Fifteen seconds that we’ll never get back.
He pulls me against him and starts kissing the top of my head. “I’m so sorry. I just . . . I burned my hand. I panicked. You were laughing and . . . I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast. I didn’t mean to push you, Lily, I’m sorry.”
I don’t hear Ryle’s voice this time. All I hear is my father’s voice.
“I’m sorry, Jenny. It was an accident. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Lily. It was an accident. I’m so sorry.”
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I just want him away from me. I use every ounce of strength I have in both my hands and legs and I force him the fuck away from me.
He falls backward, onto his hands. His eyes are full of genuine sorrow, but then they’re full of something else.
Worry? Panic?
He slowly pulls up his right hand and it’s covered in blood. Blood is trickling out of his palm, down his wrist. I look at the floor—at the shattered pieces of glass from the casserole dish. His hand. I just pushed him onto glass.
He turns around and pulls himself up. He sticks his hand under the stream of water and starts rinsing away the blood. I stand up, just as he pulls a sliver of glass out of his palm and tosses it on the counter.
I’m full of so much anger, but somehow, concern for his hand still finds its way out. I grab a towel and shove it into his fist. There’s so much blood.
It’s his right hand.
His surgery Monday.
I try to help stop the bleeding, but I’m shaking too bad. “Ryle, your hand.”
He pulls the hand away and, with his good hand, he lifts my chin.
“Fuck the hand, Lily. I don’t care about my hand. Are you okay?” He’s looking back and forth between my eyes frantically as he assesses the cut on my face.
My shoulders begin to shake and huge, hurt-filled tears spill down my cheeks. “No.” I’m a little in shock, and I know he can hear my heart breaking with just that one word, because I can feel it in every part of me. “Oh my God. You pushed me, Ryle. You . . .” The realization of what has just happened hurts worse than the actual action.
Ryle wraps his arm around my neck and desperately holds me against him. “I’m so sorry, Lily. God, I’m so sorry.” He buries his face against my hair, squeezing me with every emotion inside of him.
“Please don’t hate me. Please.”
His voice slowly starts to become Ryle’s voice again, and I feel it in my stomach, in my toes. His entire career depends on his hand, so it https://books.yossr.com/en
has to say something that he’s not even worried about it. Right? I’m so confused.
There’s too much happening. The smoke, the wine, the broken glass, the food splattered everywhere, the blood, the anger, the apologies , it’s too much.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again. I pull back and his eyes are red and I’ve never seen him look so sad. “I panicked. I didn’t mean to push you away, I just panicked. All I could think about was the surgery Monday and my hand and . . . I’m so sorry.” He presses his mouth to mine and breathes me in.
He’s not like my father. He can’t be. He’s nothing like that uncaring bastard.
We’re both upset and kissing and confused and sad. I’ve never felt anything like this moment—so ugly and painful. But somehow the only thing that eases the hurt just caused by this man is this man. My tears are soothed by his sorrow, my emotions soothed with his mouth against mine, his hand gripping me like he never wants to let go.
I feel his arms go around my waist and he picks me up, carefully stepping through the mess we’ve made. I can’t tell if I’m more disappointed in him or myself. Him for losing his temper in the first place or me for somehow finding comfort in his apology.
He carries me and kisses me all the way to my bedroom. He’s still kissing me when he lowers me to the bed and whispers, “I’m sorry, Lily.” He moves his lips to the spot on my eye that hit the cabinet, and he kisses me there. “I’m so sorry.”
His mouth is on mine again, hot and wet, and I don’t even know what’s happening to me. I’m hurting so much on the inside, yet my body craves his apology in the form of his mouth and hands on me. I want to lash out at him and react like I always wish my mother would have reacted when my father hurt her, but deep down I want to believe that it really was an accident. Ryle isn’t like my father. He’s nothing like him.
I need to feel his sorrow. His regret. I get both of these things in the way he kisses me. I spread my legs for him and his sorrow comes in another form. Slow, apologetic thrusts inside of me. Every time he https://books.yossr.com/en
enters me, he whispers another apology. And by some miracle, every time he pulls out of me, my anger leaves with him.
• • •
He’s kissing my shoulder. My cheek. My eye. He’s still on top of me, touching me gently. I’ve never been touched like this . . . with such tenderness. I try to forget what happened in the kitchen, but it’s everything right now.He pushed me away from him.
Ryle pushed me.
For fifteen seconds, I saw a side of him that wasn’t him. That wasn’t me. I laughed at him when I should have been concerned. He shoved me when he should have never touched me. I pushed him away and caused him to cut his hand.
It was awful. The whole thing, the entire fifteen seconds it lasted, was absolutely awful. I never want to think about it again.
He still has the rag balled up in his hand and it’s soaked with blood. I push against his chest.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him. He kisses me one more time and rolls off of me. I walk to the bathroom and close the door. I look in the mirror and gasp.
Blood. In my hair, on my cheeks, on my body. It’s all his blood. I grab a rag and try to wash some off, and then I look under the sink for the first aid kit. I have no idea how bad his hand is. First he burned it, then he sliced it open. Not even an hour after he was just telling me how important this surgery was to him.
No more wine. We’re never allowed vintage wine again.
I grab the box from under the sink and open the bedroom door.
He’s walking back into the bedroom from the kitchen with a small bag of ice. He holds it up, “For your eye,” he says.
I hold up the first aid kit. “For your hand.”
We both smile and then sit back down on the bed. He leans against the headboard while I pull his hand to my lap. The whole time I’m dressing his wound, he’s holding the bag of ice against my eye.
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I squeeze some antiseptic cream onto my finger and dab it against the burns on his fingers. They don’t look as bad as I thought they might be, so that’s a relief. “Can you prevent it from blistering?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Not if it’s second-degree.”
I want to ask him if he can still perform the surgery if his fingers have blisters on them come Monday, but I don’t bring it up. I’m sure that’s on the forefront of his mind right now.
“Do you want me to put some on your cut?”
He nods. The bleeding has stopped. I’m sure if he needed stitches, he’d get some, but I think it’ll be fine. I pull the ACE bandage out of the first aid kit and begin wrapping his hand.
“Lily,” he whispers. I look up at him. His head is resting against the headboard, and it looks like he wants to cry. “I feel terrible,” he says.
“If I could take it back . . .”
“I know,” I say, cutting him off. “I know, Ryle. It was terrible. You pushed me. You made me question everything I thought I knew about you. But I know you feel bad about it. We can’t take it back. I don’t want to bring it up again.” I secure the bandage around his hand and then look him in the eye. “But Ryle? If anything like that ever happens again . . . I’ll know that this time wasn’t just an accident. And I’ll leave you without a second thought.”
He stares at me for a long time, his eyebrows drawn apart in regret.
He leans forward and presses his lips against mine. “It won’t happen again, Lily. I swear. I’m not like him. I know that’s what you’re thinking, but I swear to you . . .”
I shake my head, wanting him to stop. I can’t take the pain in his voice. “I know you’re nothing like my father,” I say. “Just . . . please don’t ever make me doubt you again. Please.”
He brushes hair from my forehead. “You’re the most important part of my life, Lily. I want to be what brings you happiness. Not what causes you to hurt.” He kisses me and then stands up and leans over me, pressing the ice to my face. “Hold this here for about ten more minutes. It’ll prevent it from swelling.”
I replace his hand with mine. “Where are you going?”
He kisses me on the forehead and says, “To clean up my mess.”
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He spends the next twenty minutes cleaning the kitchen. I can hear glass being tossed into the trash can, wine being poured out in the sink. I go to the bathroom and take a quick shower to get his blood off of me and then I change the sheets on my bed. When he finally has the kitchen cleaned up, he comes to the bedroom with a glass. He hands it to me. “It’s soda,” he says. “The caffeine will help.”
I take a drink of it and feel it fizz down my throat. It’s actually the perfect thing. I take another drink and set it on my nightstand.
“What’s it help with? The hangover?”
Ryle slides into bed and pulls the covers over us. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think soda actually helps anything. My mom just used to give me a soda after I’d had a bad day and it always made me feel a little better.”
I smile. “Well, it worked.”
He brushes his hand down my cheek and I can see in his eyes and in the way he touches me that he deserves at least one chance at forgiveness. I feel if I don’t find a way to forgive him, I’ll somewhat be placing blame on him for the resentment I still hold for my father.
He’s not like my father.
Ryle loves me. He’s never come out and said it before, but I know he does. And I love him. What happened in the kitchen tonight is something I’m confident won’t happen again. Not after seeing how upset he is that he hurt me.
All humans make mistakes. What determines a person’s character aren’t the mistakes we make. It’s how we take those mistakes and turn them into lessons rather than excuses.
Ryle’s eyes somehow grow even more sincere and he leans over and kisses my hand. He settles his head into the pillow and we just lie there, staring at each other, sharing this unspoken energy that fills all the holes the night has left in us.
After a few minutes, he squeezes my hand. “Lily,” he says, brushing his thumb over mine. “I’m in love with you.”
I feel his words in every part of me. And when I whisper, “I love you, too,” it’s the most naked truth I’ve ever spoken to him.
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I arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes late. Right when I was about to close tonight I had a customer come in to order flowers for a funeral. I couldn’t turn them away because . . . sadly . . . funerals are the best business for florists.
Ryle waves me over to the table and I walk straight to them, doing my best not to look around. I don’t want to see Atlas. I tried twice to get them to change the restaurant location, but Allysa was hell-bent on eating here after Ryle told her how good it was.
I slide into the booth and Ryle leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Hey, girlfriend.”
Allysa groans. “God, you guys are so cute, it’s sickening.” I smile at her, and her eyes immediately go to the corner of my eye. It doesn’t look as bad as I thought it might today, which is probably due to Ryle forcing me to keep ice on it. “Oh my God,” Allysa says. “Ryle told me what happened but I didn’t think it was that bad.”
I glance at Ryle, wondering what he told her. The truth? He smiles and says, “Olive oil was everywhere. When she slipped, it was so graceful you’d think she was a ballerina.”
A lie.
Fair enough. I would have done the same thing.
“It was pretty pathetic,” I say with a laugh.
Somehow, we get through dinner without a hitch. No sign of Atlas, no thoughts of last night, and Ryle and I both avoid the wine. After we’re finished with our food, our waiter approaches the table. “Care for dessert?” he asks.
I shake my head, but Allysa perks up. “What do you have?”
Marshall looks just as interested. “We’re eating for two, so we’ll take anything chocolate,” he says.
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The waiter nods, and when he walks away, Allysa looks at Marshall.
“This baby is the size of a bedbug right now. You better not encourage bad habits for the next several months.”
The waiter returns with a dessert cart. “The chef gives all expectant mothers dessert on the house,” he says. “Congratulations.”
“He does?” Allysa says, perking up.
“Guess that’s why it’s called Bib’s,” Marshall says. “Chef likes the babies.”
We all look at the cart. “Oh, God,” I say, looking at the options.
“This is my new favorite restaurant,” Allysa says.
We pick out three desserts for the table. The four of us spend the time waiting for it to be served discussing baby names.
“No,” Allysa says to Marshall. “We’re not naming this baby after a state.”
“But I love Nebraska,” he whines. “Idaho?”
Allysa drops her head in her hands. “This is going to be the demise of our marriage.”
“Demise,” Marshall says. “That’s actually a good name.”
Marshall’s murder is thwarted by the arrival of dessert. Our waiter places a piece of chocolate cake in front of Allysa, and steps aside to make room for the waiter behind him who is holding the other two desserts. The waiter motions toward the guy placing our desserts down and says, “The chef would like to extend his congratulations.”
“How was the meal?” the chef asks, looking at Allysa and Marshall.
By the time his eyes make it to mine, my anxiety is seeping from me. Atlas locks eyes with me, and without thinking, I blurt out,
“You’re the chef?”
The waiter leans around Atlas and says. “The chef. The owner.
Sometimes waiter, sometimes dishwasher. He gives a new meaning to hands-on.”
The next five seconds go unnoticed by everyone at our table, but they play out in slow motion to me.
Atlas’s eyes fall to the cut on my eye.
The bandage wrapped around Ryle’s hand.
Back to my eye.
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“We love your restaurant,” Allysa says. “You have an incredible place here.”
Atlas doesn’t look at her. I see the roll of his throat as he swallows.
His jaw hardens and he says nothing as he walks away.
Shit.
The waiter tries to cover for Atlas’s hasty retreat by smiling and showing way too many teeth. “Enjoy your dessert,” he says, scuffling off to the kitchen.
“Bummer,” Allysa says. “We find a new favorite restaurant and the chef is an asshole.”
Ryle laughs. “Yeah, but the assholes are the best ones. Gordon Ramsay?”
“Good point,” Marshall says.
I put my hand on Ryle’s arm. “Bathroom,” I tell him.
He nods as I scoot out of the booth, and Marshall says, “What about Wolfgang Puck? You think he’s an asshole?”
I walk across the restaurant, head down, fast paced. As soon as I get into the familiar hallway, I keep going. I push open the door to the women’s restroom and then turn around and lock it.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
The look in his eye. The anger in his jaw.
I’m relieved he walked away, but I’m half-convinced he’s probably going to be waiting outside the restaurant when we leave, ready to kick Ryle’s ass.
I breathe in my nose, out my mouth, wash my hands, repeat the breathing. Once I’m more calm, I dry my hands on a towel.
I’ll just go back out there and tell Ryle I’m not feeling well. We’ll leave and we’ll never come back. They all think the chef is an asshole, so that can be my excuse.
I unlock the door, but I don’t pull it open. It starts pushing open from the other side, so I step back. Atlas steps inside the bathroom with me and locks the door. His back rests against the door as he stares at me, focused on the cut near my eye.
