Lying Out Loud(73)

It’s over, I thought.

But then —

Maybe it was just my imagination or wishful thinking, but I thought I saw Ryder look back at me as they drove away.





I didn’t hear from him.

I didn’t expect to, but Amy did.

“I thought he would call,” she said. “I was sure he would.”

“See, this is why you need someone like me in your life,” I said. “You are too optimistic for your own good, Amy Rush.”

She sat down next to me on the bed. “Maybe after spring break … Maybe he’s just busy with his dad in DC.”

That was possible. The news coverage did make it seem like they were pretty busy. Ryder and Senator Cross had posed for photos with some foreign diplomats, and Greg Johnson had done a whole story about it.

Senator Cross might not have represented our region, but that hadn’t stopped Ryder from becoming a bit of a local celebrity.

As much as seeing him on the screen had made me ache, it had also made me happy. In the photos, Ryder looked genuinely pleased to be there with his dad. I hoped that meant they were working things out.

Amy wrapped her arms around my shoulders and rested her head on top of mine. “If he can forgive his dad, maybe he’ll —”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t give me a reason to hope. I screwed up, Amy. He has no reason to forgive me…. I told him I loved him, Amy. And he didn’t say it back.”

“He’s an idiot,” she said.

“He’s not, but thank you.”

As much as it had sucked to lose Ryder, I knew I was lucky to have Amy back. Knowing how much I’d hurt her over the past few months still made me sick. She was, without question, the most important person in my life. And the most selfless friend I could have asked for.

I knew she didn’t fully trust me yet, but we’d find our way back eventually. And no matter what, I would never, ever let anything — a boy, a lie, or my own insecurities — get between us again.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said as she untangled herself from me. “For locking us in a room together and helping me find the boom box. I’m not sure I ever would have gotten him to listen to me if you hadn’t done that.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I wish it had made more of a difference. I just really thought if he heard you out …”

“It did help, though,” I assured her. “It wasn’t just about getting him to forgive me. It’s about being honest. It’s something I’m still working on.”

“I like Honest Sonny.”

“Good, because she’s here to stay.” I frowned. “And honestly? Honest Sonny is not a fan of that purple lipstick on you.”

“Honest Sonny can get over it.”

I grinned. “Oh. Fierce Amy is fun, too.”

She blushed, but she smiled.

I was proud of Amy. She was still shy, still sweet, but she’d stopped letting people push her around. Even me.

Especially me.

Amy looked down at my phone again. “He’ll call,” she said.

“What makes you so sure?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I just am. You two had something special, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. I shook my head. “You’re being too nice even for you. Bring Fierce Amy back. Hurry.”

She tossed her brown curls over her shoulder and grinned. “This is Fierce Amy. And I am fierce in my assertion that he’ll call.”

I laughed and got to my feet and extended a hand to her. “Come on, Fierce Amy,” I said, pulling her up, too. “Honest Sonny is honestly starving.”

“Pizza?” Amy asked, heading for the bedroom door.

“Hell yes.”

*

“Who are you writing to?” Wesley asked, looking at the pieces of pale blue stationery I had spread across a section of the dining room table. He’d arrived at the Rush house on the first night of spring break with a suitcase full of dirty laundry and a big grin on his face. As any college student would. But the week was nearly over, and he’d be flying back to New York the next day.

And I’d already handed him the last of my payments to cover Gert’s repairs, thanks to my new job at Daphne’s. I was no longer in debt to him. At least not financially.

The truth was, I owed a lot to Wesley and his family. I’d never be able to pay them back for everything they’d done for me over these past few months. And I knew they’d never let me even if I could.

“My dad,” I said, shaking out my aching wrist. “We’ve started writing letters to each other.”

Wesley sat down across from me with his bowl of cereal. His gray eyes flicked over the table, counting the pages I’d already filled. I blushed. I’d only meant to write two or three, but this letter was beginning to resemble a novel.

“Why not type it?” he asked. “It would probably be faster.”

“I think I’ve had my fill of technology for a while,” I admitted. I put down my pen, deciding to give my wrist a break. This was the most I’d handwritten in years. “Besides. This feels more personal. And I think that’s what my dad and I need right now.”

Wesley smiled. “I am rather fond of handwritten letters.”