Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(44)

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.

“You told me something that you don’t trust anybody else with, Ari.” She’s standing before me, and I reach out and wrap my large hand around her tiny, delicate wrist, feeling just how fragile she is—how easily broken she could become. “I don’t think shutting me out now is going to be as easy as you think, or want.”

She doesn’t pull away, but I feel her tense under my touch. Her arm goes rigid. Her gaze is cast downward, staring at where we’re connected. This is further than I ever allowed myself to go with anyone. More vulnerable than I’ve ever been with anyone.

I didn’t put myself out there fully with Alyssa. And maybe that has something to do with age, maturity, or lack of confidence. But maybe if I had, I could’ve prevented all the wrong that happened.

“Tell me something about you,” Ari says, her voice low, breaking near the end.

I glance up to find her amber eyes touching my face. “What?”

She pulls away and wraps her arms around herself as she steps back. “I revealed a secret to you, so to keep the playing field level, you need to share one with me.”

Damn. “Level the playing field.”

She nods slowly.

Fair is fair, I’ll give her that. But as I continue to stare into her eyes, wondering how I ever compared her to a girl who ripped me to shreds, a girl who paid dearly for that offense…I’m scared to open my mouth. To even begin.

I’m afraid that once I expose the tiniest piece, the closet door will blow off its hinges and the skeletons will rush out. Decimating our very tentative playing field.





19





Arian





Being near Ryder is like being on acid. Or what I’d imagine being on acid would feel like.

I can’t focus clearly; the walls behind him quiver and bleed around his form, coming in and out of focus. I thought, at first, he was always catching me at my worst times. After skipped meals, when I was lightheaded. During a rigorous exercise, my adrenaline pumping into my system so hard I couldn’t gain composure. But it’s not any of those things. It’s him.

There’s no sense as to why I told Ryder what happened between me and Stephan, how he used me, humiliated me—I didn’t even admit the whole truth to Mel. I allowed people, even those closest to me, to believe I was really popping speed. That it was an extension of my illness. It was easier and less painful than admitting to how dumb I had been. How utterly stupid. For some reason, owning to that was unbearable.

So why him, and why now?

Maybe if he gives me a part of himself in return, then I’ll figure that out. Because I may have been taken in before, and it may have damaged the way I view myself, and people in general—but it also toughened me up. I don’t take what people say at face value anymore. And Ryder has to give me a good enough reason as to why he’s here—what he wants—other than help on a class story.

I thought before that it was as simple as getting into my panties. Which, it’s possible that’s still the case. But most guys don’t work this hard. People are simple; they choose the course of least resistance. There are other girls out there, very willing girls, ready to offer themselves to Ryder.

My honed bullshit detector fires off every time I’m around him. I want to know why.

I want to understand if it’s him—or if it’s me. Am I completely damaged now, unable to ever trust anyone again?

“I hate football.”

I blink. “You hate football,” I deadpan.

He bobs his head. “Yep. All through high school. No, scratch that. I’ve hated it my whole life. In my family, football isn’t just a game; it’s a religion. Sunday game day was our church, and my dad was the preacher.”

It’s not that I don’t appreciate his honesty…if this is in fact true. It’s really surprising to discover that the star athlete hates the game he’s so admired for. But it’s not exactly an earth-shattering secret. “You hate the time it sucks, or the way the tights make your ass look?”

This gets me a serious glare, and I cannot help but smile.

“I actually loath it, Ari,” Ryder says, all joking aside. “I was forced to play all through school, and I was drilled by my dad before and after school. I was so relieved when my brother made starting quarterback in college, and then he was quickly on the road to the pros. All focus shifted to him, and I got to coast for a while. I thought that by the time I went off to college, I’d finally be free of it. Of all the pressure and expectations…” He trails off, and I can feel a charge spark the air as his story alters. “But my brother. Man, when he goes off the rails, he goes off.”

I’m trying really hard to follow without interrupting, but I’m anxious to understand this darker side of him. I don’t want to miss any detail. “You have a brother?”

A tight smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah, and no one around here really brings him up anymore. He’s like a bad omen, a bad luck charm. Football superstition and all that, I guess. Anyway, he…”