“What happened?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
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His eyes are narrow, still ice blue but somehow burning with fire.
“You’re lying, Lily.”
I muster enough of a smile to get me by. “It was an accident.”
Atlas laughs, but then his face falls flat. “Leave him.”
Leave him?
Jesus, he thinks this is something else entirely. I take a step forward and shake my head. “He’s not like that, Atlas. It wasn’t like that. Ryle is a good person.”
He tilts his head and leans it forward a little bit. “Funny. You sound just like your mother.”
His words sting. I immediately try to reach around him for the door, but he grabs my wrist. “Leave him, Lily.”
I yank my hand away. I turn my back to him and inhale a deep breath. I release it slowly as I face him again. “If it’s any comparison at all, I’m more scared of you right now than I’ve ever been of him.”
My words make Atlas pause for a moment. His nod starts out slowly, and then gets more prominent as he steps away from the door. “I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He motions toward the door. “Just trying to repay the concern you’ve always shown me.”
I stare at him for a moment, unsure how to take his words. He’s still raging on the inside, I can see it. But on the outside, he’s calm—
collected. Allowing me to leave. I reach forward and unlock the door, then pull it open.
I gasp when my eyes meet Ryle’s. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see Atlas filing out of the bathroom with me.
Ryle’s eyes fill with confusion as he looks from me to Atlas. “What the fuck, Lily?”
“Ryle.” My voice shakes. God, this looks so much worse than it is.
Atlas steps around me and turns toward the doors to the kitchen, as if Ryle doesn’t even exist to him. Ryle’s eyes are glued to Atlas’s back. Keep walking, Atlas.
Right when Atlas reaches the kitchen doors, he pauses.
No, no, no. Keep walking.
In what becomes one of the most dreadful moments I can imagine, he spins around and strides toward Ryle, grabbing him by the collar https://books.yossr.com/en
of his shirt. Almost as soon as it happens, Ryle forces Atlas back and slams him against the opposite wall. Atlas lunges for Ryle again, this time shoving his forearm against Ryle’s throat, pinning him against the wall.
“You touch her again and I’ll cut your fucking hand off and shove it down your throat, you worthless piece of shit!”
“Atlas, stop!” I yell.
Atlas releases Ryle forcefully, taking a huge step back. Ryle is breathing heavily, staring at Atlas long and hard. Then his focus moves directly to me. “Atlas?” He says his name with familiarity.
Why is Ryle saying Atlas’s name like that? Like he’s heard me say it before?
I’ve never told him about Atlas.
Wait.
I did.
That first night on the roof. It was one of my naked truths.
Ryle lets out a disbelieving laugh and points at Atlas, but he’s still looking at me. “This is Atlas? The homeless boy you pity-fucked?”
Oh, God.
The hallway instantly becomes a blur of fists and elbows and my screams for them to stop. Two waiters push through the door behind me and shove past me, separating them just as quickly as it started.
They’re pushed apart against opposite walls, staring each other down, breathing heavily. I can’t even look at either of them.
I can’t look at Atlas. Not after what Ryle just said to him. I also can’t look at Ryle because he’s probably thinking the absolute worst possible thing right now.
“Out!” Atlas yells, pointing at the door, but looking at Ryle. “Get the hell out of my restaurant!”
I meet Ryle’s eyes as he begins to walk past me, scared of what I’ll see in them. But there isn’t any anger there.
Only hurt.
Lots of hurt.
He pauses as if he’s about to say something to me. But his face just twists into disappointment and he walks back out into the restaurant.
I finally glance up at Atlas and can see disappointment all across his face. Before I can explain away Ryle’s words to him, he turns and https://books.yossr.com/en
walks away, pushing through the kitchen doors.
I immediately turn and run after Ryle. He grabs his jacket from the booth and walks toward the exit without even looking at Allysa and Marshall.
Allysa looks up at me and holds her hands up in question. I shake my head, grab my purse and say, “It’s a long story. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I follow Ryle outside and he’s walking toward the parking lot. I run to catch up to him and he just stops and punches at the air.
“I didn’t bring my fucking car! ” he yells, frustrated.
I pull my keys out of my purse and he walks up to me and snatches them from my hand. Again, I follow him, this time to my car.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if he even wants to speak to me right now. He just saw me locked in a bathroom with a guy I used to be in love with. Then, out of nowhere, that guy attacks him.
God, this is so bad.
When we reach my car, he heads straight for the driver’s side door.
He points to the passenger side and says, “Get in, Lily.”
He doesn’t speak to me the entire time we’re driving. I say his name once, but he just shakes his head like he’s not ready to hear my explanation yet. When we pull into my parking garage, he gets out of the car as soon as he turns it off, like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
He’s pacing the length of the car when I get out. “It wasn’t what it looked like, Ryle. I swear.”
He stops pacing, and when he looks at me, my heart doubles over.
There’s so much pain in his eyes right now, and it’s not even necessary. It was all due to a stupid misunderstanding.
“I didn’t want this, Lily,” he says. “I didn’t want a relationship! I didn’t want this stress in my life!”
As much as he’s hurting because of what he thinks he saw, his words still piss me off. “Well, then leave!”
“What?”
I throw my hands up. “I don’t want to be your burden, Ryle! I’m so sorry my presence in your life is so unbearable!”
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He takes a step forward. “Lily, that’s not at all what I’m saying.” He throws his hands up in frustration and then walks past me. He leans against my car and folds his arms over his chest. There’s a long stretch of silence while I wait for what he has to say. His head is down, but he lifts it slightly, looking up at me.
“Naked truths, Lily. That’s all I want from you right now. Can you please give me that?”
I nod.
“Did you know he worked there?”
I purse my lips together and wrap my arm over my chest, grabbing at my elbow. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t want to go back, Ryle. I didn’t want to run into him.”
My answer seems to release a little of his tension. He runs a hand down his face. “Did you tell him what happened last night? Did you tell him about our fight?”
I take a step forward and shake my head adamantly. “No. He assumed. He saw my eye and your hand and he just assumed.”
He blows out a laden breath and leans his head back, looking up at the roof. It looks like it’s almost too painful for him to even ask the next question.
“Why were you alone with him in the bathroom?”
I take another step forward. “He followed me in there. I know nothing about him now, Ryle. I didn’t even know he owned that restaurant, I thought he was just a waiter. He’s not a part of my life anymore, I swear. He just . . .” I fold my arms together and drop my voice. “We both grew up in abusive households. He saw my face and your hand and . . . he was just worried for me. That’s all it was.”
Ryle brings his hands up and covers his mouth. I can hear the air rushing through his fingers as he releases his breath. He stands up straight, allowing himself a moment to soak in all I’ve just said.
“My turn,” he says.
He pushes off the car and takes the three steps toward me that previously separated us. He puts both hands on my cheeks and looks me dead in the eyes. “If you don’t want to be with me . . . please tell me right now, Lily. Because when I saw you with him . . . that hurt. I https://books.yossr.com/en
never want to feel that again. And if it hurts this much now, I’m terrified to think of what it could do to me a year from now.”
I can feel the tears begin to stream down my cheeks. I place my hands on top of his and shake my head. “I don’t want anyone else, Ryle. I only want you.”
He forces the saddest smile I’ve ever seen on a human. He pulls me to him and holds me there. I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can as he presses his lips to the side of my head.
“I love you, Lily. God, I love you.”
I squeeze him tight, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you, too.”
I close my eyes and wish I could wash away the entire last two days.
Atlas is wrong about Ryle.
I just wish Atlas knew he was wrong.
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“I mean . . . I’m not trying to be selfish, but you didn’t taste the dessert, Lily.” Allysa groans. “Oh, it was sooo good.”
“We’re never going back there,” I say to her.
She stomps her foot like a little kid. “But . . .”
“Nope. We have to respect your brother’s feelings.”
She folds her arms over her chest. “I know, I know. Why did you have to be a hormonal teenager and fall in love with the best chef in Boston?”
“He wasn’t a chef when I knew him.”
“Whatever,” she says. She walks out of my office and closes the door.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Ryle: 5 hours down. About 5 more to go. So far so good. Hand is great.
I sigh, relieved. I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do the surgery today, but knowing how much he was looking forward to it makes me happy for him.
Me: Steadiest hands in all of Boston.
I open my laptop and check my email. The first thing I see is an inquiry from the Boston Globe. I open it and it’s from a journalist interested in running an article about the store. I grin like an idiot and start emailing her back when Allysa knocks on the door. She opens it and sticks her head in.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say back.
She taps her fingers on the doorframe. “Remember a few minutes ago when you told me I could never go back to Bib’s because it’s unfair to Ryle that the boy you loved when you were a teenager is the owner?”
I fall back against my chair. “What do you want, Allysa?”
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She scrunches up her nose and says, “If it isn’t fair that we can’t go back there because of the owner, how is it fair that the owner gets to come here?”
What?
I close my laptop and stand up. “Why would you say that? Is he here?”
She nods and slips inside my office, closing the door behind her.
“He is. He asked for you. And I know you’re with my brother and I’m with child, but can we please just take a moment to silently admire the perfection that is that man?”
She smiles dreamily and I roll my eyes.
“Allysa.”
“Those eyes, though.” She opens the door and walks out. I follow behind her and catch sight of Atlas. “She’s right here,” Allysa says.
“Would you like me to take your coat?”
We don’t take coats.
Atlas glances up when I walk out of my office. His eyes cut to Allysa and he shakes his head. “No, thank you. I won’t be long.”
Allysa leans forward over the counter, dropping her chin on her hands. “Stay as long as you like. In fact, are you looking for an extra job? Lily needs to hire more people and we’re looking for someone who can lift really heavy things. Requires a lot of flexibility. Bending over.”
I narrow my eyes at Allysa and mouth, “Enough.”
She shrugs innocently. I hold my door open for Atlas, but avoid looking directly at him as he passes me. I feel a world of guilt for what happened last night, but also a world of anger for what happened last night.
I walk around my desk and drop into my seat, prepared for an argument. But when I look up at him, I clamp my mouth shut.
He’s smiling. He waves his hand around in a circle as he takes a seat across from me. “This is incredible, Lily.”
I pause. “Thank you.”
He continues smiling at me, like he’s proud of me. Then he places a bag between us on the desk and pushes it toward me. “A gift,” he says. “You can open it later.”
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Why is he buying me gifts? He has a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend.
Our past has already caused enough problems in my present. I certainly don’t need gifts to exacerbate that.
“Why are you buying me gifts, Atlas?”
He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “I bought it three years ago. I’ve been holding on to it in case I ever ran into you.”
Considerate Atlas. He hasn’t changed. Dammit.
I pick up the gift and set it on the floor behind my desk. I try to release some of the tension I’m feeling, but it’s really hard when everything about him makes me so tense.
“I came here to apologize to you,” he says.
I wave off his apology, letting him know it isn’t necessary. “It’s fine.
It was a misunderstanding. Ryle is fine.”
He laughs under his breath. “That’s not what I’m apologizing for,”
he says. “I’d never apologize for defending you.”
“You weren’t defending me,” I say. “There was nothing to defend.”
He tilts his head, giving me the same look that he gave me last night. The one that lets me know how disappointed in me he is. It stings deep in my gut.
I clear my throat. “Why are you apologizing, then?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Contemplative. “I wanted to apologize for saying that you sounded like your mother. That was hurtful. And I’m sorry.”
I don’t know why I always feel like crying when I’m around him.
When I think about him. When I read about him. It’s like my emotions are still tethered to him somehow and I can’t figure out how to cut the strings.
His eyes drop to my desk. He reaches forward and grabs three things. A pen. A sticky note. My phone.
He writes something down on the sticky note and then proceeds to pull my phone apart. He slips the case off and puts the sticky note between the case and the phone, then slides the cover back over it.
He pushes my phone back across the desk. I look down at it and then up at him. He stands up and tosses the pen on my desk.
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“It’s my cell phone number. Keep it hidden there in case you ever need it.”
I wince at the gesture. The unnecessary gesture. “I won’t need it.”
“I hope not.” He walks to the door and reaches for the doorknob.
And I know this is my only chance to get out what I have to say before he’s out of my life forever.
“Atlas, wait.”
I stand up so fast, my chair scoots across the room and bumps against the wall. He half turns and faces me.
“What Ryle said to you last night? I never . . .” I bring a nervous hand up to my neck. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. “I never said that to him. He was hurt and upset and he misconstrued my words from a long time ago.”
The corner of Atlas’s mouth twitches, and I’m not sure if he’s trying not to smile or trying not to frown. He faces me straight on.
“Believe me, Lily. I know that wasn’t a pity fuck. I was there.”
He walks out the door, and his words knock me straight back into my seat.
Only . . . my seat is no longer there. It’s still on the other side of my office and I’m now on the floor.
Allysa rushes in and I’m lying on my back behind my desk. “Lily?”
She runs around the desk and stands over me. “Are you okay?”
I hold up a thumb. “Fine. Just missed my chair.”
She reaches out her hand and helps me to my feet. “What was that all about?”
I glance at the door as I retrieve my chair. I take a seat and look down at my phone. “Nothing. He was just apologizing.”
Allysa sighs longingly and looks back at the door. “So does that mean he doesn’t want the job?”
I’ve got to hand it to her. Even in the midst of emotional turmoil, she can make me laugh. “Get back to work before I dock your pay.”
She laughs and makes to leave. I tap my pen against my desk and then say, “Allysa. Wait.”
“I know,” she says, cutting me off. “Ryle doesn’t need to know about that visit. You don’t have to tell me.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
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I reach down and pick up the bag with my three-year-old gift inside of it. I pull it out and can easily tell it’s a book, wrapped in tissue paper. I tear the tissue paper away and fall against the back of my chair.
