It Starts with Us (It Ends with Us #2)(55)

I’m overthinking this. Of course, they’re fine. Neither of them has called or texted with any kind of emergency, and twelve-year-olds even babysit other kids sometimes.

I think I’m fine, but I still need to get home. I don’t know Josh well enough yet to be convinced he isn’t throwing a rager in my house right now. I slowly remove my arm from beneath Lily’s head and ease out of her bed. I dress as quietly as I can, and then I go in search of a pen and paper. I don’t want to wake her up, but I don’t want to leave without saying anything. Especially after the night we had.

I find a notebook and a pen in her kitchen drawer, so I sit at the table to write her a letter. When I finish, I take it back to her bedroom and I set the note on the pillow next to her. Then I kiss her goodnight.





Chapter Twenty-Four Lily




There’s a pounding in my head.

And outside my head.

I lift my face off my pillow and feel drool on my chin. I wipe it away with the corner of my pillowcase. I sit up and see that Atlas left a note beside me. I grab for it, but then hear the knock again, so I tuck the note under my pillow for later and force myself to clear space in my foggy brain to make room for what’s happening in this moment.

Emmy is at my mother’s.

I just had the best night of sleep I’ve had in two years.

Someone is at my door.

I reach for my phone on my nightstand and try to focus on the screen. I have several missed calls from Ryle, which makes me concerned something is wrong. But the only thing I have from my mother is a picture of Emmy eating breakfast from half an hour ago.

Phew. Emmy is okay. I immediately relax, but knowing Ryle is probably the one knocking on my door doesn’t allow for much relaxation.

“Hold on!” I yell.

I throw on something quick—a T-shirt and jeans—and then I open the door to let him in. He moves past me, into the apartment, without being invited in. “Is everything okay?” He looks panicked, but also relieved to see that I’m alive.

“I was asleep. Everything is fine.” He can tell I’m annoyed. He glances around the room for Emmy. “She spent the night at my mother’s.”

“Oh.” He’s disappointed. “I tried calling because I wanted to pick her up for a few hours. You weren’t answering your phone, and you’re always awake by now…” Ryle’s voice trails off when he sees the couch. I don’t have to look at the couch to know what he’s staring at. My T-shirt and panties are still tossed haphazardly over the back of it, I’m sure.

“Let me call my mother and let her know you’re coming.” I go get my phone from my room, hoping Ryle isn’t about to question me. He’s ruining the good mood Atlas left me in last night.

When I walk back into the living room, I pause while searching for my mother’s contact on my phone. Ryle is holding a wineglass in his hand, inspecting it. It’s the one Atlas drank from. Mine is on the counter next to it—a clear indication that someone was here with me drinking wine last night.

Before my underwear got removed and left on the couch.

I can see Ryle’s jealousy bubbling over when he sets down the wineglass and looks straight at me. “Did someone stay the night?”

I don’t bother denying it. I’m an adult. A single adult. Well, possibly not single anymore, but that’s another matter. “We’re divorced, Ryle. You can’t ask me questions like that.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Ryle immediately responds by taking two quick steps toward me. “I can’t ask you if someone spent the night in the home my daughter lives in?”

I take a step back. “That’s not what I meant. And I wouldn’t bring anyone around her without your approval; that’s why she’s at my mother’s.”

Ryle’s eyes are narrowed, accusing. He looks disgusted by me. “You won’t leave her with me overnight, but you’ll drop her off somewhere else when you want to get fucked?” He laughs. “Great parenting, Lily.”

Now I’m getting angry. “This is only the second time I’ve ever left her overnight since she was born almost a year ago. Don’t shame me for taking a night for myself. And when I do take a night for myself, what I do during that time is not your business.”

Ryle has that look in his eye—the distant void that always took over right before he’d go too far.

My anger instantly turns to fear, and when Ryle can see that I’m backing away from him, he releases this sound of rage. A guttural, angry noise of frustration that reverberates in the room.

He leaves my apartment, slamming the front door shut behind him. I hear him yell the word fuck in the hallway.

I’m not sure which angle his rage is coming at me from. Is he mad I’m moving on? Is he mad my mother has Emmy? Or is it that I allow my mother overnights with her but I’m still not comfortable with Ryle having overnights? Maybe he’s angry about all three things presenting at once.

I blow out a calming breath, relieved he’s gone, but before I can think about what to do next, Ryle is opening my door again. He’s looking at me from the hallway with a very flat affect when he says, “Is it him?”

I can feel my heart catch in my throat when he asks that. He doesn’t say Atlas’s name, but who else could he be referring to? I don’t immediately deny it, which is enough of a confirmation for him.