The Rush (19 page)

             
Like his girlfriend was this icon of everything I wanted to be in life.
Psht
.

             
Still it kind of bothered me how much it bothered me…..

             
Ryder looked at me expectantly. He sat waiting for me to open up to him about some fake disorder, like a random breakfast was enough to appoint him my sobriety sponsor.

             
I had enough of counselors during rehabilitation. If you could even call them that…. droves of women constantly coming to Nix’s defense, singing his praise and bragging about his bedroom prowess. God, it was disgusting. And then when we did get down to business, to my issues, there was no real help offered or solutions given. They were sponges that absorbed every last piece of information and sent it right along to Nix. Six months in intensive therapy was merely a tool to uncover every last one of my secrets and scoot me right back to the assembly line with all the other mindless Stepford robots.

             
I had every reason to distrust Ryder’s concern and even more so his “listening ear.” Still, the silver in his eyes glinted with honesty; his mouth was pressed into a sincerely grim line. He cared. He actually wanted to hear about my problems.

             
What was even more, it seemed like he truly wanted to help.

             
And I wanted to let him.

             
I could have compared notes all day long, but Ryder was not one of those brain-washed women that would go running back to Nix the minute I spilled my guts. Ryder was safe.

             
Following a morning of firsts that was the first time in my entire life I had thought that, felt that someone or something was completely safe.

             
A part of me was wholly and utterly shattered by that knowledge and the hope that sprung up with it. The other part of me cowered in fear and shame, just waiting for me to blow this up, to destroy it just like everything else in my life.

             
The words were falling from my mouth before I could stop them, “My mom is really strict about what I eat.”

             
Not a lie. And probably the most honest thing I had ever said to a boy.

             
“So strict you can’t eat
anything
?” Ryder tried to joke, but the expression in his eyes never relaxed and his hand slid forward on the table as if he were getting ready to grab mine.

             
Whether to run or to hold I didn’t know.

             
“Sometimes,” I admitted, hoping it wasn’t too much. I felt myself still underneath his calculating gaze. He was trying to sort truth from my reputation for bullshit. And I didn’t blame him. But I also couldn’t look him in the eye and silently plead with him to let it go, but to also believe me. He was too perceptive, too wise and with one long look at my face I would give away too much. I would open up about everything, about how eating was the least of my problems and that there was so much more to the twisted home life of Ivy Pierce.

             
“Ivy, do you want to come home with me for breakfast?” Ryder asked in a soft, sincere voice. His question landed on the table out of nowhere; hitting me hard with a longing I didn’t quite understand. Suddenly his body relaxed into his chair and his hands rested casually as he crossed his arms over his chest. “My uncle always makes a big thing of eggs and hash browns on Saturday mornings. In fact, they’re probably waiting for me now. It’s like his one meal that he can make, and I get the morning off.” I looked up just in time to watch Ryder gesture to Tarryn that he was ready for his to-go coffees. The small café had filled in around us, the later time drawing in all kinds of diversity in the crowd. Some people were clearly still working, despite the weekend, some were family-types on their way to kids’ activities, some were couples in love, some are merely picking up coffee on their walk of shame home, and some were just enjoying their Saturday morning with nothing better to do than sip lattes and eat fruit tartlets.

             
I thought about Ryder’s offer, wondering where it came from. Was he taking me home because he thought eggs and mushy potatoes could solve an eating disorder I wouldn’t even talk about with him? Or was he more interested in solving other problems of mine? Because by the way he was staring at me from across the table I could feel how his concern spread roots far deeper than intense dieting.

             
A guy at the counter interrupted his order to let out a low whistle and soft cat call. I turned, distracted from Ryder’s question, but the truth was I felt thankful for the three seconds I was gifted to think this over. “That is one nice car,” guy at the counter remarked, his voice a hushed reverent purr.

             
And just like that I snapped back to the depressing, no-win reality that was my life. Without even laying my eyes on the car I could feel the identity of the driver in the deepest marrow of my bones. A few more manly catcalls sounded out from over the mellow vocals of Over the Rhine playing softly in the background café sound system.

             
Despite the ominous intuition sitting in the base of my spine, I reluctantly gave into curiosity and turned my head just as Nix exited the driver’s side and slid the valet an absurd tip before ducking into the building. I couldn’t actually see the tip, but I knew from experience it would be enormous.

             
“I can’t, Ryder. Thanks for the offer though.” I wanted to investigate Ryder’s reason for inviting me over. Pity? Concern? Actual interest? But with Nix so close my skin started to crawl. I hated the idea of Nix sharing the same city block as Ryder, let alone the same oxygen. And if Nix spotted me over here, no doubt he would make some excuse to spend time with me. Or maybe he wouldn’t even bother making excuses anymore. Maybe we were past that.

Something deep and innate warned me to keep Ryder as far from my evil godfather as possible.

I stood up abruptly, anxious to put some space between us and get back home where things were ugly but predictable. “Alright, Sutton, thanks for the coffee, but I have things to do.”

“Sure you do,” Ryder
grinned at me as if I was some kind of semi-entertaining side show.

“See you later tonight,” I smiled winningly and turned my back on my breakfast date.