There’s a picture of Ellen DeGeneres on the front. The title is Seriously . . . I’m Kidding. I laugh and then open the book, gasping quietly when I see it’s autographed. I run my fingers over the words of the inscription.
Lily,Atlas says just keep swimming.
—Ellen DeGeneres
I run my finger over her signature. Then I drop the book on my desk, press my forehead against it, and fake cry against the cover.
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It’s after seven before I get home. Ryle called an hour ago and said he wouldn’t be coming over tonight. The confushercackle (whatever that big word he used was) separation was a success, but he’s staying at the hospital overnight to make sure there aren’t complications.
I walk in the door to my quiet apartment. I change into my quiet pajamas. I eat a quiet sandwich. And then I lie down in my quiet bedroom and open my quiet new book, hoping it can quiet my emotions.
Sure enough, three hours and the majority of a book later, all the emotions from the last several days begin to seep out of me. I place a bookmark on the page where I stopped reading and I close it.
I stare at the book for a long time. I think about Ryle. I think about Atlas. I think about how sometimes, no matter how convinced you are that your life will turn out a certain way, all that certainty can be washed away with a simple change in tide.
I take the book Atlas bought me and put it in the closet with all my journals. Then I pick up the one that’s filled with memories of him.
And I know it’s finally time to read the last entry I wrote. Then I can close the book for good.
Dear Ellen,
Most of the time I’m thankful you don’t know I exist and that I’ve never really mailed you any of these things I write to you.
But sometimes, especially tonight, I wish you did. I just need someone to talk to about everything I’m feeling. It’s been six months since I’ve seen Atlas and I honestly don’t know where he is or how he’s doing. So much has happened since the last letter I wrote to you, when Atlas moved to Boston. I thought it was the last time I’d see him for a while, but it wasn’t.
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I saw him again after he left, several weeks later. It was my sixteenth birthday and when he showed up, it became the absolute best day of my life.
And then the absolute worst.
It had been exactly forty-two days since Atlas left for Boston. I counted every day like it would help somehow. I was so depressed, Ellen. I still am. People say that teenagers don’t know how to love like an adult. Part of me believes that, but I’m not an adult and so I have nothing to compare it to. But I do believe it’s probably different. I’m sure there’s more substance in the love between two adults than there is between two teenagers. There’s probably more maturity, more respect, more responsibility. But no matter how different the substance of a love might be at different ages in a person’s life, I know that love still has to weigh the same. You feel that weight on your shoulders and in your stomach and on your heart no matter how old you are. And my feelings for Atlas are very heavy. Every night I cry myself to sleep and I whisper, “Just keep swimming.” But it gets really hard to swim when you feel like you’re anchored in the water.
Now that I think about it, I’ve probably been experiencing the stages of grief in a sense. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I was deep in the depression stage the night of my sixteenth birthday. My mother had tried to make the day a good one. She bought me gardening supplies, made my favorite cake, and the two of us went to dinner together. But by the time I had crawled into bed that night, I couldn’t shake the sadness.
I was crying when I heard the tap on my window. At first, I thought it had started raining. But then I heard his voice. I jumped up and ran to the window, my heart in hysterics. He was standing there in the dark, smiling at me. I raised the window and helped him inside and he took me in his arms and held me there for so long while I cried.
He smelled so good. I could tell when I hugged him that he’d put on some much-needed weight in just the six weeks since I’d last seen him. He pulled back and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Why are you crying, Lily?”
I was embarrassed that I was crying. I cried a lot that month—probably more than any other month of my life. It was probably just the hormones of being a teenage girl, mixed with the stress of how my father treated my mother, and then having to say goodbye to Atlas.
I grabbed a shirt from the floor and dried my eyes, then we sat down on the bed. He pulled me against his chest and leaned against my headboard.
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“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“It’s your birthday,” he said. “And you’re still my favorite person. And I’ve missed you.”
It was probably no later than ten o’clock when he got there, but we talked so much, I remember it was after midnight the next time I looked at the clock. I can’t even remember what all we talked about, but I do remember how I felt. He seemed so happy and there was a light in his eyes that I’d never seen there before. Like he’d finally found his home.
He said he wanted to tell me something and his voice grew serious. He readjusted me so that I was straddling his lap, because he wanted me to look him in the eyes when he told me. I was thinking maybe he was about to tell me he had a girlfriend or that he was leaving even sooner for the military. But what he said next shocked me.
He said the first night he went to that old house, he wasn’t there because he needed a place to stay.
He went there to kill himself.
My hands went up to my mouth because I had no idea things had gotten that bad for him. So bad that he didn’t even want to live anymore.
“I hope you never know what it’s like to feel that lonely, Lily,” he said.
He went on to tell me that the first night he was at that house, he was sitting in the living room floor with a razor blade to his wrist. Right when he was about to use it, my bedroom light went on. “You were standing there like an angel, backlit by the light of heaven,” he said. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
He watched me walk around my bedroom for a while. Watched me lie on the bed and write in my journal. And he put down the razor blade because he said it’d been a month since life had given him any sort of feeling at all, and looking at me gave him a little bit of feeling. Enough to not be numb enough to end things that night.
Then a day or two later is when I took him the food and set it on his back porch. I guess you already know the rest of that story.
“You saved my life, Lily,” he said to me. “And you weren’t even trying.”
He leaned forward and kissed that spot between my shoulder and my neck that he always kisses. I liked that he did it again. I don’t like much about my body, but that spot on my collarbone has become my favorite part of me.
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He took my hands in his and told me he was leaving sooner than he planned for the military, but that he couldn’t leave without telling me thank you. He told me he’d be gone for four years and that the last thing he wanted for me was to be a sixteen-year-old girl not living my life because of a boyfriend I never got to see or hear from.
The next thing he said made his blue eyes tear up until they looked clear. He said, “Lily. Life is a funny thing. We only get so many years to live it, so we have to do everything we can to make sure those years are as full as they can be.
We shouldn’t waste time on things that might happen someday, or maybe even never.”
I knew what he was saying. That he was leaving for the military and he didn’t want me to hold on to him while he was gone. He wasn’t really breaking up with me because we weren’t ever really together. We’d just been two people who helped each other when we needed it and got our hearts fused together along the way.
It was hard, being let go by someone who had never really grabbed hold of me completely in the first place. In all the time we’ve spent together, I think we both sort of knew this wasn’t a forever thing. I’m not sure why, because I could easily love him that way. I think maybe under normal circumstances, if we were together like typical teenagers and he had an average life with a home, we could be that kind of couple. The kind who comes together so easily and never experiences a life where cruelty sometimes intercepts.
I didn’t even try to get him to change his mind that night. I feel like we have the kind of connection that even the fires of hell couldn’t sever. I feel like he could go spend his time in the military and I’ll spend my years being a teenager and then it will all fall back into place when the timing is right.
“I’m going to make a promise to you,” he said. “When my life is good enough for you to be a part of it, I’ll come find you. But I don’t want you to wait around for me, because that might never happen.”
I didn’t like that promise, because it meant one of two things. Either he thought he might never make it out of the military alive, or he didn’t think his life would ever be good enough for me.
His life was already good enough for me, but I nodded my head and forced a smile. “If you don’t come back for me, I’ll come for you. And it won’t be pretty, Atlas Corrigan.”
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He laughed at my threat. “Well, it won’t be too hard to find me. You know exactly where I’ll be.”
I smiled. “Where everything is better.”
He smiled back. “In Boston.”
And then he kissed me.
Ellen, I know you’re an adult and know all about what comes next, but I still don’t feel comfortable telling you what happened over those next couple of hours. Let’s just say we both kissed a lot. We both laughed a lot. We both loved a lot. We both breathed a lot. A lot. And we both had to cover our mouths and be as quiet and still as we could so we wouldn’t get caught.
When we were finished, he held me against him, skin to skin, hand to heart.
He kissed me and looked straight in my eyes.
“I love you, Lily. Everything you are. I love you.”
I know those words get thrown around a lot, especially by teenagers. A lot of times prematurely and without much merit. But when he said them to me, I knew he wasn’t saying it like he was in love with me. It wasn’t that kind of “I love you.”
Imagine all the people you meet in your life. There are so many. They come in like waves, trickling in and out with the tide. Some waves are much bigger and make more of an impact than others. Sometimes the waves bring with them things from deep in the bottom of the sea and they leave those things tossed onto the shore. Imprints against the grains of sand that prove the waves had once been there, long after the tide recedes.
That was what Atlas was telling me when he said “I love you.” He was letting me know that I was the biggest wave he’d ever come across. And I brought so much with me that my impressions would always be there, even when the tide rolled out.
After he said he loved me, he told me he had a birthday present for me. He pulled out a small brown bag. “It isn’t much, but it’s all I could afford.”
I opened the bag and pulled out the best present I’d ever received. It was a magnet that said “Boston” on the top. At the bottom in tiny letters, it said
“Where everything is better.” I told him I would keep it forever, and every time I look at it I’ll think of him.
When I started out this letter, I said my sixteenth birthday was one of the best days of my life. Because up until that second, it was.
It was the next few minutes that weren’t.
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Before Atlas had shown up that night, I wasn’t expecting him, so I didn’t think to lock my bedroom door. My father heard me in there talking to someone, and when he threw open my door and saw Atlas in bed with me, he was angrier than I’d ever seen him. And Atlas was at a disadvantage by not being prepared for what came next.
I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Being completely helpless as my father came down on him with a baseball bat. The sound of bones snapping was the only thing piercing through my screams.
I still don’t know who called the police. I’m sure it was my mother, but it’s been six months and we still haven’t talked about that night. By the time the police got to my bedroom and pulled my father off of him, I didn’t even recognize Atlas, he was covered in so much blood.
I was hysterical.
Hysterical.
Not only did they have to take Atlas away in an ambulance, they also had to call an ambulance for me because I couldn’t breathe. It was the first and only panic attack I’ve ever had.
No one would tell me where he was or if he was even okay. My father wasn’t even arrested for what he’d done. Word got out that Atlas had been staying in that old house and that he had been homeless. My father became revered for his heroic act—saving his little girl from the homeless boy who manipulated her into having sex with him.
My father said I’d shamed our whole family by giving the town something to gossip about. And let me tell you, they still gossip about it. I heard Katie on the bus today telling someone she tried to warn me about Atlas. She said she knew he was bad news from the moment she laid eyes on him. Which is crap. If Atlas had been on the bus with me, I probably would have kept my mouth shut and been mature about it like he tried to teach me to be. Instead, I was so angry, I turned around and told Katie she could go to hell. I told her Atlas was a better human than she’d ever be and if I ever heard her say one more bad thing about him, she’d regret it.
She just rolled her eyes and said, “Jesus, Lily. Did he brainwash you? He was a dirty, thieving homeless kid who was probably on drugs. He used you for food and sex and now you’re defending him?”
She’s lucky the bus stopped at my house right then. I grabbed my backpack and walked off the bus, then went inside and cried in my room for three hours https://books.yossr.com/en
straight. Now my head hurts, but I knew the only thing that would make me feel better is if I finally got it all out on paper. I’ve been avoiding writing this letter for six months now.
No offense, Ellen, but my head still hurts. So does my heart. Maybe even more right now than it did yesterday. This letter didn’t help one damn bit.
I think I’m going to take a break from writing to you for a while. Writing to you reminds me of him, and it all hurts too much. Until he comes back for me, I’m just going to keep pretending to be okay. I’ll keep pretending to swim, when really all I’m doing is floating. Barely keeping my head above water.
—Lily
I flip to the next page, but it’s blank. That was the last time I ever wrote to Ellen.
I also never heard from Atlas again, and a huge part of me never blamed him. He almost died at the hands of my father. There’s not much room for forgiveness there.
I knew he survived and that he was okay, because my curiosity has sometimes gotten the best of me over the years and I’d find what I could about him online. There wasn’t much, though. Enough to let me know he’d survived and that he was in the military.
I still never got him out of my head, though. Time made things better, but sometimes I would see something that would remind me of him and it would put me in a funk. It wasn’t until I was in college for a couple of years and dating someone else that I realized maybe Atlas wasn’t supposed to be my whole life. Maybe he was only supposed to be a part of it.
Maybe love isn’t something that comes full circle. It just ebbs and flows, in and out, just like the people in our lives.
On a particularly lonely night in college, I went alone to a tattoo studio and had a heart put in the spot where he used to kiss me. It’s a tiny heart, about the size of a thumbprint, and it looks just like the heart he carved for me out of the oak tree. It’s not fully closed at the top and I wonder if Atlas carved the heart like that on purpose.
Because that’s how my heart feels every time I think about him. It just feels like there’s a little hole in it, letting out all the air.
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After college I ended up moving to Boston, not necessarily because I was hoping to find him, but because I had to see for myself if Boston really was better. Plethora held nothing for me anyway, and I wanted to get as far away from my father as I could. Even though he was sick and could no longer hurt my mother, he still somehow made me want to escape the entire state of Maine, so that’s exactly what I did.
Seeing Atlas in his restaurant for the first time filled me with so many emotions, I didn’t know how to process them. I was glad to see that he was okay. I was happy that he looked healthy. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit heartbroken that he never tried to find me like he promised.
I love him. I still do and I always will. He was a huge wave that left a lot of imprints on my life, and I’ll feel the weight of that love until I die. I’ve accepted that.
But things are different now. After today when he walked out of my office, I thought long and hard about us. I think our lives are where they’re supposed to be. I have Ryle. Atlas has his girlfriend. We both have the careers we’d always hoped for. Just because we didn’t end up on the same wave, doesn’t mean we aren’t still a part of the same ocean.
