Page 50 of Come Break My Heart Again

“Uh-huh.”

His exhale is exasperated. Ryder reaches for the gearshift, and I reach for him. He freezes as soon as my fingers close around his wrist, so I do too.

We both stare at the spot where we’re touching.

I loosen my grip slowly. “Can we stay? Just for a few more minutes?”

He looks at me, and I look back, and it feels like one of the most intense moments we’ve ever shared. And we’ve shared a lot of intense moments, so it’s a high bar.

It’s disarmingly intimate, holding someone’s gaze purposefully. Especially when you’ve already memorized their features. He still has a freckle above his right eyebrow. The curved scar in the left corner of his mouth—a middle school football injury from an opponent’s elbow—has faded some but not entirely. His gray eyes, more soft than stormy right now.

“Yeah.” Ryder clears his throat. “Yeah. Sure.” He kills the engine, the headlights shutting off a minute later.

I recline my seat a little so I can see the sky better. Ryder rubs his thumb along the side of the steering wheel.

Neither of us talk. We just sit.

Even around Keira and Juliet, my closest friends, I feel some compulsion to act a certain way. To play a part.

I’m honest with Ryder. Around him, it’s easier to be myself.

I wish that had changed in the past two years. Wish I didn’t know this feeling of safety and serenity still existed.

“I like your dress.”

The smile comes automatically before I glance over and catch him looking at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Matches your eyes.”

“It’s new,” is the only thing I can think to say in response.

“Figured you had some specialfirst day of schooloutfit.”

The warmth in my chest glows brighter, realizing Ryder remembers what I wore on Monday.

“So, you surf now?” I ask.

“I can, yeah. Going to be tough to get to the Cape without a car.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Tuck got me a job at his uncle’s garage. There’s an old beater he said I could fix up for some wheels.”

“You’re working at a garage?” There’s one on the periphery of town, near the trailer park, which must be the place Ryder is talking about.

“Yeah. After school.”

“So, you’re not the new quarterback?”

He huffs, his hand dropping from the wheel as he relaxes against the seat. His knee knocks against the door. It’s strange, seeing him in my car. Good strange. A sight I want to get used to.

“No. I … I need the money.”

“Is he a good guy? Tucker Franklin?”

Ryder’s eyes snap to mine. He hesitates before answering, an unspokenwhyhovering in the silence. “The best,” he answers.

“Keira’s interested in him.” I offer the explanation he didn’t ask for.

“She’s a friend of yours?”

“Her family has money, if that’s what you mean.”

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