Tell Me You Love Me

by Julie Prestsater

  The conversation flows easily enough. I did, in fact, go through interview hell and land a job, which I desperately needed. As much as I saved working part-time throughout high school and college, I really don’t want to blow through my whole savings lying on the couch eating Oreos. Or Doritos just because they make me feel close to Ryan.

  If Jace keeps to his word—which really means jack shit—he won’t fight me for the house. At first, I planned on telling him to take it all and shove it, but then reality set in and I realized I can’t be one of those “too proud” women who try to do it all alone. I need a place to live; why shouldn’t it continue to be my own house? It’s not like Jace and I created a home together. He was always at work, no fond memories here. Which is why he gave it up so easily. He is so ready to move to the big city where he can schmooze his clients and be with people who are just as arrogant as him. This small town doesn’t give him any satisfaction in that area.

  When I’m done sharing my plans, Molly leans back against the bench with a pleased smile. “Well, hon, I’m so proud of you. This is the first step in getting rid of that douchebag of a husband of yours.”

  If she only knew.

  I open my mouth to respond, but I’m cut off by the sound of boots hitting the street, a sure sign the guys are just seconds away from arriving.

  Butterflies take residence in the pit of my belly and work overtime swirling around, shooting up and diving back down until I can barely handle the anticipation. Wringing my hands together, I realize I must look like a crack addict looking for her next score, but I can’t control myself, and the nerves threatening to crack what’s left of my sanity.

  “What’s wrong, Liz?” Rose asks. “You look like you’re about to vomit.”

  And I feel like it too, but I don’t mention it. Instead, I wait for the guys to show their faces so I can get a good look at Ryan.

  Justin flashes us his trademark grin first, but it does little to calm my somersaulting gut. Owen and Jesse are right behind him, air packs slung over the backs on top of their jackets and pants. Holding my breath, I wait. And I wait some more, but Ryan doesn’t come.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” Justin says. “Nice to see you show up. I thought the girls would’ve kicked you out for missing a week.”

  He ruffles my hair as I swallow a feeling of sadness.

  “Where’s Ryan?” I ask, my throat tightening as I speak.

  When Justin appears confused and doesn’t immediately respond, I look over at Owen. He pauses, causing my insides to do backflips even more. Now, tears threaten to fall down my cheeks, but I have to ask again. “Where’s...where’s...” I stutter. “Where’s Ryan?”

  Jesse takes mercy on me and answers. “Liz, he left.” The words come slowly and softly with concern.

  Instantly, I get to my feet and rush to Justin. Frantically, I spit out more questions than I can comprehend. “He left? Where to? How long has he been gone? When is he coming back? Why did he leave? Did he say anything?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Justin says, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close to his chest. “Slow down, sweetheart.” He rubs my back trying to soothe me, as tears spill from my eyes and the sound of hiccupping cries can be heard. “What’s going on?”

  Pushing away from him, I stare up into his eyes, pleadingly. “Just tell me,” I shout. “Where is he?” I look back and forth at all my friends, but they don’t say a word. They look at me like I’ve gone bat-shit crazy.

  “He was asked to work with the hotshots again. He’s stationed in Utah.”

  Hotshots? Utah? Tears continue to slide down my cheeks, but the sobs are under control now. “Did he have a choice?” My voice is small and weak. “Did he have to go?” Please say no. Please say no.

  “He volunteered.”

  My chest tightens again, and damn, I’ve lost control of the sobbing. He didn’t have to go but he chose to go. He chose to leave. Leave me. “When? When did he get the call?”

  Justin shakes his head, clueless to the answer. Then, Owen blurts out a date, a date that crushes me all over again. The same day he found out I was married. The same day he punched my asshole ex in the face. The same day he walked away from me, and the same day he never looked back. The same day he decided I wasn’t worth it after all.

  * * *

  I don’t know how it happened, but somehow I’ve been teleported from The Lookout to Molly’s living room. My hair is drenched with sweat. My chest hurts. And my eyes are swollen and sore. The tears continue to flow as my neighborhood friends sit by my side and stare at me.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Rose asks, softly. She squishes her nose, pushing her glasses up closer to her face.

