She's had to do everything on her own for so long.
Alyssa turns towards me, her eyes connecting with mine. "This story presents one of your least favorite people in a favorable light."
"My father?"
"That would make perfect sense." She rolls her eyes. "No, it's Ryan. Of course."
"He was your best friend."
She nods. Her fingers skim my cheek. It's so soft and warm. She's here. She's mine.
"Mom promised to drive me to the homecoming dance. I had no way of getting to school that late. Walking at night was questionable, and it way too cold in November to do it in a dress and heels."
I see where this is going.
"I didn't even ask her. She promised. She said she wanted to see me dressed up. To see me blossom into a woman. I should have known better when she broke her promise to take me shopping for a dress. She woke up late, hungover, and started drinking early."
I squeeze her fingers, soaking in the sweetness of her touch. If only she was always this comfortable, if she'd always talk to me...
"The night of homecoming, I put on my dress and makeup. I did my hair. She was going to take pictures. But when I came downstairs, she was already drunk. She'd been home an hour and she was already drunk. She forgot what day it was. Asked where the hell I thought I was going dressed like a slut."
I brush her hair from her eyes, soaking in everything about her, about the moment. That's Alyssa, my Alyssa, and she's sharing something she's never told anyone.
"She told me to change. I accused her of being drunk. Locked myself in my room, crying my eyes out. It was half an hour into the dance when he called me."
I fight my urge to cringe. She's paying careful attention to my expression, to make sure I can handle this.
I have to prove I can.
"He sounds like a polite young man," I say.
"He was," she says. "He knew I was excited about the dance and he wanted to make sure I was okay. To make sure nothing had happened."
I bite my tongue. So teenage Ryan was sweet to teenage Alyssa. It doesn't matter. He's not here now.
"I told him I wasn't in the mood anymore, and he asked if I'd like some company. I think I whispered 'yes,' because he came all the way to my house, and he sat with me in my room for hours, while my mom was passed out on the couch. He didn't make a big deal of it. Other guys, they would have tried to fuck me. To at least get my top off. Other guys had before..."
She looks at me with concern. I must not be hiding how awful this is.
"I can stop," she says.
"It's fine."
"The story doesn't end with me having sex with Ryan. I promise."
My muscles relax ever so slightly. She laughs. So I am obvious.
"You're awful," she says.
"I don't like thinking of you hurting. Especially not some creep taking advantage of it."
"You mean the kind of creep who seduces an engaged woman after she gets into a huge fight with her fiancé?"
I nod. "Exactly that kind of creep."
She leans into me, wrapping her arms around me. We breathe together for a moment, nothing in the world except the two of us.
"He spent the whole night with me. We watched TV for a while, but we eventually fell asleep on my bed. Completely clothed." She looks out the window. "He's the only guy who was ever nice to me without expecting to get something out of it."
I run my hands through her hair. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that."
"It was nothing."
"It was a lot."
She shakes her head again, but she doesn't verbalize her objection.
"So," I say. "Did you mean that thing you said to your mother?"
"Which thing?"
"About my cock being bigger than Ryan's?"
She laughs. "You really want to know?"
"I already know I'm better than he is."
She shakes her head. "No, the knowledge will either crush you or go to your head. You can't be trusted."
I run my fingers over her chin and tilt her head towards me, until we're eye to eye. She holds my gaze for a moment, but she breaks into a fit of giggles, her eyes squeezing closed.
"I'll never tell," she says.
I run my fingers over her bare stomach. "You've never told me if you're ticklish."
"Don't even think about it."
I slide my fingers over her skin. "I'm thinking about it."
She presses her palms against my shoulders, pushing me flat on the bed. "Your ego is big enough already."
"So I am bigger."
"I've said too much," she says. She shifts back onto the bed.
"How much bigger would you say?"
I push the covers off her and look into her clear, blue eyes. She's happy. I'm going to keep her like this.
"Maybe... twenty percent," she says.
"Oh yeah?"
"Shut up, Luke."
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.
We're together again. We can make it through anything, even the horrible wall of distance that's grown between us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Alyssa
My last performance is completely overwhelming. Part of me is begging to move on to anything new. I've recited the same lines, ten times a week, for six months now. It's about time get the hell out.
