Page 51 of Scream Little Sister

His eyes widen in shock, then he locks it away as fast as it came. The same frustrating blank expression takes its place as he shuts me out.

No.

No.

No.

I don’t want him to hide from me. I don’t want the icy demeanor he uses so often.

Ryder drops his hands and steps away from me. With every inch of space he puts between us, the weight on my shouldersbecomes heavier. He’s slipping through my fingers, and I don’t want to lose him. Not just physically, but emotionally.

“Ryder,” I croak.

He backs away. “What happened back there, Madison?”

Even his voice has gone cold. Detached. Lacking humanity.

I swallow hard and force myself to stay put when I want to rush into his arms, where everything feels so right. “Justin . . .” The next words die on my tongue as the lump in my throat makes a reappearance. I shake my head and avert my gaze. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Ryder’s blank expression doesn’t crack as he says, “A misunderstanding.”

I wince and turn away from him so he doesn’t see my shame. It was more than a misunderstanding, but it’s not like my moody stepbrother will understand or care. He’ll say I’m overreacting and that what Justin said and did wasn’t that bad.

Nibbling on a piece of loose skin on my bottom lip, I glance around the empty park. No kids playing on swings with their parents watching. No dog owners walking their pets. It’s a ghost town here, which makes being alone with Ryder that much more nerve-wracking.

“Why did you bring me here?” I say while still avoiding his gaze.

Ryder cocks his head. “Because yourfiancéwould look for you at home. It’s safer being here than where he can find you.”

I wince. Why did he say it like he holds a grudge against Justin? Ryder doesn’t know him, nor does he know what happened.

“I would have been fine at home.” The lie tastes like ash on my tongue, and the panic from earlier creeps to the surface at the thought of Justin finding me. Ryder’s correct. Being at home isn’t safe right now. I could hide in my bedroom, and Justin would still barge in and pick up where he left off. Dad wouldn’tkeep me safe. Carolyn wouldn’t either. The only person I can depend on is my aunt, and she’ll give him hell.

Ryder raises an eyebrow.

My cheeks burn with a blush. “It’s not like you want to be here with me. You can barely stand me.”

His lips thin—the only sign of his displeasure—and he strides toward the picnic tables beneath a gazebo.

“Where are you going?” I chase after him.

Ryder stalks forward without sparing me a glance. He settles on the bench with his back resting against the table. As he relaxes and stretches out his long legs, he folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes.

I can’t stop myself from checking him out, even though I know better. He’s dressed in his usual goth clothes—a black hoodie clinging to his form like second skin; loose-fitting black cargo pants with pops of white straps weaving through the fabric.

Looking down at my attire, I’m reminded of just how different we are. Instead of all-black everything, I’m a veritable neon sign. With my bright-pink top, a lightweight jacket, and designer jeans, I look like Hannah Montana standing next to the lead singer of Satan’s Priest.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re about to take a nap.”

He pops open an eyelid and gives me a pointed look, then rolls his eye and closes it.

My spine straightens when I realize that something isn’t right. I creep closer to get a better look at him. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes, and lines of exhaustion appear beside his mouth. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths.

Did he really fall asleep? And why the hell was he riding his motorcycle if he was this tired?