  Rachel’s expression is unsure. “I hope so. I’ve never seen anyone freak out like that. One: she scared the shit out of me. Two: I don’t quite understand what happened. And three: I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

  This is like an out-of-body experience. I want to tell them to shut the hell up because I can hear them, but the words don’t form in my mouth.

  “When my husband died, I was told I didn’t speak for days.” Molly’s eyes are filled with sadness. “But I snapped out of it. She will, too.”

  “But her husband didn’t die,” Rose adds.

  Molly rolls her eyes. “We could only be so lucky.”

  Laughter rolls from my belly and escapes loudly from my throat. My friends look at me like I’m crazy, but I can’t stop laughing. They continue to stare at me until I’ve settled down. “Good one, Molls.”

  Smiles spread across their faces at my declaration. “You’re talking. You’re okay,” Rose says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. She bends down and gives me a long squeeze.

  “Yes. I’m talking. I’m alive and I can hear everything you’re all saying. I’m not dead.” I sit up, a little too quickly, because as soon as I’m upright, my head stirs and I feel drunk with dizziness. Lying back again, I bring my hand up and rest my forearm across my forehead, trying to stop the swaying. “But I think I just need some rest.”

  The girls don’t question me, and within minutes, I’m out.

  * * *

  There’s fogginess in my head when I open my eyes again. I feel like I’ve only slept for a few minutes, but as I zero in on the windows, I can see it’s dark outside. Sleep must have hit me with a truck. I’ve been knocked out for hours.

  This time, I slowly sit up and look around. My friends are passed out, too. Molly and Rachel are curled up into balls on either side of her large sofa, while Rose spreads out on the floor. She looks as if she could have been making snow angels on Molly’s carpet. This makes me smile. It makes me think of the first time we ever had a sleepover at Molly’s. Rose and I shared a king-sized bed in the guest bedroom. That lasted about two hours before I woke up with her heel in my side. It didn’t matter if I moved her over or not, she always found a way to kick and scratch through the night. I ended up sleeping in the living room on my own.

  On the end table next to me, there is a bottle of water and Advil. I take advantage of my friends’ thoughtfulness and open the medicine container. I drop two pills in my hand before opening the water to wash them down.

  “You’re up?” Molly murmurs as she sits up, rubbing her eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Feel better?” she asks.

  Rachel stirs next to her, but I answer anyway. “Kind of.” I can’t lie to her. “My head hurts. So do my eyes.” Hell, everything hurts.

  “What’s going on, Liz?” Molly pleads, clearly concerned.

  My eyes sting again, thinking about Ryan leaving. Out of choice. The same day he found out about Jace. Damn it.

  “It’s my fault.” That’s the first thing that comes to my mind.

  My garbled voice wakes the other two sleeping beauties. They both wipe the sleep from their eyes and focus on me.

  “What is your fault?” Molly asks.

  “I should have gone to him. That night. It’s my own damn fault he left and n
ow I’ll never know. It’s too late.” Looking down into my lap, I wring my hands together. Nervously shaking my head, the tears begin to flow again. “It’s too damn late.”

  Molly stands and walks over to me. Sitting beside me, she places her hand on my leg and squeezes. “Honey, you’re not making any sense. Did something happen with Jace? Did you guys get into a fight again?”

  I look up at her. “Jace? No. This isn’t about Jace. Not entirely. We’re getting divorced. Papers are already filed. He doesn’t live at my house anymore.”

  Her eyes widen. She doesn’t seem surprised. While I’ve had little contact with the girls since the split, I don’t doubt for one minute that Molly doesn’t know what’s going on. She has a pulse on the whole neighborhood. I’m not sure if she’s filled in the others though. What I do know is that she’s been waiting for this moment for as long as I’ve known her, and I’m sure she was just waiting for me to be ready to tell her all about it, too. And I am. Ready.

  “It’s Ryan.”

  “Ryan?” Rose questions. “What’s going on with Ryan?”

