Keeping the Bad Boy

Chapter 22

I was in my room when he got home. He had gone to get gas in his car and get Paulette a carton of eggs. I hear him pull in the driveway, throw the front door open, toss down his keys and the eggs, and race up the stairs. He doesn't even knock on my door, he just throws it open and shuts it behind him. There is sweat on his forehead and he is panting, obviously having been in a hurry to get home. "Dude, on the way to the-" he said frantically, stopping to take a deep breath. "On the way to the gas station, I was at the light and there was this white jeep next to me. I didn't think-" "Courtney," I whisper and Ryder nods. "Yeah. It was her. So I rolled down the window and reached over and knocked on her window. She was crying and you should've seen the look on her face. I don't think I've ever seen someone so shocked. . . or so broken," Ryder says and sits down beside me on my bed. He lowers his voice to a whisper. "She looked like she was in so much pain. She didn't talk to me, just drove off. She looked so confused and scared- she looked just like you. When you were little, I'll never forget that mask of hurt and confusion you constantly wore. . . that's how she looked. I don't care how much trouble either of you get into, you have to go talk to her before. . ." he trailed off, letting the words float into thin air. "I know, but what am I going to say to her?" He puts an arm around my shoulders, almost as if it were an absent-minded gesture because he did it so often. "That's up to you, little brother. You've never been the best with words, so," he rolls his head toward my violin sitting by my bed. "Seriously? I mean, if I did sneak in, her parents would most definitely hear that thing." Ryder stands up, walks over to my closet, retrieves the violin's case, walks back over to the stand it's on, and sits down in front of it criss-cross apple-sauce. He picks it up and gently puts it into the case, along with the bow. "So don't play it inside. If you can sneak in she can surely sneak out," he says and latches the case shut. Ryder stands and hands me the case, "You can even take my car if you want. Don't want her to freeze her ass off do we?" he says with a smile. "The cold does a broken heart good," I say and walk to the door. "I guess that's why you got a motorcycle in the middle of winter when you were 15," I hear him mumble as he follows me out the door and branches off toward his own room.