It Ends With Us(19)

“You okay?” he asked, stepping outside. I used my shirt to wipe away my tears, and noticed he came outside instead of inviting me in. I sat down on the porch step and he sat down next to me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just mad. Sometimes I cry when I get mad.”

He reached over and tucked my hair behind my ear. I liked it when he did that and I suddenly wasn’t nearly as mad anymore. Then he put his arm around me and pulled me to him so that my head was resting on his shoulder. I don’t know how he calmed me down without even talking, but he did. Some people just have a calming presence about them and he’s one of those people. Completely opposite of my father.

We sat like that for a while, until I saw my bedroom light turn on.

“You should go,” he whispered. We could both see my mom standing in my bedroom looking for me. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized what a perfect view he has of my bedroom.

As I walked back home, I tried to think about the entire time Atlas has been in that house. I tried to recall if I’d walked around after dark with the light on at night, because all I normally wear in my room at night is a T-shirt.

Here’s what’s crazy about that, Ellen: I was kind of hoping I had.

—Lily

I close the journal when the pain pills start to kick in. I’ll read more tomorrow. Maybe. Reading about the things my dad used to do to my mom kind of puts me in a bad mood.

Reading about Atlas kind of puts me in a sad mood.

I try to fall asleep and think about Ryle, but the whole situation with him kind of makes me mad and sad.

Maybe I’ll just think about Allysa, and how happy I am that she showed up today. I could use a friend—not to mention help—during these next few months. I have a feeling it’s going to be more stressful than I bargained for.





Chapter Five


Ryle was correct. It only took a few days for my ankle to feel good enough that I could walk on it again. I waited a full week before attempting to leave my apartment, though. The last thing I need is to reinjure it.

Of course the first place I went was to my floral shop. Allysa was there when I arrived today, and to say I was shocked when I walked through the front doors is an understatement. It looked like a totally different building than the one I bought. There’s still a ton of work that needs to be done, but she and Marshall had gotten rid of all the stuff we marked as trash. Everything else had been organized into piles. The windows had been washed, the floors had been mopped. She even had the area where I plan to put an office cleaned out.

I helped her for a few hours today, but she wouldn’t let me do much that required walking at first, so I mostly drew out plans for the store. We picked out paint colors and set a goal date to open the store that’s approximately fifty-four days from now. After she left, I spent the next few hours doing all the stuff she wouldn’t let me do while she was there. It felt good to be back. But Jesus Christ, I’m tired.

Which is why I’m debating on whether or not to get up from the couch and answer the knock at my front door. Lucy is at Alex’s again tonight and I just spoke to my mother five minutes ago on the phone, so I know it isn’t either of them.

I walk to the door and check the peephole before opening it. I don’t recognize him at first, because his head is down, but then he looks up and to the right and my heart freaks the hell out!

What is he doing here?

Ryle knocks again, and I try to brush my hair out of my face and smooth it down with my hands, but it’s a lost cause. I worked my ass off today and I look like shit, so unless I have half an hour to take a shower, put on makeup, and throw on clothes before I open the door, he’ll pretty much have to deal with me as is.

I open the door and his immediate reaction confuses me.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, dropping his head against my door frame. He’s panting like he’s been working out, and that’s when I notice that he doesn’t look to be any more rested or clean than I am. He’s got a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face—something I’ve never seen on him before—and his hair isn’t styled like it usually is. It’s a little erratic, like the look in his eye. “Do you have any idea how many doors I’ve knocked on to find you?”

I shake my head, because I don’t. But now that he mentions it—how in the hell does he know where I live?

“Twenty-nine,” he says. Then he holds up his hands and repeats the numbers with his fingers while he whispers, “Two . . . nine.”

I let my gaze drop down to his clothes. He’s in scrubs, and I absolutely hate that he’s in scrubs right now. Holy hell. So much better than the onesie and way better than the Burberry.

“Why did you knock on twenty-nine doors?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“You never told me which apartment was yours,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You said you lived in this building, but I couldn’t remember if you even said which floor. And for the record, I almost started with the third floor. I would have been here an hour ago if I went with my gut instinct.”

“Why are you here?”

He runs his hands down his face and then points over my shoulder. “Can I come in?”

I glance over my shoulder and then open the door farther. “I guess. If you tell me what you want.”