect dot to dot
The words at your fingertips
Painting pictures that I’ve sought.
Little pieces hold the secrets,
little moments hold the clues,
to the whispers deep inside yourself
and the truth I couldn’t choose.
The sweetness in your touch
skimming down my back.
The glitter in your eyes
that won’t see all I lack.
The fire in your heart,
before we turned to frost.
The roses in your lips
for the kisses that I’ve lost.
I want to hold you
I want to kiss you
I want to love you
Can’t stand to miss you
Cuz, baby, needing you is oh-so-easy to do.
The pieces all asunder
The puzzle a scattered mess
Your smile a fading memory
Your love a broken test.
Little pieces hold the secrets,
little moments hold the clues,
to the whispers deep inside yourself
and the truth I wouldn’t choose.
I want to hold you
I want to kiss you
I want to love you
Can’t stand to miss you
Cuz, baby, loving you is oh-so-easy to do.
Yes, loving you is the only thing I know to do.”
By the time the song drew to a close, Jamison was a mess. She didn’t understand, didn’t know what it meant. How could he say things like that, how could he sing that song, mere hours after ripping her heart out of her chest?
“It’s okay, miss. It’s okay.” The driver handed her a box of tissues. She grabbed a few, used them to wipe from her cheeks tears she hadn’t even been aware of crying. So much for putting herself back together again.
Of course, the driver chose that moment to pull up to the curb. She reached into her purse to pay him, when she glanced out the window and realized her hotel was nowhere in sight.
She glanced down the street, in case she’d just gotten the address wrong and he’d dropped her further up the block. But nothing looked familiar—this was definitely not the right street.
“This isn’t my hotel.”
“It’s okay,” the driver repeated.
“No. It’s not okay. I need to get to—”
“Here. You need to get here.” The driver nodded encouragingly, pointed to the door. “You need to get out now.”
“No. I need to get to the Marriott. It’s on—”
She broke off as the cab door swung open to reveal Ryder standing there. “Come with me,” he told her. “Please.”
For long seconds, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. A million questions clamored in her head, but she couldn’t ask any of them. Her tongue was tied into too many knots.
He reached for her hand and like a moron, she gave it to him. How could she not when the lyrics of that beautiful song were crashing through her brain over and over again?
She’d barely climbed out of the cab before Ryder was closing the door and it was speeding away into the night. It didn’t even occur to her that she hadn’t paid the driver until he was already gone.
Ryder moved her slowly down the sidewalk to a concrete and glass bench that was nestled up against the side of a building. Above it were the letters of a Houston radio station. The same radio station she had just been listening to.
“How?” It was the only question she could ask, the only syllable she could force from her tight throat and trembling lips.
“After spending two hours looking for you, I decided to get crafty. I paid off every dispatcher in every cab company in Houston so that when one of their cabbies picked up a woman dressed in a pink blouse with long red hair, they would call me. Finally, when I was on the brink of ripping out my own vocal chords—not to mention every hair on my head—one of them did.”
Jamison nodded like she understood, but she didn’t. She knew he was speaking English, but nothing he said made any sense. Nothing had made any sense since she’d heard that song playing on the radio. Because if she listened to the lyrics, if she let herself believe them—
“Why?” It seemed monosyllables were all she was capable of.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes searching every detail of her face. And she knew no smile in the world was going to hide the fact that she’d been crying.
“Why?” Ryder asked, his voice even huskier than it had been while he was singing. “Because I’m an asshole. I’m sorry, Jamison. So, so sorry.”
Hope swelled inside of her, but she forced it back down. Instead, she swallowed convulsively before whispering, “For what?”
“For breaking your heart.”
That was what she’d been afraid of. He felt guilty. Ryder thought he was such a badass, but when it came to people he cared about, he was notoriously softhearted. And she knew he cared about her. Too bad it wasn’t in the way she needed him to. But still, she couldn’t let him feel guilty. Shaking her head, she pressed a hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle the sobs that were ripping at her throat. “I broke my own heart, Ryder.”
“No. No, you didn’t.” His hands closed convulsively over her shoulders. “I fucked up. I got scared and I fucked up and I hurt you. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“Oh, it matters. It matters because you matter. More than anyone ever has.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t lie to me because you feel sorry for me.”
“Feel sorry for you? How could I feel sorry for you? You’re strong and smart and kind—”
“I’m not a damn dog!” The words burst from her before she knew she was going to say them. But she was so sick of being described like less than a woman just because she wasn’t sexy enough or beautiful enough.
He stared at her, obviously baffled. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m a woman, Ryder.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that.” He lowered his head, brushed his beautiful mouth over hers. And fool that she was, she let him. She hated herself for it, but she was powerless to stop him. “I thought we covered this the other day. You’re beautiful to me, Jamison. The most beautiful person on earth.”
“Then why did you dump me like that? In the middle of Wyatt’s hospital room? Why did you let me feel like nothing?”
“No, baby, no. You’re not nothing. I am.” He pressed tender kisses on her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. “I’m the asshole who let all the baggage I carry around get twisted up in my head. I thought you’d be safe if I let you go. Thought you’d be better off.”
Her heart thawed out despite her best intentions. How could it not when he was looking at her like that, baring his soul to her in a way she knew he hated. “What about now?”
“Now, I’m just plain terrified that I fucked up what we could have. I love you, Jamison. I love everything I know about you, even the way you organize your damn recipes alphabetically. I want to spend the next fifty years learning everything there is to know about you, so that I can love you more every day.”
“Ryder—”
“Please,” he told her. “I know I should step back, give you time to think, to make an educated choice. But I can’t. Please, Jamison. Please say you’ll give me another chance.”
Oh God. Her heart was breaking all over again. He was saying everything she needed to hear, everything she’d wanted him to say for days, for years. But she didn’t know if it was real. Didn’t know if she could trust him or his feelings for her. How could she when he was Ryder Freaking Matthews and she was just the girl who’d loved him most of her life?
“I love you and I know you love me.” He paused. “Please. Tell me you love me.”
“It doesn’t make any difference.”
“It makes every difference. I never knew I could feel about anyone the way I feel about you. It’s so huge, so monumental, that it terrifies me. Because you see me. You see all the way inside of me to places nobody else even knows exist. And I can’t understand, can’t imagine, what someone like you could possibly see in someone like me.”
“That’s because you always see yourself all wrong.” She started crying all over again. “I wish, for one minute, you could see yourself the way that I see you. You’re like a shooting star, brilliant and dazzling and completely unattainable. You streak across the sky, traveling faster than the speed of light and then—”
“And then I burn myself out.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No, but that’s what’s going to happen if you leave me. We both know it. You think I’m so special—”
“You are special.”
“Not without you. Never without you.”
“Ryder. You’re asking me for everything.”
“I am.” He nodded. “Yes. But I’m offering you everything I have in return. Everything I am. Everything I’ll ever be.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Pressed another one to her cheek before sliding his lips down her cheek and across her jaw to her own mouth. He dropped soft, sweet kisses on her lips until her head spun and her breath caught in her throat. And then he did it again.