  Rose is now sitting with Rachel and they both look at each other and back at us like they have no idea what the hell is going on.

  “She’s in love with him,” Molly says.

  Those words couldn’t be any more true. I didn’t know it at first. I didn’t understand my feelings for Ryan. We had fun together. Conversations came easily to us. He treated me with kindness and respect, and joked around with me like he’d known me all his life. When he looked at me, I felt every ounce of fear, anger, and sadness, which I had felt with Jace, wash away like it didn’t exist.

  Every time we met somewhere—the hill, the store, wherever—I felt confused by my feelings. I knew I wanted to spend time with him, but I also knew that I shouldn’t. When he found me on that hill with Jace, my heart shattered into a million pieces. To see the look of hurt marring his beautiful face broke me. And my actions broke him.

  When I came home that day, and kicked Jace out, I knew my feelings for Ryan were more than just the casual butterflies I wanted to presume them to be. I was hurt, not knowing when I’d see him, or how he’d react toward seeing me. I couldn’t have cared less about Jace leaving and never seeing him again, but to think I might not ever see Ryan again killed me inside. That’s when I knew.

  And today only solidified my thoughts about him. Yes, without a doubt. I’m in love with Ryan. I just need him to come back so I can share that with him. If he’ll still want me. Of that, I am not sure.

  “Hold on a minute. What have I been missing?” Rachel raises her palm to me. “Are you really in love with Ryan?”

  Molly cocks her head to the side, giving me a knowing nod. I guess the cat’s out of the bag.

  “Yeah.” I take in a long, deep breath and hold it before exhaling slowly. “I’m in love with Ryan. I tried to fight it, but I can’t. My heart belongs to him. I’m dying to give it to him. Though I can’t now. He’s gone.” I close my eyes trying to hide from the intense looks of my friends. I shouldn’t have shared so little with them. I shouldn’t have shut myself away for the last month. I should’ve leaned on them, allowed them to help me through this madness, and given them the chance to listen. To care. Why am I not surprised by their lack of concern for Jace being gone? That was just a quick blip on their radar. They can read me so well. But sobbing into the arms of Justin? I feel so embarrassed. I feel guilty about Ryan leaving. And I tell the girls as much. “And it’s my fault he left.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ryan

  “Fuck it’s hot out here,” I shout, taking off my helmet and wiping my sweat with my forearm. Hiking up and down that Hill of Death is sounding pretty good right about now. These conditions make PT in So Cal feel like a breezy walk in the park.

  “Dude, I don’t remember you being this much of a bitch.” Avery is probably right. “All you do is fucking complain. You were barely gone the off-season and you’re already used to the comforts of home. Shut the fuck up and suck it up.”

  Looking around at the rest of the guys, I can see they feel the same way. “Sorry, man. I’m just dealing with some shit.” Yeah¸ some shit. Like lack of sleep because a certain redhead is in my thoughts every time I shut my eyes. You’d think after three months out in the field digging trenches and fighting wildfires in the mountains of Utah, I would have come to some sort of peace over Lizzy. But fuck me if I can’t stop thinking of her. She has me all fucked up inside. I can’t think straight, and I’m off my game. Which isn’t a good thing when you do what I do for work. I almost got myself killed, more than once. I seriously need to snap the hell out of it.

  “Whatever it is, deal with it.” Avery’s voice is stern. I hear the warning in his tone. I don’t need him going to the sup about my lack of focus. This isn’t like me and I don’t want to be known as the guy who is cracking up. I feel like I have to prove myself all over again. I can start by stopping with the complaints.

  But, fuck. It is hot. Sweltering hot. Outside in one hundred degree heat encased in my gear. I’m tempted to take it off, but I know better. Once my skin hits the fresh air, I’ll never be able to put it back on. My body will resist the heat. And this fire is far from contained.

  Suck it up, Ryan. She’s probably not even thinking of you and you’re ruining your career. Over a married woman.

  I could hit something; the reminder pisses me off so bad. It makes me hotter with anger than any fire could.

