Maybe Someday(65)

ink off my arm and sniffling back the tears when

he reaches across me for the soap.

He dispenses some onto the palm of his hand,

then wraps his fingers around my wrist. The ten-

derness in his touch lashes out and scars my

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heart. He runs the soap up my wrist where the

words begin and lathers my skin as I drop my

other hand away and grip the edge of the sink, al-

lowing him to wash his words away.

He’s apologizing.

He massages his thumbs into the words, rub-

bing them away with the water.

I’m still staring down at my arm, but I can feel

his gaze directly on me. I’m aware of the exag-

gerated breaths I have to take in now that he’s

next to me, so I attempt to slow them down until

there are no longer traces of ink on my skin.

He grabs a hand towel and dries my arm, then

releases me. I bring my arm to my chest and hold

it with my other hand, not knowing what move to

make now. I finally bring my eyes to meet his,

and I instantaneously forget why I’m even upset

with him in the first place.

His expression is reassuring and apologetic

and maybe even a little longing. He turns and

walks out of the bathroom, then returns seconds

later with my phone. He powers it on and hands

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it to me while he leans against the counter, still

looking at me regretfully.

Ridge: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I

said. I thought maybe you were entertain-

ing the thought of accepting his apology,

and it upset me. You deserve better than

him.

Me: He showed up unannounced. I would

never take him back, Ridge. I was just

hoping an apology from him would help

me move on from the betrayal a little

quicker.

Ridge: Did it help at all?

Me: Not really. I feel even more pissed

than before he showed up.

As Ridge reads my text, I notice the tension

ease in his expression. His reaction to my situ-

ation with Hunter borders on jealousy, and I hate

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that this makes me feel good. I hate that every

time something Ridge-related makes me feel

good, it’s immediately followed up with guilt.

Why do things between the two of us have to be

so complicated?

I wish we could keep things simple, but I have

no idea how to do that.

Ridge: Let’s go write an angry song about

him. That might help.

He looks at me with a sly grin, and it makes

my insides swirl and melt. Then I freeze just as

fast from the guilt of those feelings.

For once, it would be nice not to be consumed

with shame.

I nod and follow him to his room.

Ridge

I’m sitting on the floor again. It’s not the most

comfortable place to play, but it’s much better

than being on the bed next to her. I can never

seem to focus on the actual music when I’m in

her personal space and she’s in mine.

She requested that I play one of the songs I

used to play when I sat out on my balcony to

practice, so we’ve been working through it. She’s

lying on her stomach, writing on her notepad.

Erasing and writing, erasing and writing. I’m sit-

ting here on the floor, not even playing. I’ve

played the song enough for her to know the

melody by now, so I’m just waiting while I watch

her.

I love how she focuses so intently on the lyr-

ics, as if she’s in her own world and I’m just a

lucky observer. Every now and then, she’ll tuck

behind her ear the hair that keeps spilling in front

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of her face. My favorite thing to watch her do is

erase her words. Every time the eraser meets the

paper, she pulls her top lip in with her bottom

teeth and chews on it.

I hate that it’s my favorite thing to watch her

do, because it shouldn’t be. It triggers all these

what-ifs in my head, and my mind begins imagining things it shouldn’t be imagining. I begin to

picture myself lying next to her on the bed while

she writes. I imagine her lip being tucked in

while I’m just inches from her, looking down on

the words she’s written. I imagine her glancing

up at me, noticing what she’s doing to me with

her small, innocent gestures. I imagine her rolling

onto her back, welcoming me to create secrets

with her that’ll never leave this room.

I close my eyes, wanting to do whatever I can

to stop the thoughts. They make me feel just as

guilty as if I were to act on them. Sort of similar

to how I felt a couple of hours ago when I

thought there was a chance she was getting back

together with Hunter.

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I was pissed.

I was jealous.

I was having thoughts and feelings I knew I

shouldn’t be having, and it was scaring the shit