Maybe Now (Maybe #2)(22)

Sydney: They’re in Tori’s apartment in my old bedroom. Look in the red folder at the top of the closet.

Hunter: Found them!

Hunter: Thanks, Syd. You’re the best.

Sydney: Can you delete my number now?

Hunter: Done.



I lean against the sink and rub a hand down my face. She immediately starts texting me when I hand her back her phone, so I check my phone.



Sydney: I realize my situation with Hunter is different from your situation with Maggie, but I have been extremely accommodating to the friendship you chose to keep, Ridge. EXTREMELY ACCOMODATING! But you are being a hypocritical tool right now. It’s very unattractive.



I blow out a breath of mixed relief and regret. She is absolutely right. I’m a hypocritical tool.



Ridge: You’re right. I’m sorry.

Sydney: I know I’m right. And that little apology doesn’t really make me any less angry at you.



I glance at her and swallow because I haven’t seen her this angry in a very long time. I’ve seen her upset and frustrated, but I don’t think I’ve seen her this angry since the morning she woke up in my bed and found out I had a girlfriend.

Why did I have to react that way? She’s right. She’s been nothing but patient with me, and the first chance I have to show her the same trust and patience in return, I stomp out of the room in a tantrum.



Ridge: I was jealous and in the wrong. 100% wrong. Actually, I was so wrong, I think I stretched the limit of 100%. I was 101% wrong.



I look at her, and I’m thankful I can read her non-verbal cues so well. Even though she tries to hide it, I can see her relax a little with that text. So I send her another one. I’ll text her apologies all night if I have to in order to get rid of this tension I caused.



Ridge: Remember when we used to tell each other our flaws so it would help fight our attraction for each other?



She nods.



Ridge: One of my flaws is that I never knew I had a jealous streak until I had you to be jealous over.



She doesn’t smile, but she does lean against the counter next to me. Our shoulders touch, and it’s such a subtle thing, but it means so much right now.



Sydney: My flaw is that I forgive too easily and I can’t stay mad.



She may find that as a flaw, but I couldn’t be more grateful for that side of her. Especially right now. She lifts her eyes and shrugs a little, like she’s already over it. I give her a quick kiss on her forehead.



Ridge: My flaw is that I’m covered in glitter. I somehow even got it…



I pull at the flap of my jeans. “Down there,” I say.

She starts laughing. And I smile because fuck Hunter. I have the absolute best girlfriend there ever was to walk this earth.



Sydney: My flaw is that I kind of already forgot why we were fighting because you’re so cute when you sparkle.

Ridge: We’re fighting because you are perfect and I don’t deserve you.



Sydney rolls her eyes and then sets down her phone. I stand up straight and place my phone on top of hers, pushing them to the back of the counter. I move in front of her, and she grips the counter at her sides, looking at me with glitter in her lashes and her hair. Such a beautiful girl. Inside and out. I lower my mouth to hers while bringing my hands to the front of her jeans. I unzip and unbutton them and then continue to kiss her as I undress her.

I pull her into the shower with me, and for the next half hour, I apologize profusely with my mouth.





I’ve spent seventeen nights in the hospital this past year alone.

I’ve been to visit my doctor more times than that. Since the day I was born, I’ve been at appointments to check my health more times than I’ve gone grocery shopping.

And I’m sick of it.

Sometimes when I arrive at my doctor’s office, I sit there and stare at the building, wondering what would happen if I drove away and never went back. What would happen if I stopped having tests administered? What would happen if I stopped receiving treatment for every single cold I’m afflicted with?

I’d get pneumonia. That’s what would happen. Then I would die.

At least I’d never have to go back to a doctor’s office.

The nurse takes the blood pressure cuff off my arm. “It’s a tad high.”

“I had a lot of sodium for breakfast.” I pull my sleeve back down. My blood pressure is high because I’m here. At the doctor. They call it white-coat syndrome. Any time I have my blood pressure checked inside a doctor’s office, it’s high because of nerves. But outside of a doctor’s office, it’s fine.

I lick my lips, trying to moisten them. My mouth is dry from the nervous energy of being here. I don’t want to be here. But here I am. No turning back now.

The nurse hands me a gown and tells me I can change when she leaves the room. I look down at the gown and cringe.

“Is this necessary?” I ask, holding up the gown.

She nods. “It’s a requirement. We’ll probably run a few tests today and your chest needs to be easily accessible.”

I nod and watch as she slips my chart in the door slot and starts to pull it shut. She smiles reassuringly. “Doctor will be in shortly,” she says. She has a look of pity about her, like she wants to hug me. I get that a lot. Especially from the really sweet nurses. I remind them of when they were in their formative years, young and vibrant and full of life. And they try to imagine themselves in my shoes at this age, and their eyes fill with pity for me. I’m used to it. Sometimes I even pity myself, but I don’t think that’s related to the illness. I think, as humans, we all have a degree of self-pity.