Things with Ryle are still fairly new, but I feel that same depth with him that I used to feel with Atlas. He loves me just like Atlas did. And I know if Atlas had a chance to get to know him, he would be able to see that and he’d be happy for me.
Sometimes an unexpected wave comes along, sucks you up and refuses to spit you back out. Ryle is my unexpected tidal wave, and right now I’m skimming the beautiful surface.
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“Oh, God. I think I might throw up.”
Ryle puts his thumb under my chin and tilts my face up to his. He grins at me. “You’ll be fine. Stop freaking out.”
I shake my hands out and bounce up and down inside the elevator.
“I can’t help it,” I say. “Everything you and Allysa have told me about your mother makes me so nervous.” My eyes widen and I bring my hands up to my mouth. “Oh, God, Ryle. What if she asks me questions about Jesus? I don’t go to church. I mean, I read the Bible when I was younger, but I don’t know answers to any Bible trivia questions.”
He’s really laughing now. He pulls me to him and kisses the side of my head. “She won’t talk about Jesus. She already loves you, based on what I’ve told her. All you have to do is be you, Lily.”
I start nodding. “Be me. Okay. I think I can pretend to be me for one evening. Right?”
The doors open and he walks me out of the elevator, toward Allysa’s apartment. It’s funny watching him knock, but I guess he technically doesn’t live here anymore. Over the last few months, he just sort of slowly began staying with me. All of his clothes are at my apartment. His toiletries. Last week he even hung that ridiculous blurry photograph of me up in our bedroom, and it really felt official after that.
“Does she know we live together?” I ask him. “Is she okay with that?
I mean, we aren’t married. She goes to church every Sunday. Oh, no, Ryle! What if your mother thinks I’m a blasphemous whore?”
Ryle nudges his head toward the apartment door and I spin around to see his mother standing in the doorway, a layer of shock on her face.
“Mother,” Ryle says. “Meet Lily. My blasphemous whore.”
Oh dear God.
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His mother reaches for me and pulls me in for a hug, and her laughter is everything I need to get me through this moment. “Lily!”
she says, pushing me out to arm’s length so she can get a good look at me. “Sweetie, I don’t think you’re a blasphemous whore. You’re the angel I’ve been praying would land in Ryle’s lap for the last ten years!”
She ushers us into the apartment. Ryle’s father is the next to greet me with a hug. “No, definitely not a blasphemous whore,” he says.
“Not like Marshall here, who sank his teeth into my little girl when she was only seventeen.” He glares back at Marshall, who is sitting on the couch.
Marshall laughs. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dr. Kincaid, because Allysa was the one who sank her teeth into me first. My teeth were in another girl who tasted like Cheetos and . . .”
Marshall doubles over when Allysa elbows him in the side.
And just like that, every single fear I had has vanished. They’re perfect. They’re normal. They say whore and laugh at Marshall’s jokes.
I couldn’t ask for anything better.
Three hours later, I’m lying on Allysa’s bed with her. Their parents went to bed early, claiming jet lag. Ryle and Marshall are in the living room, watching sports. I have my hand on Allysa’s stomach, waiting to feel the baby kick.
“Her feet are right here,” she says, moving my hand over a few inches. “Give it a few seconds. She’s really active tonight.”
We remain quiet while we both wait for her to kick. When it happens, I squeal with laughter. “Oh my God! It’s like an alien!”
Allysa holds her hands on her stomach, smiling. “These last two and a half months are going to be hell,” she says. “I’m so ready to meet her.”
“Me too. I can’t wait to be an aunt.”
“I can’t wait for you and Ryle to have a baby,” she says.
I fall onto my back and put my hands behind my bed. “I don’t know if he wants any. We’ve never really talked about it.”
“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want any,” she says. “He will. He didn’t want a relationship before you. He didn’t want to get married before you, and I feel a proposal coming on any month now.”
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I prop my head up on my hand and face her. “We’ve barely been together six months. Pretty sure he wants to wait a lot longer than that.”
I don’t push things with Ryle when it comes to speeding things up in our relationship. Our lives are perfect how they are. We’re too busy for a wedding anyway, so I don’t mind if he wants to wait a lot longer.
“What about you?” Allysa presses. “Would you say yes if he proposed?”
I laugh. “Are you kidding me? Of course. I’d marry him tonight.”
Allysa looks over my shoulder at her bedroom door. She purses her lips together and tries to hide her smile.
“He’s standing in the doorway, isn’t he?”
She nods.
“He heard me say that, didn’t he?”
She nods again.
I roll onto my back and look at Ryle, propped up against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest. I can’t tell what he’s thinking after hearing that. His expression is tight. His jaw is tight. His eyes are narrowed in my direction.
“Lily,” he says with stoic composure. “I would marry the hell out of you.”
His words make me smile the most embarrassing, widest smile, so I pull a pillow over my face. “Why, thank you, Ryle,” I say, my words muffled by the pillow.
“That’s really sweet,” I hear Allysa say. “My brother is actually sweet.”
The pillow is pulled away from me and Ryle is standing over me, holding it at his side. “Let’s go.”
My heart begins to beat faster. “Right now?”
He nods. “I took the weekend off because my parents are in town.
You have people who can run your store for you. Let’s go to Vegas and get married.”
Allysa sits up on the bed. “You can’t do that,” she says. “Lily’s a girl.
She wants a real wedding with flowers and bridesmaids and shit.”
Ryle looks back at me. “Do you want a real wedding with flowers and bridesmaids and shit?”
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I think about it for a second.
“No.”
The three of us are quiet for a moment, and then Allysa starts kicking her legs up and down on the bed, giddy with excitement.
“They’re getting married!” she yells. She rolls off the bed and rushes toward the living room. “Marshall, pack our bags! We’re going to Vegas!”
Ryle reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling me to a stand. He’s smiling, but there’s no way I’m doing this unless I know for sure he wants it.
“Are you sure about this, Ryle?”
He runs his hands through my hair and pulls my face to his, brushing his lips against mine. “Naked truth,” he whispers. “I’m so excited to be your husband, I could piss my damn pants.”
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“It’s been six weeks Mom, you gotta get over it.”
My mother sighs into the phone. “You’re my only daughter. I can’t help it if I’ve been dreaming about your wedding your whole life.”
She still hasn’t forgiven me, even though she was there. We called her right before Allysa booked our flights. We forced her out of bed, we forced Ryle’s parents out of bed, and then we forced them all on a midnight flight to Vegas. She didn’t try to talk me out of it because I’m sure she could tell that Ryle and I had made up our minds by the time she made it to the airport. But she hasn’t let me forget it. She’s been dreaming of a huge wedding and dress shopping and cake tasting since the day I was born.
I kick my feet up on the couch. “How about I make it up to you?” I say to her. “What if, whenever we decide to have a baby, I promise to do it the natural way and not buy one in Vegas?”
My mom laughs. Then she sighs. “As long as you give me grandchildren someday, I guess I can get over it.”
Ryle and I talked about kids on the flight to Vegas. I wanted to make sure that possibility was open for discussion in our future before I made a commitment to spend the rest of my life with him. He said it was definitely open for discussion. Then we cleared the air about a lot of other things that might cause problems down the road. I told him I wanted separate checking accounts, but since he makes more money than me, he has to buy me lots of presents all the time to keep me happy. He agreed. He made me promise him I’d never become vegan.
That was a simple promise. I love cheese too much. I told him we had to start some kind of charity, or at least donate to the ones Marshall and Allysa like. He said he already does, and that made me want to marry him even sooner. He made me promise to vote. He said I was https://books.yossr.com/en
allowed to vote Democratic, Republican, or Independent, as long as I made sure to vote. We shook on it.
By the time we landed in Vegas, we were completely on the same page.
I hear the front door unlocking so I flip onto my back. “Gotta go,”
I say to my mother. “Ryle just got home.” He closes the door behind him and then I grin and say, “Wait. Let me rephrase that, Mom. My husband just got home.”
My mother laughs and tells me goodbye. I hang up with her and toss my phone aside. I bring my arm up above my head and rest it lazily against the arm of the couch. Then I prop my leg over the back of it, letting my skirt slide down my thighs and pool at my waist. Ryle drags his eyes up my body, grinning as he makes his way over to me.
He drops to his knees on the couch and slowly crawls up my body.
“How’s my wife?” he whispers, planting kisses all around my mouth.
He presses himself between my legs and I let my head fall back as he kisses down my neck.
This is the life.
We both work almost every day. He works twice as many hours as I do and he only gets home before I’m in bed two or three nights a week. But the nights we actually do get to spend together, I tend to want him to spend those nights buried deep inside me.
He doesn’t complain.
He finds a spot on my neck and he claims it, kissing it so hard it hurts. “Ouch.”
He lowers himself on top of me and mutters into my neck. “I’m giving you a hickey. Don’t move.”
I laugh, but I let him. My hair is long enough that I can cover it, and I’ve never had a hickey before.
His lips remain in the same spot, sucking and kissing until I can no longer feel the sting. He’s pressed against me, bulging against his scrubs. I move my hands and shove his scrubs down far enough so that he can slide inside of me. He continues kissing my neck as he takes me right there on the couch.
• • •
https://books.yossr.com/enHe took a shower first, and as soon as he got out, I jumped in. I told him we needed to wash the smell of sex off of us before we had dinner with Allysa and Marshall.
Allysa is due in a few weeks, so she’s forcing as much couple time on us as she can. She’s worried we’ll stop coming to visit after the baby is born, which I know is ridiculous. The visits will just grow more frequent. I already love my niece more than any of them, anyway.
Okay, maybe not. But it’s close.
I try to avoid getting my hair wet as I rinse off, because we’re already running late. I grab my razor and press it under my arm when I hear a crash. I pause.
“Ryle?”
Nothing.
I finish shaving and then wash the soap off. Another crash.
What in the world is he doing?
I turn off the water and grab a towel, running it over myself. “Ryle!”
He still doesn’t respond. I pull my jeans on in a hurry and open the door as I’m pulling my shirt over my head. “Ryle?”
The nightstand by our bed is tipped over. I move to the living room and see him sitting on the edge of the couch, his head in one of his hands. He’s looking down at something in his other hand.
“What are you doing?”
He looks up at me and I don’t recognize his expression. I’m confused by what’s happening. I don’t know if he just got bad news or . . . Oh, God. Allysa.
“Ryle, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
He holds up my phone and just looks at me like I should know what’s happening. When I shake my head in confusion, he holds up a piece of paper. “Funny thing,” he says, setting my phone on the coffee table in front of him. “I dropped your phone by accident. Cover pops off. I find this number hidden in the back of it.”
Oh, God.
No, no, no.
He crumbles the number in his fist. “I thought, ‘ Huh. That’s weird.
Lily doesn’t hide things from me.’ ” He stands up and picks up my phone.
“So I called it.” He tightens his fist around the phone. “He’s lucky I https://books.yossr.com/en
got his fucking voice mail.” He chunks my phone clear across the room and it crashes against the wall, shattering to the floor.
There’s a three-second pause where I think this could go one of two ways.
He’s going to leave me.
Or he’s going to hurt me.
He runs a hand through his hair and walks straight for the door.
He leaves.
“Ryle!” I yell.
Why did I never throw that number away?!
I open the door and run after him. He’s taking the stairs two at a time, and I finally reach him when he’s at the landing of the second floor. I shove myself in front of him and grab his shirt in my fists.
“Ryle, please. Let me explain.”
He grabs my wrists and pushes me away from him.
• • •
“Be still.”I feel his hands on me. Gentle. Steady.
Tears are flowing and for some reason, they sting.
“Lily, be still. Please.”
His voice is soothing. My head hurts. “Ryle?” I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright. I can feel a sting at the corner of my eye and I wince. I try to sit up, but I feel his hand press down on my shoulder.
“You have to be still until I’m finished, Lily.”
I open my eyes again and look up at the ceiling. It’s our bedroom ceiling. “Finished with what?” My mouth hurts when I speak, so I bring my hand up and cover it.
“You fell down the stairs,” he says. “You’re hurt.”
My eyes meet his. There’s concern in them, but also hurt. Anger.
He’s feeling everything right now, and the only thing I feel is confused.
I close my eyes again and try to remember why he’s angry. Why he’s hurt.
My phone.
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The stairwell.
I grabbed his shirt.
He pushed me away.
“You fell down the stairs.”
But I didn’t fall.
He pushed me. Again.
That’s twice.
You pushed me, Ryle.
I can feel my whole body start to shake with the sobs. I have no idea how bad I’m hurt, but I don’t even care. No physical pain could even compare to what my heart is feeling in this moment. I start to slap at his hands, wanting him away from me. I feel him lift off the bed as I curl up into a ball.
I wait for him to try and soothe it out like he did the last time he hurt me, but it never comes. I hear him walking around our bedroom. I don’t know what he’s doing. I’m still crying when he kneels down in front of me.
“You might have a concussion,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You have a small cut on your lip. I just bandaged up the cut on your eye. You don’t need stitches.”
His voice is cold.
“Does it hurt anywhere else? Your arms? Legs?”
He sounds just like a doctor and nothing like a husband.
“You pushed me,” I say through tears. It’s all I can think or say or see.“You fell,” he says calmly. “About five minutes ago. Right after I found out what a fucking liar I married.” He places something on my pillow next to me. “If you need anything, I’m sure you can call this number.”
I look at the crumpled up piece of paper by my head that holds Atlas’s phone number.
“Ryle,” I sob.
What is happening?
I hear the front door slam.
My whole world comes crashing down around me.
