How could you possibly know that?
I bite back the question.
“You always were a nightingale — singing alone in the dark, while the whole world’s asleep.” He doesn’t move an inch, but his voice — that faint twang, that intoxicating rasp — seems to reach out and stroke itself down my spine in a caress. “First time I heard you sing, it was three in the morning. Do you remember?”
I remember everything.
My eyes press closed, just for a moment, as I try to get a hold of myself. I hate that he can still affect me, despite everything. Hate that he still knows me so well, even after all this time.
His sigh makes my eyes snap open.
“Felicity. Say something,” he pleads. His gaze devours me, a blind man seeing the sun for the first time. “Say…anything.”
“We have nothing to say to each other.”
The flare of anger on his face tells me just how strongly he disagrees. “You don’t want to talk? Fine.I’lltalk.” His words are an ardent whisper. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come find you the minute I learned you were back in Los Angeles? Did you really think I’d wait until tomorrow’s rehearsal, minding Francesca’s schedule like a good little boy, giving you a polite bubble of space aftertwo fucking yearswithout so much as a word?”
I jerk my chin in a swift, stubborn move, not deigning to answer.
“You did.” His laugh is hollow. “Christ, Felicity.”
“It’s late.” There’s a terrible tremor in my voice as I hold his stare. “I’m tired, and we have an early day tomorrow. Please… let me pass.Let me go, Ryder.”
He finally moves — not to clear out of my path, but to step closer. My whole world narrows to the remaining sliver of space between his body and mine. Two feet of air, thrumming violently with two years of pent up emotion.
Breaking the silence, his tone is lethally soft — a blade sliding between two exposed ribs, piercing my heart with precision. “Are you honestly going to make me ask where you’ve been all this time?”
“I can’t do this right now. Okay?” I swallow hard, clinging desperately to the scraps of my composure. “We have rehearsals tomorrow, and a tour to think about—”
His words are blunt.“Fuck the tour, Felicity.”
I flinch.
“In fact…” His voice drops low and he takes another step, unapologetically invading my space. “Fuck the whole goddamn world and everyone in it. They can all go to hell, as far as I’m concerned.”
My breath catches in my throat. I use every ounce of energy I possess to keep breathing, to keep my hands from trembling, to keep my voice from quivering as I stare at him, studying the slight changes in his face — the harrowed, haunted look his features lacked last time we crossed orbits. The darkness behind his eyes.
“I don’t give a shit about the tour. About the label or the press or anything else for that matter.” His words are hollow, desperate. “The only thing I care about right now — the only thing I’veevercared about — is you.”
I cross my arms over my chest to hide the shaking of my hands. My words are as cold as I can manage when I speak again.
“I didn’t come back here for you, Ryder. I came back because I was contractually obligated.”
“I don’t give a shit.” He counters swiftly, his voice gruff. “All that matters is you’re here.”
“Well… you can go back to whatever island you’ve been stranded on, sipping mai-tais with your model friends, because I’m not staying.”
A jolt moves through him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m leaving.” I brace myself for his reaction. “As soon as the tour is done, I’m gone. So there’s no need for some big, dramatic discussion. No need to dredge up ancient history. Okay?”
“Noneed?” he echoes, the words brittle.
I nod sharply but don’t speak. Every minute I stand here staring at him, I feel a little more of my strength fade. I won’t cry — won’t allow myself to be that weak — but my heart weeps tears of blood each time it pumps inside my chest.
“No need,” he repeats, his tone blunt as a battle axe. “You and I have very different definitions for what that word means. Because, Felicity, in my book, we need to talk about a hell of a lot of things that went down before you disappeared on me without a fucking explanation.”
“No, we don’t,” I snap defensively. “We have nothing to talk about. We have a job to do. Let’s just get it done with as much professionalism and grace as we can manage, and then we’ll go our separate ways. The past can stay right where it is —in the past.”