Fading Out (Living Heartwood 3)

aby steps.

I haven’t “gotten sick” for a good while. The rest will fall into place. Just have to keep focused on the goal.

Which is what, exactly?

Before, it was being healthy, mentally and physically, for myself…for some reason. Because I know that I don’t want to live the rest of my life this tightly wound. I’ll go mad. If I don’t keel over first. Not that I’m making light of my illness. But it’s just that if I have to go on for the rest of my life in this constant state of push-for-perfection anxiety…I can’t. The thought is too exhausting.

Sometimes I wonder if just going to sleep, peacefully, dreamily, giving up, would be easier. Of course it would be easier, I mentally shake my head at myself. But maybe it’s more about whether or not the fight is even worth the hardship.

“Damn, you’re deep in thought over there.”

Vee’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a sharp blade. Reality bleeds into my awareness.

Glancing over at her, noting her drenched hair and shirt, I say, “I’m in the zone.”

She laughs. “Well, clearly. But save some of that flow for Ryder.” When I give her a puzzled look, she clarifies. “I think that boy has it for you. Bad. You’re going to need all your wits to do battle at the party. Unless…” She tilts her head and nearly stumbles off the walker. “Shit.” She hits the button until the speed is reduced to a crawl. “Whatever. You know what I’m saying.” Then she’s off, not bothering to bring her heart rate down or finish her statement.

She heads toward the showers, and I’m left with her words pounding against my head.

There’s another reason for which I might want to get healthy. A reason that, even though I’m more than reluctant to admit it—openly to myself—seems far more likely the real truth. I know from personal experience that you can’t keep an issue like mine a secret from your other half in a relationship.

Unwanted memories assault me. Stephan always asking if I’m sick. Always offering not so helpful advice on how to get better. Be better. Just the always, always talking about it, until I was disgusted with myself.

When you’re broken, your other half makes it their purpose to fix you.

And despite my father’s desire to marry me off like some debutante from the eighteenth century, the real panic flares when I think about all those hours spent “getting to know the guy.” Even though I grew up with Lucas, we’re practically strangers. All awkward smiles and formal conversations. But then again, I doubt we’ll ever have to have a real conversation for the rest of our lives.

Then there’s Ryder. It will never happen between us in a million years. Hardly. Other than my parents practically banning him from my presence, there’s still the question of his intent. With his reputation and proven track record with the girls of Braxton, there’s a huge, gaping hole of doubt.

I’m really not the guy’s type, and maybe—like Vee sometimes claims—that’s the attraction. But nothing is ever that clear cut. That simple. Most people are selfish by nature. So there’s more to it than just him wanting to be friends.

“Did you see the outfits? Oh, my shit.” Another member of the boosters, Carly, takes up the walker Vee abandoned. She’s talking to another booster girl (it’s kind of ridiculous that most of the team’s supporters are women; like it’s a women’s only club to swoon over the players).

“I’m going to have some fun with this,” the other girl says. “We should’ve thought of it before they did. It would’ve been awesome to see the surprise on their faces.”

“Did the Bobcats get new uniforms?” I blurt. Really, they’re talking around me, not to me, despite the fact that we run in the same club. There’s a stupid hierarchy among the boosters that is high school worthy.

Carly laughs. Her long ponytail swipes across her back as she begins to lightly jog. “If the team wore those outfits…oh shit, Jessica. That would be hilarious. But no.” Her gaze swings back to me. “Not new uniforms. Our ‘outfits’ for the party this weekend.”

The way she makes air quotes as she says this makes my stomach churn. I slow down my treadmill. “Is it a costume party?”

Jessica looks at me and smiles. “Yup. You can back out, if you want. It’s understandable that only the most devoted fans would be okay with it.” She glances at Carly. “And they’ll probably record it, too. It could end up on YouTube.”

But she actually says this with excitement in her voice, as if that wouldn’t be the worst thing at all. My curiosity has gone from piqued to overly cautious in a matter of seconds.

I’m thinking about texting Ryder to find out just what he’s planning for this party when Carly says, “You seriously don’t have to participate, Arian. Everyone knows Ryder’s only trying to win the bet, and this is probably his way to make that happen. If I were you, I’d tell him where he could stick it.” She covers her mouth as she laughs. “Oh, shit. I guess that’s pretty much what he wants you to do!”

My face flames as Jessica laughs. Bet? “You so would not tell him off. You’d be all over that boy,” she says to Carly. “Just like last time. I swear, I had to practically pull you two apart.”

That’s it. I’ve heard enough. I’m not so stupid to think these two are doing anything other than trying to discourage me from going to the party. For being some kind of competition to get to The Ryde. It’s a lame tactic, but one—I hate to admit—that’s working.

I’m off the walker and heading toward the showers before they can glimpse the discomfort on my face. I’m not so worried about either of them being interested in Ryder. Or having been with him before. I mean, it is the guy’s rep. I’m sure he’s had Carly, or hell, both of them, in more positions than my limited imagination can fathom.

But it’s the fact that Ryder has put together some kind of unseemly party. Probably to try to embarrass me—maybe the way he was embarrassed by my family. That he’s using it to boost his rep further, even. Trying to prove to his team or whoever that he can and will nail the prude. I was such an idiot to think he was really doing something for Vee.

It’s just easier to believe the worst over him being sincerely interested in me.

That’s what burns. And has me heading right for her now.