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It’s not that I don’t appreciate his honesty…if this is in fact true. It’s really surprising to discover that the star athlete hates the game he’s so admired for. But it’s not exactly an earth-shattering secret. “You hate the time it sucks, or the way the tights make your ass look?”
This gets me a serious glare, and I cannot help but smile.
“I actually loath it, Ari,” Ryder says, all joking aside. “I was forced to play all through school, and I was drilled by my dad before and after school. I was so relieved when my brother made starting quarterback in college, and then he was quickly on the road to the pros. All focus shifted to him, and I got to coast for a while. I thought that by the time I went off to college, I’d finally be free of it. Of all the pressure and expectations…” He trails off, and I can feel a charge spark the air as his story alters. “But my brother. Man, when he goes off the rails, he goes off.”
I’m trying really hard to follow without interrupting, but I’m anxious to understand this darker side of him. I don’t want to miss any detail. “You have a brother?”
A tight smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah, and no one around here really brings him up anymore. He’s like a bad omen, a bad luck charm. Football superstition and all that, I guess. Anyway, he…”
He’s struggling to let me in. Or he doesn’t want to say whatever it is out loud. My chest aches, like sympathy pains. Maybe this isn’t his secret to tell.
He clears his throat. “He attacked a girl at a party one night,” he blurts. And my stomach drops. “It became this big scandal, and he wouldn’t have been permanently kicked off the team, but he refused to do what the court ordered. Like undergo psych evaluations and stuff. Instead, he got time served with probation, and he’s been in and out of jail ever since.” He shrugs a shoulder. “There’s a dark secret for you.”
“Oh, my God, Ryder. I had no idea,” I say, sitting down beside him. I almost tell him I’m sorry, but that feels forced, not at all genuine. “What happened to the girl? Is she all right?”
His gaze shutters, his clear eyes darken to a stormy blue. He looks away. “He was really loaded at the time…and he has a bad temper. I guess it’s more than that, though. He’s been in a ton of fights growing up, and my mom finally had enough at one point and took him to a doctor. They put him on meds for ADHD, bi-polar depression, other mental disorders. I don’t think they ever pinned it on any one thing—my parents didn’t have insurance and couldn’t afford all the tests.” He cuts off here, an embarrassed expression taking over his face.
A pang knocks my chest. I understand now why Ryder avoided my father’s probing questions about his parents. He’s ashamed that his family doesn’t have a lot of money. I can see it now, in the hunch of his broad shoulders. The downcast expression tugging at his features.
When he continues, I have more questions that I fear he’ll refuse to answer, but I stay quiet. “So yeah, that night, he was drinking pretty heavily. He did that at times. Just went on benders. And this girl got to him. There was an argument between them, and then he attacked her. Dragged her through the house by her hair and locked himself in a bedroom with her.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper. It’s all I can say—I feel so useless.
His eyes find mine, and he quickly tries to assuage my horror. “But she was ultimately okay. I think he terrified her more than physically harmed her…but he did harm her. She had a bruise on her left cheek, broken blood vessels under her skin, a hairline fracture in her wrist.” He swallows hard. “Her statement said that Jake slammed her face against the door before he left the room. Before then, he was just talking crazy. Nonsense. A few of his buddies on the team had to tackle him and restrain him until the police arrived.”
“Did you know her?”
He licks his lips. Averts his gaze. “Not personally.”
Maybe I shouldn’t push—shouldn’t continue to dredge up this painful memory. Only, I have to understand. “Ryder, were you there? Did you see this happen?”
Driving a hand through his hair, he sighs. “I was there, but it happened so fast. I think about that all the time, though. That if I’d just somehow known—” He breaks off for a beat. “I could’ve stopped him. I should have known something was wrong, and I should’ve been able to stop him.”
I shake my head. “But you said that he’s since been in a lot of trouble. Has he hurt anyone else? Has he attacked other women?” I pause, but decide to keep going, needing Ryder to understand before he answers. “You don’t really have control over anyone else. You understand that, right? No matter if you could’ve prevented what happened that night, you can’t just follow your brother around, keeping him sober and out of trouble.” And this I learned in rehab. I never thought any of it would come in handy for my life. Strange.
“As far as I know, he’s never hurt another woman. But the truth is, I rarely ask for details anymore. I don’t want to know.”
Queasiness rocks my stomach. I get why he would feel that way, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. It’s like choosing to ignore the problem and look the other way. Enabling by ignorance. I don’t want to think it’s selfish of him, but it kind of is. If his brother is this sick, he needs to have him committed.
I don’t get as far as voicing my opinion, though, because he says, “Look, my dad died shortly after Jake was suspended from the team, and my mother was already getting pretty sick by then. I had a lot on my plate…and I chose to put my mom in a care facility where she could be treated, and I went on to college. I play ball for my dad, so that Jake’s disgrace doesn’t define our family. My dad’s life was football, his only dream that at least one of his boys would go pro, and so that’s why I play.”
There are so many things I want to counter on his admission. So many loopholes and truths that I see clearly, but know I will absolutely be a hypocrite for pointing out. I’m not really any different than him; going to banquets and functions and accepting my father’s “plan” for my life without a fight. We’re both duty-bound to our family, only Ryder’s is out of shame.
Or guilt.
And for everything that he’s done and strove to become…a heavy guilt like that only stems from oneself, not felt on another’s behalf; like a sibling.
For that reason, I feel there’s a lot of his story missing. But I don’t press him right now. He looks shaken, like he’s on the cusp of cracking. There is only so much purging a person can do before the bile runs red. I also know this, unfortunately, from experience.
“I’m not judging you,” I finally tell him. He looks up at me. “We do what we feel we must for those we love, even when those we love have no idea that what they’re asking us to sacrifice is slowly killing us.”
An understanding washes over his face, and his blue eyes shimmer in the low light. They’re unblinking, like if he closes them even for a second, this moment will change, and we’ll never get it back. At least, that’s how I feel. And I’m terrified to move.
“Your dad expects you to follow in his footsteps,” Ryder says by way of response.
I shrug. “Maybe not so much his, but Becca’s. My stepmom. It’s not a suggestion or wish that I marry well, it’s a requirement of being a part of my family.”
His eyebrows press together, and he cocks his head. “That’s why…” He pauses, as if he’s working out some big connection. “That’s why you didn’t want your parents to see us dancing together. Why you’re refusing to go out with me. You’re scared your father will cut you off.”
