Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation required ASAP.
Unfortunately, the look on his face belies the delectable appearance — his features are twisted in such a dark glare, the bright sun overhead seems to dim the longer I stare at him. I search his eyes in vain for even a trace of the soft, silent accord we reached last night… but it’s gone. Splintered into nothing by careless words I only said to get Carly off my back.
“Ryder, I—” My attempted amends are cut off before I can get out much more than his name.
“Hello, ladies!” Linc grins as his eyes scan our bodies, taking in the view with an appreciative whistle. “Looking fine this fine day.”
“No one asked you, Travers,” Carly says, peering over the top of her dark shades as he stretches out on the lounger beside her. She scowls when he snags a sip of her mojito without permission.
“Get your own drink, you heathen.”
“Oh, baby, you know how that sweet talk turns me on…”
Despite her best intentions, Carly’s lips twitch as Linc makes a show of swooning over her. Aiden, however, looks less than amused as he watches the playful banter unfolding before his eyes. He drops his towel on our umbrella table, whips off his shirt to reveal a body so sculpted, Michelangelo would covet it, and dives into the water. His angry laps carry him swiftly to the swim-up bar on the other side of the pool, as far from us as he can get.
“What’s his problem?” Linc asks, mischief glinting in his eyes.
Carly shrugs, though her voice is anything but carefree. “I haven’t a clue.”
And she has the nerve to givemea hard time about relationships…
By the time I turn back around to Ryder, hoping to apologize and explain my way out of whatever he just overheard, he’s vanished entirely. He’s not in the water, or at the tiki-style bar. He’s not on a lounger or hiding from the sun under an umbrella. He’s simply…
Gone.
I try not to stress, assuring myself I’ll see him later. Except… I don’t. Not for the rest of the day. Not in the casino as we wander around with Aiden and Linc later that afternoon, watching people lose money for sport. Not in the adjoining suites we all share on the penthouse floor when we get ready for our only free evening to explore the strip. Not even at dinner in the chic Italian steakhouse where Carly, Aiden, Linc and I devour prime filets so big, I’m worried my stage costume won’t zip properly when I put it on for our next show.
No Ryder.
I smile and lift my seltzer in a toast to our second tour city, and all the rest to come.
I sit through a stunningly acrobaticCirque Du Soleilshow Carly somehow scored front-row tickets for by flirting with the hotel concierge,oohingandahhhingat all the proper points.
I laugh when we bump into Aiden and Linc in the hotel lobby bar at two in the morning — several hundred dollars poorer after a trying their hands at poker, and half in the wrapper, if their glazed eyes are any indication.
Still no Ryder.
I play my part with ease, well-practiced at keeping my guards in place. But all the while, inside my chest, my heart cries out for the vital piece missing from our Wildwood equation.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
It’s not my business anymore, what he does with his time when we aren’t on stage together. In fact, that was one of my very first stipulations when I agreed to come on this tour: separate accommodations, so I could keep him at arm’s length.
I wonder why that stopped seeming like a necessity. I wonder when I started craving his presence, instead of avoiding it. And I can’t stop the tears that come later, when I’m finally alone, my cries muffled in a plush bathroom towel so I don’t wake Carly, sleeping soundly in the next room.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I wish you’d let me say it.
* * *