In the Stillness(63)

He laughs. “I booked it.”

“Mature.” I roll my eyes. “Tosha told me I was crazy, and then I had to explain to Eric … ”

“You married him? That guy you were standing with?” Ryker looks at me from the corner of his eye as he wrings his hands.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “but that’s a long f*cking story . . .”

“I guess, since it’s ends with us sitting on my porch swing like a couple of old people.”

Uncomfortable silence finds us again.

“How was it for you, Nat?”

“How was what?”

“With me. How was it for you, really, being with me after I got home from Afghanistan?” He’s looking down, and I’m glad because tears rise at the thought of all of that.

“Oh, Ry . . . I want to talk to you about that, if you want . . . but I need food, a shower, and some of my own clothes.” I take a deep breath as I carefully choose my next words. “Do you maybe want to come over to Tosha’s sometime this week? We clearly have lots to talk about.”

Ryker thinks for a moment before nodding and looking at me with those impossible eyes.

“Yeah. Is tonight okay or do you need a break from me?”

I can’t decide if he’s looking forward to spending time with me, or looking forward to saying all he thinks he needs to say before disappearing again. Frankly, I can’t decide how I feel, either.

I finally laugh. “No, we’ve had nearly ten years, I guess it’s finally time to face the music. Can you drive me back to The Harp to get my car? I’ll give you directions to Tosha’s for tonight.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

I run upstairs and retrieve my dress before enduring another awkward silence-filled car ride with Ryker.





Chapter 31





“Oh, what the hell was either one of us thinking?” I swirl through Tosha’s apartment, cleaning, while I scream at her through the phone.

“So call him and cancel.” She sounds as if this is some sort of meeting I can reschedule and not a reconciliation of my past.

“I don’t have his number, and he doesn’t have mine . . .”

“Thanks for giving him my address, by the way.” I can tell she’s kidding, but I retort.

“Thanks for telling me he called you every day for a month after I left school.”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought,” I continue, “anyway . . . ugh!”

“Have you talked to Eric today?” She skillfully avoids ‘fessing up.

“No,” I sigh, “since he came here yesterday I’ll probably have to talk to him by tomorrow. We’ve got to figure out a plan of action for when the boys come back. I talked to them this morning and, thankfully, they and my parents don’t seem to have any idea, which is good. That means Eric hasn’t blabbed.”

A slow knock on the door interrupts my verbal flailing.

“Shit, Tosh, he’s here. I’ll call you later,” I whisper.

“Okay,” she whispers back sarcastically before hanging up.

“Just a sec,” I shout to the door as I race to the bathroom.

With a quick run of a brush through my hair and a dab of lip gloss, I stare at myself in the mirror. I’ve washed and dried Ryker’s clothes that I drove home in and changed into a long black skirt and blue spaghetti-strapped tank. It’s about three-trillion degrees outside and feels worse inside my head. He’s already seen the marks on my arm anyway, so I’m not going to bother trying to find a cute way to cover them up.

You can do this.

“Hey.” I smile as I open the door to find Ryker in sneakers, cargo khaki shorts, and a grey UMass shirt.”

Figures.

He steps over the threshold, and I can tell he’s feeling as unsure about how to greet me as I am about him. I mean, we kissed a minute after first meeting—what are we supposed to do after not seeing each other for a decade? Making a decision for both of us, I walk for the kitchen. He follows.

“You look better than you did this morning. How do you feel?”

“Good, thanks. I slept most of the day, actually. Want something to drink? Beer? Wine?”

“Water’s good.” Ryker shrugs and seats himself at the kitchen table.

“I ordered pizza, I hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds great.”

I fill up a glass for myself from the faucet, half-wishing it was spouting vodka rather than water. Ryker watches my every movement as I work my way to the table and sit down. My skin tingles every place his eyes touch. When I can actually hear a clock ticking, I know we’ve been too quiet for too long. I clear my throat, and he starts speaking.

“So, the cutting, Natalie . . .”

“Ugh . . .” I rub my hand over my face, stopping it over my eyes for a good three seconds before facing Ryker again, who remains unmoved and staring at me. Or through me. “What about it . . .”

Suddenly I’m fidgety, looking to the ground and shaking my knee like an addict with a bag of coke placed in front of them, and being expected to write a report about it without tearing the bag open. He says nothing. I just have to start at the beginning.

“They day you left, Ryker . . .” I close my eyes for a second, and he interrupts.