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“Ryle,” I whisper to no one. I cover my face with my hands and I cry harder than I’ve ever cried. I am destroyed.
Five minutes.
That’s all it takes to completely destroy a person.
• • •
A few minutes pass.Ten, maybe?
I can’t stop crying. I still haven’t moved from the bed. I’m scared to look in the mirror. I’m just . . . scared.
I hear the front door open and slam shut again. Ryle appears in the doorway and I have no idea if I’m supposed to hate him.
Or be terrified of him.
Or feel bad for him.
How can I be feeling all three?
He presses his forehead to our bedroom door and I watch as he hits his head against it. Once. Twice. Three times.
He turns and rushes at me, falling to his knees at the side of the bed. He grabs both of my hands and he squeezes them. “Lily,” he says, his whole face twisting in pain. “Please tell me it’s nothing.” He brings his hand to the side of my head and I can feel his hands shaking. “I can’t take this, I can’t.” He leans forward and presses his lips hard against my forehead, then rests his forehead against mine. “Please tell me you aren’t seeing him. Please.”
I’m not even sure I can tell him that because I don’t even want to speak.
He stays pressed against me, his hand wrapped tightly in my hair.
“It hurts so much, Lily. I love you so much.”
I shake my head, wanting the truth out of me so he’ll see what a huge mistake he just made. “I forgot his number was even there,” I say quietly. “The day after the fight in the restaurant . . . he came to the store. You can ask Allysa. He was only there for five minutes. He took my phone from me and he put his number inside of it, because he didn’t believe I was safe with you. I forgot it was there, Ryle. I’ve never even looked at it.”
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He breathes out a shaky breath and begins nodding with relief.
“You swear, Lily? You swear on our marriage and our lives and on everything that you are that you haven’t spoken to him since that day?” He pulls back so he can look me in the eyes.
“I swear, Ryle. You overreacted before giving me the chance to explain,” I say to him. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”
My words knock the breath from him. I see it happen. His back meets the wall behind him and he stares at me silently. In shock.
“Lily,” he whispers. “You fell down the stairs.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
I calmly repeat myself. “Get out of my apartment.”
He remains frozen in place. I sit up on the bed. My hand immediately goes to the throbbing in my eye. He pushes himself up off the floor. When he takes a step forward, I scoot back on the bed.
“You’re hurt, Lily. I’m not leaving you alone.”
I grab one of my pillows and throw it at him, like it could actually do damage. “Get out!” I yell. He catches the pillow. I grab the other one and stand up on the bed and start swinging it at him as I scream,
“Get out! Get out! Get out!”
I toss the pillow on the floor after the front door slams shut.
I run to the living room and dead-bolt the door.
I run back to my bedroom and fall onto my bed. The same bed I share with my husband. The same bed he makes love to me on.
The same bed he lays me on when it’s time for him to clean up his messes.
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I tried salvaging my phone before I fell asleep last night, but it was no use. It was in two completely separate pieces. I set my alarm so I could get up early and stop and get a new one on my way in to work today.
My face doesn’t look as bad as I feared it would. Of course, it’s not something I could hide from Allysa, but I’m not even going to try and do that. I part my hair to the side to cover up most of the bandage Ryle had placed over my eye. The only thing visible from last night is the cut on my lip.
And the hickey he gave me on my neck.
Fucking irony at its best.
I grab my purse and open the front door. I stop short when I see the lump at my feet.
It moves.
It’s several seconds before I realize that lump is actually Ryle. He slept out here?
He pulls himself to his feet as soon as he realizes I’ve opened the door. He’s in front of me, pleading eyes, gentle hands on my cheeks.
Lips on my mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I pull back and scroll my eyes over him. He slept out here?
I step out of my apartment and pull my door shut. I calmly walk past him and down the stairs. He follows me the entire way to my car, begging me to talk to him.
I don’t.
I leave.
• • •
It’s an hour later when I have a new phone in my hands. I’m sitting in my car at the cell phone store when I turn it on. I watch the screen as https://books.yossr.com/enseventeen messages appear. All from Allysa.
I guess it would make sense that Ryle didn’t call me all night, since he knew what kind of shape my phone was in.
I start to open a text message when my phone begins ringing. It’s Allysa.
“Hello?”
She sighs heavily, and then, “Lily! What in the hell is going on? Oh my God, you can’t do this to me, I’m pregnant!”
I start my car and set the phone to Bluetooth while I drive toward the store. Allysa is off today. She’s only got a few days left before she gets a jump start on her maternity leave.
“I’m okay,” I tell her. “Ryle is okay. We got into a fight. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you, he broke my phone.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “He did? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. Heading to work now.”
“Good, I’m almost there myself.”
I start to protest, but she hangs up before I have the chance.
By the time I make it to the store, she’s already there.
I open the front door, ready to field questions and defend my reasons for kicking her brother out of my apartment. But I stop short when I see the two of them standing at the counter. Ryle is leaning against it and Allysa has her hands on top of his, saying something to him that I can’t hear.
They both turn to face me when they hear the door close behind me.“Ryle,” Allysa whispers. “What did you do to her?” She walks around the counter and pulls me in for a hug. “Oh, Lily,” she says, running her hand down my back. She pulls back with tears in her eyes, and her reaction confuses me. She obviously knows Ryle is responsible, but if that’s the case, it seems she would be attacking him, or at least yelling.
She turns back to Ryle and he’s looking up at me apologetically.
Longingly. Like he wants to reach out and hug me, but he’s scared to death to touch me. He should be.
“You need to tell her,” Allysa says to Ryle.
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He instantly drops his head in his hands.
“Tell her,” Allysa says, her voice angrier now. “She has the right to know, Ryle. She’s your wife. If you don’t tell her, I will.”
Ryle’s shoulders roll forward and his head is fully pressed against the counter now. Whatever it is Allysa wants him to tell me has him so agonized, he can’t even look at me. I clench my stomach, feeling the angst deeper than my soul.
Allysa spins toward me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Hear him out,” she begs. “I’m not asking you to forgive him, because I have no idea what happened last night. But just please, as my sister-in-law and my best friend, give my brother a chance to talk to you.”
• • •
Allysa said she’d watch the store for the next hour until another employee comes in for their shift. I was still so upset with Ryle, I didn’t want him in the same car with me. He said he’d send for an Uber and meet me at my apartment.My entire drive home I agonized over what he could possibly need to tell me that Allysa already knows. So many things went through my head. Is he dying? Has he been cheating on me? Did he lose his job?
She didn’t seem to know the details of what happened between us last night, so I have no idea how this relates to that.
Ryle finally walks through my front door ten minutes after me. I’m sitting on the couch, nervously picking at my nails.
I stand up and start to pace as he slowly walks to the chair and takes a seat. He leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him.
“Please sit down, Lily.”
He says it pleadingly, like he can’t take seeing me worry. I return to my seat on the couch, but I scoot to the arm, pull my feet up, and bring my hands to my mouth. “Are you dying?”
His eyes stretch wide and he immediately shakes his head. “No. No.
It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
I just want him to spit it out. My hands are starting to shake. He sees how much he’s freaking me out, so he leans forward and pulls my https://books.yossr.com/en
hands from my face, holding them in his. Part of me doesn’t want him touching me after what he did last night, but a piece of me needs the reassurance from him. The anticipation of what I’m about to find out is making me nauseous.
“No one is dying. I’m not cheating on you. What I’m about to tell you isn’t going to hurt you, okay? It’s all in the past. But Allysa thinks you need to know. And . . . so do I.”
I nod and he releases my hands. He’s the one up and pacing now, back and forth behind the coffee table. It’s as if he’s having to work up the courage to find his own words and that’s making me even more nervous.
He sits in the chair again. “Lily? Do you remember the night we met?”
I nod.
“You remember when I walked out onto the roof? How angry I was?”
I nod again. He was kicking the chair. It was before he knew marine-grade polymer was virtually indestructible.
“Do you remember my naked truth? What I told you about that night and what caused me to be so angry?”
I lean my head down and think back to that night and to all the truths he told me. He said marriage repulsed him. He was only into one-night stands. He never wanted to have kids. He was mad about a patient he’d lost that night.
I start nodding. “The little boy,” I said. “That’s why you were mad, because a little boy died and it upset you.”
He blows out a quick breath of relief. “Yes. That’s why I was mad.”
He stands up again and it’s like I see his entire soul crumble. He presses his palms against his eyes and fights back tears. “When I told you about what happened to him, do you remember what you said to me?”
I feel like I’m about to cry and I don’t even know why yet. “Yes. I told you I couldn’t imagine what something like that will do to that little boy’s brother. The one who accidentally shot him.” My lips start to tremble. “And that’s when you said, ‘ It’ll destroy him for life, that’s what it’ll do. ’ ”
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Where is he going with this?
Ryle walks over and drops down to his knees in front of me. “Lily,”
he says. “I knew it would destroy him. I knew exactly what that little boy was feeling . . . because that’s what happened to me. To Allysa’s and my older brother . . .”
I can’t hold in the tears. I just start crying and he wraps his arms tightly around my waist and lays his head on my lap. “I shot him, Lily.
My best friend. My big brother. I was only six years old. I didn’t even know I was holding a real gun.”
His whole body begins to shake and he grips me even tighter. I press a kiss into his hair because it feels like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. Just like that night on the roof. And while I’m still so angry at him, I also still love him and it absolutely kills me to find this out about him. About Allysa. We sit quietly for a long time—his head on my lap, his arms around my waist, my lips in his hair.
“She was only five when it happened. Emerson was seven. We were in the garage, so no one heard our screams for a long time. And I just sat there, and . . .”
He pulls away from my lap and stands up, facing the other direction. After a long stretch of silence he sits down on the couch and leans forward. “I was trying to . . .” Ryle’s face contorts in pain and he lowers his head, covering it with his hands, shaking it back and forth. “I was trying to put everything back inside his head. I thought I could fix him, Lily.”
My hand flies up to my mouth. I gasp so loudly, there’s no way to hide it.
I have to stand up so I can catch a breath.
It doesn’t help.
I still can’t breathe.
Ryle walks over to me, taking my hands and pulling me to him. We hug each other for a solid minute when he says, “I would never tell you this because I want it to excuse my behavior.” He pulls back and looks me firmly in the eyes. “You have to believe that. Allysa wanted me to tell you all of this because since that happened, there are things https://books.yossr.com/en
I can’t control. I get angry. I black out. I’ve been in therapy since I was six years old. But it is not my excuse. It is my reality.”
He wipes away my tears, cradling my head against his shoulder.
“When you ran after me last night, I swear I had no intention of hurting you. I was upset and angry. And sometimes when I feel that much emotion, something inside of me just snaps. I don’t remember the moment I pushed you. But I know I did. I did. All I was thinking when you were running after me was how I needed to get away from you. I wanted you out of my way. I didn’t process that there were stairs around us. I didn’t process my strength compared to yours. I fucked up, Lily. I fucked up.”
He lowers his mouth to my ear. His voice cracks when he says, “You are my wife. I’m supposed to be the one who protects you from the monsters. I’m not supposed to be one.” He holds me with so much desperation, he begins to shake. I have never, in all my life, felt so much pain radiating from one human.
It breaks me. It rips me apart from the inside out. All my heart wants to do is wrap tightly around his.
But even with everything he just told me, I’m still fighting my own forgiveness. I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again. I swore to him and to myself that if he ever hurt me again, I would leave.
I pull away from him, unable to look him in the eye. I walk toward my bedroom to try and take a moment to just catch my breath. I close my bathroom door behind me and grip the sink, but I can’t even stand up. I end up sliding to the floor in a heap of tears.
This isn’t how this was supposed to be. My whole life, I knew exactly what I’d do if a man ever treated me the way my father treated my mother. It was simple. I would leave and it would never happen again.
But I didn’t leave. And now, here I am with bruises and cuts on my body at the hands of the man who is supposed to love me. At the hands of my own husband.
And still, I’m trying to justify what happened.
It was an accident. He thought I was cheating on him. He was hurt and angry and I got in his way.
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I bring my hands to my face and I sob, because I feel more pain for that man out there, knowing what he went through as a child, than I feel for myself. And that doesn’t make me feel selfless or strong. It makes me feel pathetic and weak. I’m supposed to hate him. I’m supposed to be the woman my mother was never strong enough to be.
But if I’m emulating my mother’s behavior, then that would mean Ryle is emulating my father’s behavior. But he isn’t. I have to stop comparing us to them. We’re our own individuals in an entirely different situation. My father never had an excuse for his anger, nor was he immediately apologetic. The way he treated my mother was much worse than what’s happened between Ryle and me.
Ryle just opened up to me in a way that he’s probably never opened up to anyone. He’s struggling to be a better person for me.
Yes, he screwed up last night. But he’s here and he’s trying to make me understand his past and why he reacted the way he did. Humans aren’t perfect and I can’t let the only example I’ve ever witnessed of marriage weigh in on my own marriage.
I wipe my eyes and pull myself up. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see my mother. I just see me. I see a girl who loves her husband and wants more than anything to be able to help him. I know Ryle and I are strong enough to move past this. Our love is strong enough to get us through this.
I walk out of the bathroom and back into the living room. Ryle stands up and faces me, his face full of fear. He’s scared I’m not going to forgive him, and I’m not sure that I do forgive him. But an act doesn’t have to be forgiven in order to learn from it.
I walk over to him and I grab both of his hands in mine. I speak to him with nothing but naked truth.
“Remember what you said to me on the roof that night? You said,
‘ There is no such thing as bad people. We’re all just people who sometimes do bad things.’ ”
He nods and squeezes my hands.
