Page 84 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“I said, is that clear?”
“Yes,” I choke out.
Then I’m running. Across the sitting room and toward the staircase. My vision blurs with tears. My breath comes in gasping sobs.
On the second-floor landing, I collide with something solid and warm.
“Whoa, Alice, what—“
Ryder’s voice cuts through my panic, and I realize I’ve run directly into his chest. The softness of his navy hoodie presses against my face, and he smells like guitar strings and something woodsy that might be cologne.
“Let me go,” I gasp, trying to push past him.
But his hands come up to steady me. “Alice, what happened? I heard yelling.”
“Let me go!” I push against him again, but my strength is gone.
Instead of releasing me, his arms pull around me. My face presses against his chest, and I can hear the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath the fabric.
I know this warmth. This safety. The thing I wish I didn’t need.
The recognition makes me cry harder.
“No,” I sob, beating my fists against his sweater. “Let me go. Let me go!”
I pound against his chest with all the strength I have, but he doesn’t budge. His arms tighten around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair. It’s different from when he shielded me from the rain. No crowd pressing in. No storm to breathe through. Just the dim hallway, his heartbeat, and the fact he isn’t letting go.
“It’s okay.” His quiet voice rumbles in his chest. “Just let it out.”
“No. No, I can’t.”
“You don’t have to be strong right now. Just let it out.”
I keep up the struggle. My fists hit his chest and shoulders, but he barely flinches. He absorbs every blow as if he has nowhere else to be.
“Ryder,” I cry. “Don’t.”
“It’s okay,” he whispers, his breath warm against my forehead. “You don’t have to be brave, Ally.”
The nickname rips the breath from my lungs. No one’s ever called me Ally, but I’m too woozy to question it. My legs give out, and if Ryder wasn’t holding me, I would collapse on the floor.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you.”
All the anger and desperation drains out of me. I’m awash in the raw grief that’s been eating me alive for weeks. I sag against his chest, dragging in hollow gasps.
“I can’t,” I wheeze, my face pressed against his hoodie. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Can’t do what?”
“Live here. Pretend I can do this. Pretend it doesn’t hurt every second of the day.” The words tumble out of me, broken and disjointed. “She doesn’t want me here. I’m a burden to her.”
Ryder’s arms tighten around me. He shifts his torso toward the stairs, as if checking for my aunt.
“What can I do?” he whispers. “Tell me what you need.”
The question surprises me so much I lift my head. His dark eyes are soft with concern, leaving no trace of the distance he maintains at school.
I swallow hard and manage a raspy whisper, “Play for me?”