“Later,” he mumbled.

I escaped out the door, but my thoughts immediately leapt to the night ahead of me. I should definitely not be as excited about the party as I suddenly was. Ryder was so off limits and not even interested.

Plus there was Chase.

Ugh. I
needed to get my life together. Forget them both. And focus on just surviving the next two years. Focus on my trust fund and how it would change my life.

Somehow I knew that was way too much to ask.

Chapter Fifteen

              “Hey gorgeous,” Chase called.

             
I practically ran from the door of my building to meet him at the passenger side door of his car, which was not easy in heeled boots. Nix and my mother were watching from way above us, I knew it instinctively and I was in a hurry to get out of here, to get far, far, far away from them. I gave my most charming smile when Chase opened the door for me and threw my arms around his neck in an exaggerated show of affection.

             
“Hey yourself,” I whispered against his neck.

              I felt his surprise when our bodies collided, but it took no time for him to return the gesture and wrap his arms around my waist. He stayed the perfect gentleman however and released me exactly on time. I gave him one more happy-grin and then slid onto the cool leather seat.

             
The warm autumn day had turned uncomfortably chilly once the sun went down. If only the full moon offered as much heat as the sun. My pleated, high-waist shorts did nothing to prevent the cold from seeping into my skin, despite the thick charcoal tights I wore underneath them. I hugged my oversized purse to my chest, trying to fight the chill that had seeped into my bones, but it wasn’t until Chase pulled out onto the main street that I felt capable of finding warmth again.

             
“It’s good to see you,” Chase breathed a little self-consciously. My gut clenched in frustration. The curse worked fast, I knew that from too many years of experience, and I hated that he was already starting to feel attached.

             
At the same time what choice did I have?

             
Or he have?

             
“It’s good to see you too,” I replied. “I’m excited for this party! Last night was so awful; you have no idea. I need to get away for a while.”

             
“Oh yeah? My family’s kind of crazy too,” Chase laughed.

             
“Not as crazy as mine, trust me,” I sighed. “But what makes your family crazy?” I asked because I genuinely wanted to know, because even though I knew I would win a who-has-worse-problems debate, I couldn’t imagine Chase having actual issues with his parents. He seemed way too stable and adjusted.

             
“Ugh, mostly my parents,” he groaned. “They are so stressed out about college, it’s out of control. My older brother went to Northwestern on an academic full-ride and they have equally high hopes for me. But recently I was thinking maybe instead of division one traditional, I would pursue something smaller, something liberal arts focused….” Chase trailed off as if waiting for me to completely reject the idea or at least try to talk him out of it. Since I was basically obsessed with the idea of college and knew I would never get the chance to go I generally tried not to judge other peoples choices. I wasn’t going to start with Chase’s, he knew himself better than I did and besides all that small-liberal-arts-college-thing kind of sounded cool. When I stayed silent he continued, “So anyway, my parents are pretty flipped over that. They don’t think I can get a decent education and especially not a decent job. Last night they even bribed me with this insane spring break trip if I would burn all my unapproved by them letters of acceptance.”

             
I laughed at the absurdity of his parents’ incentive, “What is an insane spring break trip anyway?”

             
“Cancun, no questions asked, limitless allowance,” he ticked off as if each idea were more ridiculous than the last. “I don’t want any of that. I want to go to school for something I like, something I’m passionate about. Besides, I don’t believe for one second that my mom could actually not ask any questions. It would be the third degree as soon as I got home and probably an appointment to test for STD’s.”

             
“Which would of course be smart after an
insane
trip to Cancun,” I laughed and Chase joined in.

             
“You have to know I’m not like that,” he grumbled and I did know. No way was Chase the one night stand with Random Girls kind of guy. Which was going to make this so much harder than I wanted it to be. He had one week left.

             
“I know,” I agreed softly. “So what is it that you want to do? What’s at a liberal arts college that isn’t anywhere else?”

             
“Uh,” Chase stalled a minute while playing with the dials on the radio. “I’m thinking about Carleton College. It’s in Minnesota so not so far from home, and they have a smaller campus, small classrooms and all that.”

             
“Ok,” I smiled patiently at him. “And what would you be learning in those classrooms?”

             
He gave me a crooked smile, staring at me with those deep blue eyes of his and flashing his dimples before turning his eyes back to the road. It was like he was deciding if he could trust me or not.

             
But the thing was…. he couldn’t.

             
Or at least he shouldn’t.

             
“Social science,” he finally admitted, sounding completely embarrassed.

             
I fumbled with thoughts of how to turn that into career and came up completely empty-handed. “No wonder your parents are concerned for your future,” I joked.

             
“Hey now,” he shot me a playful glower and then explained “I want to run campaigns, like political campaigns. Start at the city and state level, like mayoral and state senators and then eventually work my way up to larger scale elections.”

             
“One day, presidential?” I guessed. I admired his ambition, his quiet dreams that were held with such obviously fierce resolve.

             
“Maybe,” he answered quietly, his cheeks heating with an embarrassed flush. “One day.”

             
“I love that,” I whispered. And I did. We were silent for a full minute before I announced decidedly, “Don’t take the trip of debauchery. You
need
to go to Carleton.”