“You aren’t a bad person, Ryle. I know that. You can still protect me. When you’re upset, just walk away. And I’ll walk away. We’ll leave the situation until you’re calm enough to talk about it, okay? You are not a monster, Ryle. You’re only human. And as humans, we can’t https://books.yossr.com/en
expect to shoulder all of our pain. Sometimes we have to share it with the people who love us so we don’t come crashing down from the weight of it all. But I can’t help you unless I know you need it. Ask me for help. We’ll get through this, I know we can.”
He exhales what feels like every breath he’s been holding in since last night. He wraps his arms tightly around me and buries his face in my hair. “Help me, Lily,” he whispers. “I need you to help me.”
He holds me against him and I know deep in my heart that I’m doing the right thing. There is so much more good in him than bad, and I’ll do whatever I can to convince him of that until he can see it, too.
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“I’m heading out. You need me to do anything else?”
I look up from the paperwork and shake my head. “Thank you, Serena. See you tomorrow.”
She nods and walks away, leaving the door to my office open.
Allysa’s last day was two weeks ago. She’s due any day now. I have two other full-time employees, Serena and Lucy.
Yes . That Lucy.
She’s been married for a couple of months now and came in looking for a job two weeks ago. It’s actually worked out pretty well.
She keeps herself busy, and if I’m here when she is, I just keep my office door shut so I don’t have to listen to her sing.
It’s been almost a month since the incident on the stairs. Even with everything Ryle told me about his childhood, the forgiveness was still hard to come by.
I know Ryle has a temper. I saw it the first night we met, before we ever even spoke a word to each other. I saw it that awful night in my kitchen. I saw it when he found the phone number in my phone case.
But I also see the difference between Ryle and my father.
Ryle is compassionate. He does things my father never would have done. He donates to charity, he cares about other people, he puts me before everything. Ryle would never in a million years make me park in the driveway while he took the garage.
I have to remind myself of those things. Sometimes the girl inside of me—the daughter of my father—is really opinionated. She tells me I shouldn’t have forgiven him. She tells me I should have left the first time. And sometimes I believe that voice. But then the side of me that knows Ryle understands that marriages aren’t perfect. Sometimes there are moments that both parties regret. And I wonder how I’d feel about myself had I just left him after that first incident. He never https://books.yossr.com/en
should have pushed me, but I also did things I wasn’t proud of. And if I’d have just left, would that not be going against our marriage vows?
For better or for worse. I refuse to give up on my marriage that easily.
I am a strong woman. I’ve been around abusive situations my whole life. I will never become my mother. I believe that a hundred percent.
And Ryle will never become my father. I think we needed what happened on the stairwell to happen so that I would know his past and we’d be able to work on it together.
Last week we got into another fight.
I was scared. The other two fights we’d gotten into did not end well, and I knew this would be a testament to whether or not our agreement for me to help him through his anger would work.
We were discussing his career. He’s finished with his residency now and there’s a three-month specialized course in Cambridge, England, he applied for. He’ll find out soon if he was approved, but that’s not why I was upset. It’s a great opportunity and I’d never ask him not to go. Three months is nothing with how busy we are, so that wasn’t even what got me so upset. I became upset when he discussed what he wanted to do after the Cambridge trip was over.
He was offered a job in Minnesota at the Mayo Clinic and he wants us to move there. He said Mass General is rated the second best neurological hospital in the world. Mayo Clinic is number one.
He said he never intended to stay in Boston forever. I told him that would have been a good subject to bring up when we discussed our futures on the flight to get married in Vegas. I can’t leave Boston. My mother lives here. Allysa lives here. He told me it was only a five-hour flight and that we could visit as often as we wanted. I told him it was pretty hard to run a floral business when you live several states away.
The fight continued to escalate and both of us were getting angrier by the second. At one point, he knocked a vase full of flowers off the table and onto the floor. We both just stared at them for a moment. I was scared, wondering if I had made the right decision to stay. To trust that we could work on his anger issues together. He took a deep breath and he said, “I’m going to leave for an hour or two. I think I need to walk away. When I get back, we’ll continue this discussion.”
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He walked out the door and, true to his word, he came back an hour later when he was much calmer. He dropped his keys on the table and then walked straight to where I was standing. He took my face in his hands and he said, “I told you I wanted to be the best in my field, Lily. I told you this the first night we ever met. It was one of my naked truths. But if I have to choose between working at the best hospital in the world and making my wife happy . . . I choose you. You are my success. As long as you’re happy, I don’t care where I work.
We’ll stay in Boston.”
That’s when I knew that I had made the right choice. Everyone deserves another chance. Especially the people who mean the most to you.It’s been a week since that fight and he hasn’t mentioned moving again. I feel bad, like I thwarted his plans in some way, but marriage is about compromise. It’s about doing what’s best for the couple as a whole, not individually. And staying in Boston is better for everyone in both of our families.
Speaking of families, I look over at my phone right as a text from Allysa comes through.
Allysa: Are you finished up at work yet? I need your opinion on furniture.
Me: Be there in fifteen minutes.
I don’t know if it’s the impending delivery or the fact that she’s not currently working, but I’m pretty sure I’ve spent more time at her house this week than I have at my own. I close up the shop and head toward her apartment.
• • •
When I step off the elevator, there’s a note taped to her apartment door. I see my name written across it, so I pull it off the door.Lily,On the seventh floor. Apartment 749.
—A
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She has an apartment here just for extra furniture? I know they’re rich, but even that seems a little excessive for them. I get on the elevator and press the button for the seventh floor. When the doors open, I head down the hall toward apartment 749. When I reach it, I have no idea if I should knock or just go inside. For all I know, someone could live here. Probably one of her people.
I knock on the door and hear footsteps from the other side.
I’m shocked when the door swings open and Ryle is standing in front of me.
“Hey,” I say, confused. “What are you doing here?”
He grins and leans against the doorframe. “I live here. What are you doing here?”
I glance at the pewter number plate next to the door and then back at him. “What do you mean you live here? I thought you lived with me. You’ve had your own apartment this whole time?” I would think an entire apartment would be something a husband would bring up to his wife at some point. It’s a little unnerving.
Actually, it’s ludicrous and deceptive. I think I might be really angry at him right now.
Ryle laughs and pushes off the doorframe. Now he’s filling up the entire doorway as he lifts his hands to the frame over his head and grips it. “I haven’t really had a chance to tell you about this apartment, considering I just signed the paperwork on it this morning.”
I take a step back. “Wait. What?”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me inside the apartment.
“Welcome home, Lily.”
I pause in the foyer.
Yes. I said foyer. There is a foyer.
“You bought an apartment?”
He nods slowly, gauging my reaction.
“You bought an apartment,” I repeat.
He’s still nodding. “I did. Is that okay? I figured since we live together now we could use the extra room.”
I spin in a slow circle. When my eyes land on the kitchen, I pause.
It’s not as big as Allysa’s kitchen, but it’s just as white and almost as https://books.yossr.com/en
beautiful. There’s a wine cooler and a dishwasher, two things my own apartment doesn’t have. I walk into the kitchen and look around, scared to touch anything. Is this really my kitchen? This can’t be my kitchen.
I look in the living room at the cathedral ceilings and the huge windows overlooking Boston Harbor.
“Lily?” he says from behind me. “You aren’t mad, are you?”
I spin and face him, realizing that he’s been waiting on me to react for the past several minutes. But I’m completely speechless.
I shake my head and bring my hand up to cover my mouth. “I don’t think so,” I whisper.
He walks up to me and takes my hands in his, pulling them up between us. “You don’t think so?” He looks worried and confused.
“Please give me a naked truth, because I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have done this as a surprise.”
I look down at the hardwood floor. It’s real hardwood. It’s not laminate. “Okay,” I say, looking back up at him. “I think it’s crazy that you just went and bought an apartment without me. I feel like that’s something we should have done together.”
He’s nodding and it looks like he’s about to spit out an apology, but I’m not finished.
“But my naked truth is that . . . it’s perfect. I don’t even know what to say, Ryle. Everything is so clean. I’m scared to move. I might get something dirty.”
He blows out a rush of air and pulls me to him. “You can get it dirty, babe. It’s yours. You can get it as dirty as you want.” He kisses the side of my head and I don’t even say thank you yet. It seems like such a small response to such a huge gesture.
“When do we move in?”
He shrugs. “Tomorrow? I have the day off. It’s not like we have a whole lot of stuff. We can spend the next few weeks buying new furniture.”
I nod, trying to run through tomorrow’s schedule in my head. I already knew Ryle was off tomorrow, so I didn’t have anything planned.
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I suddenly feel the need to sit down. There aren’t any chairs, but luckily, the floor is clean. “I need to sit down.”
Ryle helps me to the floor and then he lowers himself in front of me, still holding my hands.
“Does Allysa know?” I ask him.
He smiles and nods his head. “She’s so excited, Lily. I’ve been thinking about getting an apartment here for a while now. After we decided to stay in Boston for good, I just went ahead with it to surprise you. She helped, but I was starting to worry she’d tell you before I had the chance.”
I just can’t wrap my head around this. I live here? Me and Allysa get to be neighbors now? I don’t know why I feel like this should bother me, because I really am excited about it.
He smiles and then says, “I know you need a minute to process everything, but you haven’t seen the best part and it’s killing me.”
“Show me!”
He grins and pulls me to my feet. We make our way through the living room and down a hallway. He opens each door and tells me what the rooms are, but doesn’t even give me time to go in any of them. By the time we make it to the master bedroom, I’ve concluded that we live in a three-bedroom, two-bath apartment. With an office.
I don’t even have time to process the beauty of the bedroom as he pulls me across the room. He reaches a wall covered by a curtain and he turns and faces me. “It’s not a ground that you can plant a garden in, but with a few pots, it can come close.” He pulls the curtain aside and opens a door, revealing a huge balcony. I follow him outside, already daydreaming about all the potted plants I could fit up here.
“It overlooks the same view as the rooftop deck,” he says. “We’ll always have the same view we had from the night we met.”
It took a while to sink in, but it all hits me in this moment and I just start crying. Ryle pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around me. “Lily,” he whispers, running his hand over my hair. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I laugh between my tears. “I just can’t believe I live here.” I pull away from his chest and look up at him. “Are we rich? How can you afford this?”
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He laughs. “You married a neurosurgeon, Lily. You aren’t necessarily strapped for cash.”
His comment makes me laugh and then I cry some more. And then we have our very first visitor because someone begins pounding on the door.
“Allysa,” he says. “She’s been waiting down the hall.”
I run to the front door and swing it open and we both hug and squeal and I might even cry a little more.
We spend the rest of the evening at our new apartment. Ryle orders Chinese takeout and Marshall comes down to eat with us. We have no tables or chairs yet, so the four of us sit in the middle of the living room floor and eat straight out of the containers. We talk about how we’ll decorate, we talk about all the neighborly things we’ll do together, we talk about Allysa’s impending delivery.
It’s everything and more.
I can’t wait to tell my mother.
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Allysa is three days overdue.
We’ve lived in our new apartment for a week now. We successfully got all of our stuff moved the day Ryle was off, and Allysa and I went furniture shopping the second day we moved in. We were practically settled by the third day. We got our first piece of mail yesterday. It was a utility bill for establishing service, so it finally feels official now.
I’m married. I have a great husband. An awesome house. My best friend just happens to be my sister-in-law and I’m about to be an aunt.
Dare I say it . . . but can my life get any better?
I close my laptop and get ready to leave for the evening. I’ve been leaving earlier now than I usually do because I’m so excited to get home to my new apartment. Just as I begin to close my office door, Ryle uses his key to open the front door to the store. He lets the door fall shut behind him as he walks in with his hands full.
There’s a newspaper tucked under his arm and two coffees in his hands. Despite the frenzied look about him and the urgency in his step, he’s smiling. “Lily,” he says, walking toward me. He shoves one of the coffees in my hand and then pulls the newspaper out from under his arm. “Three things. One . . . did you see the paper?” He hands it to me. The paper is folded inside-out. He points at the article. “You got it, Lily. You got it!”
I try not to get my hopes up as I look down at the article. He could be talking about something totally different from what I’m thinking.
Once I read the headline, I realize he’s talking about exactly what I was thinking. “I got it?”
I’d been notified that my business was nominated for an award for Best of Boston. It’s a people’s choice awards the newspaper holds annually, and Lily Bloom’s was nominated under the “Best new businesses in Boston” category. The criteria are for businesses that https://books.yossr.com/en
have been open less than two years. I had a suspicion I might have been chosen when a reporter for the paper called me last week and asked me a series of questions.
The title reads “Best new businesses in Boston. Votes are in for your top ten!”
I smile and almost spill my coffee when Ryle pulls me in, picks me up, and spins me around.
He said he had three pieces of news, and if he started with that one, I have no idea what the other two could be. “What’s the second thing?”
He sets me back down on my feet and says, “I started with the best one. I was too excited.” He takes a sip of his coffee and then says, “I got selected for the training at Cambridge.”
My face is taken over by a huge smile. “You did?” He nods and then he hugs me and spins me around again. “I’m so proud of you,” I say, kissing him. “We’re both so successful, it’s sickening.”
He laughs.
“Number three?” I ask him.
He pulls back. “Oh, yeah. Number three.” He casually leans against the counter and takes a slow sip of his coffee. He gently places his coffee back on the counter. “Allysa is in labor.”
“What?!” I yell.
“Yeah.” He nods toward our coffees. “That’s why I brought you caffeine. We aren’t getting any sleep tonight.”
I start clapping, jumping up and down, and then panicking as I try to find my purse, my jacket, my keys, my phone, the light switch. Right before we make it to the door, Ryle rushes back to the counter and grabs the newspaper and tucks it under his arm. My hands are shaking with excitement as I lock the door.
