Crash Into Me

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.

“Trust me,” he urged again. “I swear, I won’t let you down.”

She stared at him, dizzy and disturbed and terrified, so terrified of laying her heart on the line one more time. But as she stared at him, at his dark and dazzling eyes, at the soft and sexy smile that she knew he never showed to anyone else, she realized he was right . Loving him was very easy to do.

Reaching for him, she clutched his hands tightly in her own. “I love you,” she told him. “I’ve always loved you and I always will. I love the man you are, and the man I know you can be. I trust you, Ryder, and I want to build a life with you. I won’t lose sight of that again.”

“Thank God.” He dropped his head to hers, pulled in shuddering breath after shuddering breath. “Thank God.”

Jamison reached up, tangled her fingers in the silky hair she loved so much. “Take me back to the hotel,” she whispered as she pressed her lips to his. “We’ll kick Jared and Quinn out of my room. Or, better yet, just get a new one.”

“That’s a great plan, baby,” he said between kisses. “One I can whole-heartedly get behind. But we have a stop to make first.”

“A stop? Where?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” He dragged her around the corner to where a limousine was waiting. He held the door open for her and as he did, he smiled and once again it took her breath away. Because it wasn’t his stage smile, wasn’t the smile he gave a million different people. No, this was Ryder at his most open, most vulnerable. It weakened her knees and sped up her heart. This time it did more than that. It made her believe in happily ever after, not just for other people, but for herself. For Ryder. She couldn’t wait to see that smile every day for the rest of her life.

Because finally she believed. She wasn’t the perfect rocker’s wife—not by a long shot. But that was just fine, because Ryder was a far cry from being the perfect rocker. It was only together that they were perfect. And that was more than enough for her.