Maybe Someday(104)

The kiss I experienced with him during the song

certainly led to negative feelings of guilt, but the

kiss itself still turns my heart into a hot mess just thinking about it. And I think about it a lot. Way

more than I should.

In fact, I’m thinking about it right now as the

snippet of our song pours from the speakers of

my cell phone, indicating that I’m receiving a

text.

From Ridge.

I honestly never expected to hear this sound

again.

I roll over on my bed and stretch my arm to the

nightstand, my now-trembling fingers grasping at

my phone. Knowing that I’ve received a text

from him has once again wreaked havoc with my

organs, and they’ve forgotten how to function

properly. I pull the phone to my chest and close

my eyes, too nervous to read his words.

Beat, beat, pause.

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Contract, expand.

Inhale, exhale.

I slowly open my eyes and hold up the phone,

then unlock the screen.

Ridge: Are you home?

Am I home?

Why would he care if I were home? He

doesn’t even know where I live. Besides, he

made it pretty clear where his heart’s loyalty

resided when he told me to move out three weeks

ago.

But I am home, and despite my better judg-

ment, I want him to know I’m home. I’m tempted

to respond with my address and tell him to come

find out for himself whether or not I’m home.

Instead, I go with something safer. Something

less telling.

Me: Yes.

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I pull the covers off and sit up on the edge of

the bed, watching my phone, too afraid even to

blink.

Ridge: You’re not answering the door. Am

I at the wrong apartment?

Oh, God.

I hope he’s at the wrong apartment. Or maybe I hope he’s at the right apartment. I can’t really tell, because I’m happy he’s here, but I’m pissed

off that he’s here.

These conflicting feelings are exhausting.

I stand and run out of my bedroom, straight to

my front door. I peer through the peephole, and

sure enough, he’s at my front door.

Me: You’re outside my door, so yeah.

Right apartment.

I look out the peephole again after hitting send,

and he’s standing with his palm flat against the

door, staring at his phone. Seeing the pained

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expression on his face and knowing it derives

from the battle his heart is going through makes

me want to swing open the door and throw my

arms around him. I close my eyes and press my

forehead to the door in order to give myself time

to think before making any rash decisions. My

heart is being pulled toward him, and I can’t

think of anything I want more right now than to

open this door.

However, I also know that opening the door

won’t do either of us any good. He just broke up

with Maggie a matter of weeks ago, so if he’s

here for me, he can turn right around and leave.

There’s no way anything could work between us

when I know he’s still heartbroken over someone

else. I deserve more than what he can give me

right now. I’ve been through too much this year

to let someone screw with my heart like this.

He shouldn’t be here.

Ridge: Can I come in?

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I turn until my back is pressed against the

door. I clutch the phone to my chest and squeeze

my eyes shut. I don’t want to read his words. I

don’t want to see his face. Everything about him

makes me lose sight of what’s important, what’s

best for me. He isn’t what’s best for my life right

now, especially considering what he’s gone

through in his own life, and I should walk away

from this door and not let him in.

But everything in me wants to let him in.

“Please, Sydney.”

The words are almost an inaudible whisper

through the other side of the door, but I definitely

heard them. Every single part of me heard them.

The desperation in his voice, combined with the

simple fact that he spoke, completely slays me. I

allow my heart to make my decision for me this

time as I slowly face the door. I turn the lock and

slide the latch loose, then open the door.

I can’t describe what it feels like to see him

standing in front of me again without using the

term terrifying.

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Everything about the way he makes me feel is

absolutely terrifying. The way my heart wants to

be held by him is terrifying. The way my knees

seem to forget how to hold me up is terrifying.

The way my mouth wants to be claimed by his is

terrifying.

I do my best to hide what his presence does to

me by turning away from him and walking to-

ward the living room.