“We’re gonna be aunts!” I say as I run to my car.
Ryle laughs at my joke and says, “Uncles, Lily. We’re gonna be uncles.”
• • •
https://books.yossr.com/enMarshall calmly steps out into the hallway. Ryle and I both perk up and wait for the news. It’s been quiet in there for the past half an hour. We’ve been waiting to hear Allysa scream in agony—a sign she delivered—but there were no sounds at all. Not even the cries of a newborn. My hands go up to my mouth and seeing the look on Marshall’s face has me fearing the worst.
His shoulders just start shaking and tears pour out of his eyes. “I’m a dad.” And then he punches the air. “I’m a DAD!”
He hugs Ryle and then me and says, “Give us fifteen minutes and you can come inside to meet her.”
When he closes the door, Ryle and I both release huge sighs of relief. We look at each other and smile. “You were thinking the worst, too?” he asks.
I nod and then hug him. “You’re an uncle,” I say, smiling.
He kisses my head and says, “You too.”
Half an hour later, Ryle and I are both standing next to the bed, watching Allysa hold her new baby. She’s absolutely perfect. A little too new to tell who she looks like yet, but she’s beautiful, regardless.
“You want to hold your niece?” Allysa says to Ryle.
He kind of stiffens up like he’s nervous, but then he nods. She leans over and puts the baby in Ryle’s arms, showing him how to hold her. He stares down at her nervously and then walks over to the couch and takes a seat. “Have you guys decided on a name yet?” he asks.
“Yes,” Allysa says.
Ryle and I both look at Allysa and she smiles, teary eyed. “We wanted to name her after someone Marshall and I both think the world of. So we added an E to your name. We’re calling her Rylee.”
I instantly look back over at Ryle and he blows out a quick breath like he’s a little in shock. He looks back down at Rylee and just starts smiling. “Wow,” he whispers. “I don’t know what to say.”
I squeeze Allysa’s hand and then walk over and take a seat next to Ryle. I’ve had a lot of moments when I thought I couldn’t love him more than I already do, but once again I’m proven wrong. Seeing the way he looks at his new baby niece makes my heart expand.
Marshall sits down on the bed next to Allysa. “Did you guys hear how quiet Issa was through the whole thing? Not a single peep. She https://books.yossr.com/en
didn’t even take drugs.” He puts his arm around her and lies down next to her on the bed. “I feel like I’m in that movie Hancock with Will Smith and I’m about to find out I’m married to a superhero.”
Ryle laughs. “She’s kicked my ass a time or two growing up. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“No cussing around Rylee,” Marshall says.
“Ass,” Ryle whispers to her.
We both laugh and then he asks me if I want to hold her. I make like I have grabby hands because waiting for my turn has been killing me. I pull her into my arms and am shocked by how much love I have for her already.
“When are Mom and Dad coming in?” Ryle asks Allysa.
“They’ll be here by lunch tomorrow.”
“I should probably get some sleep then. Just got off a long shift.”
He looks back at me. “You coming with?”
I shake my head. “I want to hang out for a little while longer. Just take my car and I’ll catch a cab home.”
He kisses me on the side of my head and then rests his head against mine as we both look down at Rylee. “I think we should make one of these,” he says.
I glance up at him, not sure if I heard him correctly.
He winks. “If I’m asleep when you get home later, wake me up.
We’ll start on it tonight.” He tells Marshall and Allysa goodbye and Marshall walks him out.
I glance over at Allysa and she’s smiling. “I told you he’d want babies with you.”
I grin and walk back over to her bed. She scoots over and makes room for me. I hand Rylee back to her and we snuggle together on her bed and watch Rylee sleep, like it’s the most magnificent thing we’ve ever seen.
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It’s three hours later and after ten o’clock when I make it back home.
I stayed with Allysa for another hour after Ryle left and then went back to my office to finish up a few things so that I don’t have to go in for the next two days. Whenever Ryle has a day off, I try to coincide my own days off with his.
The lights are off when I walk through the front door, so that means Ryle is already in bed.
The entire drive home I thought about what he’d said. I wasn’t expecting this conversation to come up so soon. I’m almost twenty-five, but I had it in my head it would be at least a couple of years before we started trying for a family. I’m still not certain I’m ready for it yet, but knowing it’s now something he wants someday has put me in an incredibly happy mood.
I decide to make myself a quick bite to eat before waking him up. I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m starving. When I flip on the kitchen light, I scream. My hand goes to my chest and I fall against the counter. “Jesus Christ, Ryle! What are you doing?”
He’s leaning with his back against the wall next to the refrigerator.
His feet are crossed at the ankles and his eyes are narrowed in my direction. He’s flipping something over in his fingers, staring at me.
My eyes fall to the counter to his left and I see an empty glass that probably recently held scotch. He drinks it on occasion to help him fall asleep.
I look back at him and there’s a smirk on his face. My body instantly grows warm at that smile because I know what comes next.
This apartment is about to become a frenzy of clothes and kisses.
We’ve christened nearly every room since we moved in here, but the kitchen is one we haven’t tackled yet.
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I smile back at him, my heart still beating erratically from the shock of finding him here in the dark. His eyes fall to his hand, and I notice he’s holding the Boston magnet. I brought it from the old apartment and stuck it on this fridge when we moved in.
He places it back on the fridge and taps it. “Where’d you get this?”
I look at the magnet and then back at him. The last thing I want to do is tell him that magnet came from Atlas on my sixteenth birthday.
It would only bring up an already sore subject, and I’m too excited for what’s about to come next between us to give him the naked truth right now.
I shrug. “I can’t remember. I’ve had it forever.”
He stares at me silently and then straightens up, taking two steps toward me. I back myself against the counter and my breath catches.
His hands meet my waist and he slides them between my ass and my jeans and pulls me against him. His mouth claims mine and he kisses me while he begins to lower my jeans.
Okay. So we’re doing this right now.
His lips drag down my neck as I kick off my shoes and then he pulls my jeans off the rest of the way.
I guess I can eat later. Christening the kitchen just became my priority.
When his mouth is back on mine, he lifts me and sets me down on the countertop, standing between my knees. I can smell the scotch on his breath, and I kind of like it. I’m already breathing heavily as his warm lips slide across mine. He takes a fistful of my hair and he tugs gently so that I’m looking up at him.
“Naked truth?” he whispers, looking at my mouth like he’s about to devour me.
I nod.
His other hand begins to slide slowly up my thigh until there’s nowhere left for his hand to go. He slips two warm fingers inside of me, keeping my gaze locked with his. I suck in a rush of air as my legs tighten around his waist. I begin to slowly move against his hand, moaning softly as he stares heatedly at me.
“Where did you get that magnet, Lily?”
What?
My heart feels like it begins beating in reverse.
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Why does he keep asking me this?
His fingers are still moving inside of me, his eyes still look like they want me. But his hand. The hand that’s wrapped in my hair begins to tug harder and I wince.
“Ryle,” I whisper, keeping my voice calm, even though I’m beginning to shake. “That hurts.”
His fingers stop moving, but his gaze never leaves mine. He slowly pulls his fingers out of me and then brings his hand up around my throat, squeezing gently. His lips meet mine and his tongue dives inside my mouth. I take it, because I have no idea what’s going through his head right now and I pray I’m overreacting.
I can feel him hard against his jeans as he presses into me. But then he pulls back. His hands leave me entirely as he flattens his back against the refrigerator, scraping his eyes over my body like he wants to take me right here in the kitchen. My heart begins to calm down.
I’m overreacting.
He reaches beside him, next to the stove, and he picks up a newspaper. It’s the same newspaper he showed me earlier, with the awards article printed in it. He holds it up, then tosses it toward me.
“Did you get a chance to read that yet?”
I blow out a breath of relief. “Not yet,” I say, my eyes falling to the article.
“Read it out loud.”
I glance up at him. I smile, but my stomach is anxious. There’s something about him right now. The way he’s acting. I can’t put my finger on it.
“You want me to read the article?” I ask. “Right now?”
I feel odd, sitting on my kitchen counter half naked, holding a newspaper. He nods. “I’d like you to take off your shirt first. Then read it out loud.”
I stare at him, trying to gauge his behavior. Maybe the scotch has made him extra frisky. A lot of times when we make love, it’s as simple as making love. But occasionally, our sex is wild. A little dangerous, like the look in his eyes right now.
I set the paper down, pull off my shirt, and then pick the paper back up. I start reading the article out loud, but he takes a step https://books.yossr.com/en
forward and says, “Not the whole thing.” He flips the paper over where it starts in the middle of the article and he points to a sentence.
“Read the last few paragraphs.”
I look down, even more confused this time. But whatever will get us past this and into the bed . . .
“The business with the highest number of votes should come as no surprise. The iconic Bib’s on Marketson opened in April of last year, quickly becoming one of the highest rated restaurants in the city, according to TripAdvisor.”
I stop reading and look up at Ryle. He has poured himself more scotch and he’s swallowing a sip of it. “Keep reading,” he says, nudging his head at the paper in my hand.
I swallow heavily, the saliva in my mouth growing thicker by the second. I try to control the trembling of my hands as I continue reading. “The owner, Atlas Corrigan, is a two-time award-winning chef and also a United States Marine. It’s no secret what the acronym for his highly successful restaurant, Bib’s, stands for: Better In Boston.”
I gasp.
Everything is better in Boston.
I clench my stomach, trying to keep my emotions under control as I keep reading. “But when interviewed regarding his most recent award, the chef finally revealed the true history of the meaning behind the name. ‘ It’s a long story,’ Chef Corrigan stated. ‘ It was an homage to someone who had a huge impact on my life. Someone who meant a lot to me. She still means a lot to me.’ ”
I put the newspaper on the counter. “I don’t want to read anymore.” My voice cracks on its way up my throat.
Ryle takes two swift steps forward and grabs the newspaper. He picks up where I left off, his voice loud and angry now. “When asked if the girl was aware he named a restaurant after her, Chef Corrigan smiled knowingly and said, ‘ Next question.’ ”
The anger in Ryle’s voice makes me nauseous. “Ryle, stop it,” I say calmly. “You’ve had too much to drink.” I push past him and walk quickly out of the kitchen toward the hallway that leads to our bedroom. There’s so much happening right now and I’m not sure I understand any of it.
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The article never stated who Atlas was talking about. Atlas knows it was me and I know it was me, but how in the hell would Ryle put two and two together?
And the magnet. How would he know that came from Atlas just by reading that article?
He’s overreacting.
I can hear him following me as I walk toward the bedroom. I swing open the door and come to a sudden halt.
The bed is littered with things. An empty moving box with the words, “Lily’s stuff,” written on the side of it. And then all the contents that were inside that box. Letters . . . journals . . . empty shoeboxes. I close my eyes and breathe in slowly.
He read the journal.
No.
He. Read. The. Journal.
His arm comes around my waist from behind. He slides a hand up my stomach and takes a firm hold of one of my breasts. His other hand feathers my shoulder as he moves the hair away from my neck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, just as his fingers begin to trace across my skin, up to my shoulder. He slowly runs his finger over the heart and a shudder runs over my whole body. His lips meet my skin, right over the tattoo, and then he sinks his teeth into me so hard, I scream.
I try to pull away from him, but he has such a tight grip on me he doesn’t even budge. The pain from his teeth piercing my collarbone rips through my shoulder and down my arm. I immediately start crying. Sobbing.
“Ryle, let me go,” I say, my voice pleading. “Please. Walk away.” His arms are cutting into mine as he holds me tightly from behind.
He spins me, but my eyes are still closed. I’m too scared to look at him. His hands are digging into my shoulders as he pushes me toward the bed. I start trying to fight him off of me, but it’s useless. He’s too strong for me. He’s angry. He’s hurt. And he’s not Ryle.
My back meets the bed and I frantically scoot back toward the headboard, trying to get away from him. “Why is he still here, Lily?”
His voice isn’t as composed as it was in the kitchen. He’s really angry now. “He’s in everything. The magnet on the fridge. The journal in the https://books.yossr.com/en
box I found in our closet. The fucking tattoo on your body that used to be my favorite goddamn part of you!”
He’s on the bed now.
“Ryle,” I beg. “I can explain.” Tears streak down my temples and into my hair. “You’re angry. Please don’t hurt me, please. Walk away, and when you come back, I’ll explain.”
His hand grips my ankle and he yanks me until I’m beneath him.
“I’m not angry, Lily,” he says, his voice disturbingly calm now. “I just think I haven’t proved to you how much I love you.” His body comes down against mine and he takes my wrists with one hand above my head, pressing them against the mattress.
“Ryle, please.” I’m sobbing, trying to push him off of me with any part of my body. “Get off me. Please.”
No, no, no, no.
“I love you, Lily,” he says, his words crashing against my cheek.
“More than he ever did. Why can’t you see that?”
My fear folds in on itself, and I become diluted with rage. All I can see when I squeeze my eyes shut is my mother crying on our old living room couch; my father forcing himself on top of her. Hatred rips through me and I start screaming.
Ryle tries to muffle my screams with his mouth.
I bite down on his tongue.
His forehead comes crashing down against mine.
In an instant, all the pain fades as a blanket of darkness rolls over my eyes and consumes me.
• • •
I can feel his breath against my ear as he mutters something inaudible. My heart is racing, my whole body is still shaking, my tears are still somehow falling and I’m gasping for air. His words are crashing against my ear, but the pain is throbbing in my head too hard for me to decipher his words.I try to open my eyes, but it stings. I can feel something trickling into my right eye and I instantly know it’s blood.
My blood.
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His words begin to come into focus.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m . . .”
His hand is still pressing mine into the mattress and he’s still on top of me. He’s no longer trying to force himself on me.