  * * *

  After ten days off the grid, we trade out teams so we can get a decent night’s rest and take a shower. I’m just thankful to drink an ice-cold cup of water.

  Washing the layers of grime off my body feels amazing. The hot water rains down on me and I take pleasure in the calming affect it has over me. I’m so tired. Tired enough that images of Lizzy and her husband won’t haunt me in my sleep.

  When I make it to my bunk, I’m right. Sleep takes over as soon as my head hits the pillow. The sun is shining through the window when my eyes finally blink open. If I wasn’t so warm, I could’ve slept longer, but hey, I finally feel rested and I’ll take it.

  Rolling over to my side, I reach to the bedside table for my watch. It’s nine in the morning and it’s quiet. I glance over at the bed next to me. Avery is still sleeping like the dead, a pillow over his head and his feet dangling over the edge.

  Next, I grab for my phone. I plugged it in before I went to sleep last night so I could check for any messages. I didn’t receive any calls while I was out in the field. That’s always good news. But now that I’m back to civilization, even if only for a bit, I am hoping the messages on my phone are from my mother who often likes to call me just to say hello. She and my sister have been calling for a quick check-in since I left. It’s been a tradition since the first season with hotshots, a way for them to keep in touch and fill me in on everything that’s going on at home. “A way to keep me from getting homesick,” my mom says.

  I’ve never had the heart to tell her I don’t get homesick. Not until now. Who the fuck knew a woman could do this to me? Make me feel all sorts of bullshit I’m not equipped to deal with.

  Like the voicemails I got after the first month of being out here.

  I just about had a heart attack when I heard them. They weren’t what I was expecting at all. The anger in Justin’s voice had me spinning for days.

  “What the fuck did you do to Liz? I saw her this morning for the first time since you left and she was a fucking mess. She couldn’t stop crying, but it is damn obvious you had something to do with it. The girls took her home and they haven’t answered my calls. You know I can’t handle it when girls cry. The damn tears get to me. And Lizzy was sobbing in my fucking arms. When I see you, I’m going to knock your ass into next year. Whatever you did, fix it. Oh, and stay safe, dude.”

  God, knowing Lizzy was still upset over that day. Crying over what had happened had me so confused and jacked up in the head that I swear I should see a fucking shrink. S
he’s married. She has a husband. Why is she so upset?

  Then, the messages started coming from Lizzy. Messages. As in plural. As in more than one.

  Hi, Ryan. It’s Liz. I mean, Lizzy. Justin gave me your number. I hope that’s okay. I know you’re busy, but I’d really like to talk to you. Can you call me when you have a chance please?

  She left her number, but I deleted the message. The thought of calling her and hearing her voice made my heart feel like someone had pounced all over it, kicking it with steel-toe boots. I wanted to talk to her so badly, but I also didn’t want to feel so betrayed either. And that is something I am having a damn hard time getting over.

  She probably wants to apologize. Maybe tell me she shouldn’t have been so open and friendly with me, or some stupid-ass crap like that. Maybe she wants to give me a speech about how she’d never be unfaithful to her husband—which knowing her, I believe—and that she doesn’t want me to contact her. As if I could. She’s not fucking available.

  Hey. It’s me again. I hope you’re safe. I’ve been reading about what you guys are doing out there and I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried. I just want to talk to you. I have so many things to say, but I can’t say them in a voicemail. Call me.

  What could she possibly have to say? Sorry I didn’t tell you I’m married. Sorry, I made you fall in love with me when I’m already taken...by a total fuckhead that doesn’t deserve me. Fuck, that message occupied my thoughts so much that I almost took a turn into a death trap because I wasn’t focused on the directions coming through my radio.

  Me again. I guess you’re not going to call. I don’t blame you. I guess I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. When you get back into town, maybe you can give me a few minutes of your time. If not, I understand. I won’t call again. Stay safe out there.

  Her soft, hopeless tone with that last one lodged a basketball-sized frog in my throat. After listening to it several times, I had to delete it. If I didn’t, I would have gone off my fucking rocker.