In the Stillness(60)

He winces and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Is she home now?”

“No. She and Liz are at Tosha’s parents’ house for a few days, why?”

Ryker grabs the back of his neck and groans almost inaudibly to the heavens. “I can’t let you go home like this. You’re far too drunk—”

“Wait,” standing, I balance myself on the arm of the couch, “you’re not suggesting I stay here . . . are you?”

“Yeah, Nat, I am.” He chuckles, but I can’t tell if it’s from nervousness or the absurdity of the situation. Probably both. I’d like to pass out now. “Unless you’re uncomfortable . . .” His face changes, and it breaks my heart.

“No, Ryker, that’s not it. It’s just . . . I don’t see you for the better part of a decade and . . .”

He laughs nervously again. “Go figure. I can loan you some shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in.”

Yeah, sure, why not?

“Okay. Can I shower?” I’m starting to sober up at a rapid pace, but that might just be the tequila making me think that.

“Of course, shower’s upstairs.” Ryker leads me to the stairs with his hand gently pressing against the small of my back. Praise God for my dress or I’d be on fire. “You okay to do the stairs?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

And incredibly distracted by your hand. On my back.

“All right,” Ryker turns on the light in a small bathroom at the top of the stairs, “towels are here, and I’ll have you sleep in the room next door. I’ll put clothes on the bed.” He’s shaved since I saw him a few days ago, and apart from the crease between his eyebrows as he focuses on what he’s trying to tell me, he looks exactly the same as the last healthy day I saw him.

“Thanks,” I mumble while closing the bathroom door.

As promised, when I step out of the shower and wander into the room next door with a towel on, I find workout shorts and an Amherst College t-shirt. It looks a little small to fit on Ryker, then I realize it’s probably from before he even graduated high school—he bulked way up when he joined the National Guard. Sliding it over my head, I pause for a minute as I’m flooded with his scent. It’s a clean shirt, but it’s still his clean shirt.

Loud clomps announce his impending arrival up the stairs, so I hurriedly pull the shirt down and the shorts on before sitting on the edge of the bed. Ryker appears in the doorway holding more water, a box of crackers, and a bottle of Advil.

“Here. You’re gonna want something in your stomach to take the Advil, and you’re definitely going to want to take an Advil before you fall asleep.” He sits on the bed next to me. So help me God, next to me. “It’s a good thing you threw up already, that’ll help you sober up.”

“Um,” I clear my throat and try again, “is your wife going to be upset that some strange girl is sleeping in your house?” Somewhere from the recesses of my brain during my long, hot, shower, I was reminded of Ryker’s marital status. Looking at his hand, though, I don’t see a ring, and the look on his face suggests maybe I just opened an old wound.

“My wife?” He sounds like I’ve said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“My bad, sorry, did you divorce?”

Ryker shakes his head with a grin. “Natalie, what the hell are you talking about? I’ve never been married.”

“But your dad said—” I cut myself off, trying to shuffle through my memories.

“My dad? When did you see my dad?

“When I was pregnant with the twins—”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “You have twins?”

I look around the room as if I’m trying to translate everything I’m trying to say into Chinese. “Yes. I saw your dad at Trader Joe’s when I was like eight months pregnant. He congratulated me, asked me about Eric, and when I asked how you were, he said ‘happily married.’ That’s why I thought you were married.”

Ryker shrugs. “He never told me he saw you.”

My stomach sinks. “Oh.”

What the hell?

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

I snort, “Yeah, like I said, I ruined your life. He didn’t want our little dairy case run-in to screw up any healing you’d done, so he didn’t tell you.” Ryker’s hand wraps around my wrist as I reach for the Advil.

“Crackers first. Trust me.” He grabs my other hand and takes a careful breath, commanding my attention. “Natalie, you didn’t ruin my life. Stop saying that. Why would you even think that?”

It occurs to me that I actually have no idea if some of the things I’ve been thinking over the last few years are true. I use my drunkenness as a shield and forge ahead.

“Well, did you ever reenlist in the National Guard?”

His eyes close for an extra-long blink as he exhales. “No. I couldn’t.”

“And,” I pull my hand away and continue, “why not?” His brief hesitation allows me to finish, “Because I pressed charges, got a restraining order, and screwed up your record.” With that declaration out of the way, I tear open the box of crackers.

“Nat . . . it’s so much more complicated than that. Ugh. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? When you’re sober.” He opens the Advil bottle, places two pills on the bedside table, and puts the cap back on. “Take these and try to get some sleep. Do you think you’re going to throw up anymore?”