“Lily, I love you, I’m so sorry.”
His words are full of panic. He’s kissing me, his lips gentle against my cheek and mouth.
He knows what he’s done. He’s Ryle again, and he knows what he’s just done to me. To us. To our future.
I utilize his panic to my advantage. I shake my head and I whisper,
“It’s okay, Ryle. It’s okay. You were angry, it’s okay.”
His lips meet mine in a frenzy and the taste of scotch makes me want to puke now. He’s still whispering apologies when the room begins to fade out again.
• • •
My eyes are closed. We’re still on the bed, but he’s no longer fully on top of me. He’s on his side, his arm wrapped tightly over my waist. His head is pressed against my chest. I remain stiff as I assess everything around me.He isn’t moving, but I can feel his breaths, heavy with sleep. I don’t know if he passed out or if he fell asleep. The last thing I can remember is his mouth on mine, the taste of my own tears.
I lie still for several more minutes. The pain in my head begins to worsen with every minute of consciousness. I close my eyes and try to think.
Where’s my purse?
Where are my keys?
Where is my phone?
It takes me a full five minutes to slide out from under him. I’m too scared to move too much at once, so I do it an inch at a time until I’m able to roll onto the floor. When I can no longer feel his hands on me, an unexpected sob breaks from my chest. I slap my hand over my mouth as I pull myself to my feet and run out of the bedroom.
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I find my purse and my phone, but I have no idea where he put my keys. I frantically search the living room and kitchen, but I can barely see anything. When he head-butted me, it must have left a gash on my forehead, because there’s too much blood in my eyes and everything is blurry.
I slide to the floor near the door, growing dizzy. My fingers are shaking so hard, it takes three tries to get the password right on my phone.
When I have the screen up to dial a number, I pause. My first thought is to call Allysa and Marshall, but I can’t. I can’t do that to them right now. She just gave birth to a baby a matter of hours ago. I can’t do this to them.
I could call the police, but my mind can’t even process what all that entails. I don’t want to give a statement. I don’t know that I want to press charges, knowing what this could do to his career. I don’t want Allysa mad at me. I just don’t know. I don’t completely rule out eventually notifying the police. I just don’t have the energy to make that decision right now.
I squeeze the phone and try to think. My mother.
I start to dial her number, but when I think of what this would do to her I start to cry again. I can’t involve her in this mess. She’s been through too much. And Ryle will try to find me. He’ll go to her first.
Then Allysa and Marshall. Then to everyone else we know.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and then begin dialing Atlas’s number.
I hate myself more in this moment than I ever have in my entire life.I hate myself, because the day Ryle found Atlas’s number in my phone, I lied and said I had forgotten it was there.
I hate myself, because the day Atlas placed his number there, I opened it and looked at it.
I hate myself, because deep down inside, I knew there was a chance that I might one day need it. So I memorized it.
“Hello?”
His voice is cautious. Inquiring. He doesn’t recognize this number.
I immediately start crying when he speaks. I cover my mouth and try https://books.yossr.com/en
“Lily?” His voice is much louder now. “Lily, where are you?”
I hate myself, because he knows the tears are mine.
“Atlas,” I whisper. “I need help.”
“Where are you?” he says again. I can hear panic in his voice. I can hear him walking, moving stuff around. I hear a door slam on his end of the phone.
“I’ll text you,” I whisper, too scared to keep speaking. I don’t want Ryle to wake up. I hang up the phone and somehow find the strength to still my hands while I text him my address and the access code for entry. Then I send a second text that says Text me when you get here.
Please don’t knock.
I crawl to the kitchen and find my pants, struggling back into them. I find my shirt on the counter. When I’m dressed, I go to the living room. I debate opening the door and meeting Atlas downstairs, but I’m too scared I won’t be able to make it down to the lobby alone.
My forehead is still bleeding and I feel too weak to even stand up and wait by the door. I slide to the floor, clenching my phone in my shaky fist and staring at it, waiting for his text.
It’s an agonizing twenty-four minutes later when my phone lights up.
Here.
I scramble to my feet and swing open the door. Arms wrap around me and my face is pressed against something soft. I just start crying and crying and shaking and crying.
“Lily,” he whispers. I’ve never heard my name spoken so sadly. He urges me to look up at him. His blue eyes scroll over my face, and I see it happen. I watch the concern vanish as he darts his head up to the apartment door. “Is he still in there?”
Rage.
I can feel the rage come off of him and he starts to step toward the apartment door. I grab his jacket in my fists. “No. Please, Atlas. I just want to leave.”
I see the pain roll over him as he pauses, struggling to decide whether to listen to me or bust through the door. He eventually turns away from the door and wraps his arms around me. He helps me to https://books.yossr.com/en
the elevator and then through the lobby. By some miracle, we only run into one person and he’s on his phone and facing the other direction.
By the time we make it to the parking garage, I start to feel dizzy again. I tell him to slow down, and then I feel his arm wrap under my knees as he picks me up. Then we’re in the car. Then the car is moving.
I know I need stitches.
I know he’s taking me to the hospital.
But I have no idea why the next words out of my mouth are, “Don’t take me to Mass General. Take me somewhere else.”
For whatever reason, I don’t want to risk the chance of running into any of Ryle’s colleagues. I hate him. I hate him in this moment more than I’ve ever hated my father. But concern for his career still somehow breaks through the hatred.
When I realize this, I hate myself just as much as I hate him.
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Atlas is standing on the other side of the room. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time the nurse has been helping me. After taking a blood sample, she immediately returned and began to attend to my cut. She hasn’t asked me very many questions yet, but it’s obvious my injuries are the result of an attack. I can see the pitying look on her face as she cleans up blood from the bite mark left on my shoulder.
When she’s finished, she glances back at Atlas. She steps to the right, blocking his view of me as she turns and faces me again. “I need to ask you some personal questions. I’m going to ask him to leave the room, okay?”
It’s in that moment that I realize she thinks Atlas is the one who did these things to me. I immediately start to shake my head. “It wasn’t him,” I tell her. “Please don’t make him leave.”
Relief washes over her face. She nods her head and then pulls up a chair. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I shake my head, because she can’t fix all the parts of me Ryle broke on the inside.
“Lily?” Her voice is gentle. “Were you raped?”
Tears fill my eyes and I see Atlas roll across the wall, pressing his forehead against it.
The nurse waits until I make eye contact with her again to continue speaking. “We have a certain examination for these situations. It’s called a SANE exam. It’s optional, of course, but I highly encourage it in your situation.”
“I wasn’t raped,” I say. “He didn’t . . .”
“Are you sure, Lily?” the nurse asks.
I nod. “I don’t want one.”
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Atlas faces me again and I can see the pain in his expression as he steps forward. “Lily. You need this.” His eyes are pleading.
I shake my head again. “Atlas, I swear . . .” I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my head. “I’m not covering for him this time,” I whisper.
“He tried, but then he stopped.”
“If you choose to press charges, you’ll need—”
“I don’t want the exam,” I say again, my voice firm.
There’s a knock on the door and a doctor enters, sparing me from more pleading looks from Atlas. The nurse gives the doctor a brief rundown of my injuries. She then steps aside as he examines my head and shoulder. He flashes a light into both of my eyes. He looks down at the paperwork again and says, “I’d like to rule out a concussion, but given your situation, I don’t want to administer a CT. We’d like to keep you for observation, instead.”
“Why don’t you want to administer a CT?” I ask him.
The doctor stands up. “We don’t like to perform X-rays on pregnant women unless it’s vital. We’ll monitor you for complications and if there are no further concerns, you’ll be free to go.”
I don’t hear anything beyond that.
Nothing.
The pressure begins to build in my head. My heart. My stomach. I grip the edges of the exam table I’m sitting on and I stare at the floor until they both leave the room.
When the door closes behind them, I sit, suspended in frozen silence. I see Atlas move closer. His feet are almost touching mine. His fingers brush lightly over my back. “Did you know?”
I release a quick breath, and then drag in more air. I start shaking my head, and when his arms come down around me, I cry harder than I knew my body was even capable of. He holds me the entire time I cry. He holds me through my hatred.
I did this to myself.
I allowed this to happen to me.
I am my mother.
“I want to leave,” I whisper.
Atlas pulls back. “They want to monitor you, Lily. I think you should stay.”
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I look up at him and shake my head. “I need to get out of here.
Please. I want to leave.”
He nods and helps me back into my shoes. He pulls off his jacket and wraps it around me, then we walk out of the hospital without anyone noticing.
He says nothing to me as we drive. I stare out the window, too exhausted to cry. Too in shock to speak. I feel submerged.
Just keep swimming.
• • •
Atlas doesn’t live in an apartment. He lives in a house. A small suburb outside of Boston called Wellesley, where all the homes are beautiful, sprawling, manicured, and expensive. Before we pull into his driveway, I wonder to myself if he ever married that girl. Cassie. I wonder what she’ll think of her husband bringing home a girl he once loved who has just been attacked by her own husband.She’ll pity me. She’ll wonder why I never left him. She’ll wonder how I let myself get to this point. She’ll wonder all the same things I used to wonder about my own mother when I saw her in my same situation. People spend so much time wondering why the women don’t leave. Where are all the people who wonder why the men are even abusive? Isn’t that where the only blame should be placed?
Atlas parks in the garage. There’s not another vehicle here. I don’t wait for him to help me out of the car. I open the door and get out on my own, and then I follow him into his house. He punches in a code on an alarm and then flips on a few lights. My eyes roam around the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Everything is made of rich woods and stainless steel, and his kitchen is painted a calming bluish-green. The color of the ocean. If I wasn’t hurting so much, I would smile.
Atlas kept swimming, and look at him now. He swam all the way to the fucking Caribbean.
He moves to his refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water, walking it over to me. He takes the lid off and hands it to me. I take a drink and watch as he turns the living room light on, then the hallway.
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He nods as he walks back into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. Even if I was, I wouldn’t be able to eat.
“I’ll show you your room,” he says. “There’s a shower if you need it.” I do. I want to wash the taste of scotch out of my mouth. I want to wash the sterile smell of the hospital off of me. I want to wash away the last four hours of my life.
I follow him down the hallway and to a spare bedroom where he flips on the light. There are two boxes on a bare bed and more stacked up against the walls. There’s an oversized chair against one wall, facing the door. He moves to the bed and takes off the boxes, setting them against the wall with the others.
“I just moved in a few months ago. Haven’t had much time to decorate yet.” He walks to a dresser and pulls open a drawer. “I’ll make the bed for you.” He takes out sheets and a pillowcase. He begins making the bed as I walk inside the bathroom and close the door.
I remain in the bathroom for thirty minutes. Some of those minutes are spent staring at my reflection in the mirror. Some of those minutes are spent in the shower. The rest are spent over the toilet as I make myself sick with thoughts of the last several hours.
I’m wrapped in a towel when I crack the bathroom door. Atlas is no longer in the bedroom, but there are clothes folded on the freshly made bed. Men’s pajama bottoms that are too big for me and a T-shirt that goes past my knees. I pull the drawstring tight, tie it, and then crawl into bed. I turn the lamp off and pull the covers up and over me.I cry so hard, I don’t even make a noise.
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I smell toast.
I stretch out on my bed and smile, because Ryle knows toast is my favorite.
My eyes flick open and the clarity smashes down on me with the force of a head-on collision. I squeeze my eyes shut when I realize where I am and why I’m here and that the toast I smell is not at all because my sweet and caring husband is making me breakfast in bed.
I immediately want to cry again, so I force myself off the bed. I focus on the hollowness in my stomach as I use the bathroom, and tell myself I can cry after I eat something. I need to eat before I make myself sick again.
When I walk out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, I notice the chair has been turned so that it’s facing the bed now instead of the door. There’s a blanket thrown over it haphazardly, and it’s obvious Atlas was in here last night while I slept.
He was probably worried I had a concussion.
When I walk into the kitchen, Atlas is moving back and forth between the fridge, the stove, the counter. For the first time in twelve hours, I feel an inkling of something that isn’t agony, because I remember he’s a chef. A good one. And he’s cooking me breakfast.
He glances up at me as I make my way into the kitchen. “Morning,”
he says, careful to say it without too much inflection. “I hope you’re hungry.” He slides a glass and a container of orange juice across the counter toward me, then he turns and faces the stove again.
“I am.”
He glances back over his shoulder and gives me a ghost of a smile.
I pour myself a glass of orange juice and then walk to the other side of the kitchen where there’s a breakfast nook. There’s a newspaper on the table and I begin to pick it up. When I see the article about the https://books.yossr.com/en
best businesses in Boston printed across the page, my hands immediately begin to shake and I drop the paper back on the table. I close my eyes and take a slow sip of the orange juice.
A few minutes later, Atlas sets a plate down in front of me, then claims the seat across from me at the table. He pulls his own plate of food in front of him and cuts into a crepe with his fork.
I look down at my plate. Three crepes, drizzled in syrup and garnished with a dab of whipped cream. Orange and strawberry slices line the right side of the plate.
It’s almost too pretty to eat, but I’m too hungry to care. I take a bite and close my eyes, trying not to make it obvious that it’s the best bite of breakfast I’ve ever had.
I finally allow myself to admit that his restaurant deserved that award. As much as I tried to talk Ryle and Allysa out of going back, it was the best restaurant I’d ever been to.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I ask him.
He sips from a cup of coffee. “The Marines,” he says, placing the cup back down. “I trained for a while during my first stint and then when I reenlisted I came on as a chef.” He taps his fork against the side of his plate. “You like it?”
I nod. “It’s delicious. But you’re wrong. You knew how to cook before you enlisted.”