But another part of me is terrified to say good-bye. As long as I'm here, I get to reset every day. Blanche isn't sentenced to a terrible life in a cruel mental asylum. She gets to start fresh.
I know the lines so well, know every emotional beat, every little bit of nuance. I take my last chance to lose myself in my character, to really disappear.
I don't snap out of it until I'm bowing on stage, my hand glued firmly to Ellen's. The stage lights shine in my eyes so brightly I can barely make out anything. And the applause is so loud, I can't even hear myself breathe.
It's over. The last of this is over. In the blink of an eye, I'll be back to normal life. Back at the house, in Santa Monica, with Luke.
Exactly what I've wanted for the last six months.
Ellen whispers in my ear on the way off the stage. "You're coming out for shots tonight, right?"
I nod. This is my last chance to see Ellen, my last night in New York. I'm not going to spend it wondering what everything means.
I collapse in my dressing room and text Luke the address of the bar. Meet me there, okay? He'd prefer to come here. Hell, he'd probably talk me into giving this couch a proper good-bye.
But I need to soak all this in on my own.
I linger in the room, taking in its quaint charm. Two of the bulbs on the vanity are burnt out and I never bothered to replace them. The once-beige carpet is stained in half a dozen places. There's a hole in the red velvet couch. Hell, it's practically ripped to shreds.
It's banged up and uncared for, but it's still perfect.
It was still mine.
I catch my reflection in the mirror. Half my makeup is still on my face. I'm only halfway back to Alyssa, halfway back to my life.
Whatever that means.
I wet a towel with warm water and wash up. When I pull the towel away, it's smeared with some strange mix of black, beige, brown, purple even.
There's no more Blanche, no more pretexts, nothing left except me.
There are about three months between now and shooting the next season of Model Citizen. Three months with nothing to fill my time. Three months where my life will be waiting for Luke.
I shrug my shoulders in a futile attempt to ease my tight muscles. Three months will be great. I need a break. To stop fighting so damn much.
I lay on the couch. This is the last time I'll sink into its soft cushions, the last time I'll stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling.
My hands start shaking. After this, the only thing in my life that matters is Luke.
Unless he's already tired of me.
I press my eyes closed, willing the thoughts away. This is my last night in N
ew York and I'm not going to spend it moping.
There's a knock on the door. Ellen, I'm sure. No doubt desperate to drink herself stupid, to go home with the cute bartender (though Nicholas would work in a pinch).
I push off the couch and open the door, but it's not Ellen.
It's Ryan.
I must be dreaming.
But that's him--his hazel eyes, his short brown hair, his pale lips.
"I hope this isn't an imposition," he says.
He sounds the same.
I shake my head. It is Ryan. He's here, in my dressing room. Well, outside it. And I'm half-dressed. Fuck. I pull my robe tighter, cinching its sash.
"I haven't seen you in... In almost a year," I say.
"Not since that incident at the office."
The incident where he and Luke got into a fistfight.
He brings his gaze to mine with the sincerest of expressions. "Do you mind if I come in?"
"I'm not sure that's a good idea." A shiver rushes through me. Nothing good can come of this. And if someone sees him standing in the hallway... "Okay. Close the door behind you."
I step back and he enters the room. Somehow, he looks taller, larger, more sure of himself.
"I know you don't owe me anything," he says. "Even if your boyfriend... is he still your boyfriend?"
I bite my tongue. Ryan doesn't need every detail of my personal life. He had his chance to be my friend. Hell, he had his chance to be my husband, but he fucked that up.
We fucked it up.
He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not here to talk about who you should or shouldn't date."
"I appreciate that." My heart pounds against my chest. There is no good reason why he'd be here.
"You were amazing," he says. "I was expecting the same Alyssa who played Juliet when she was fifteen, but you were... I should have known you'd be amazing."
"I was amazing as Juliet."
He nods. "Of course. You beat out a dozen senior girls for the part."
I take a step back. "Please don't pretend like you've ever been supportive of my acting," I say. "Even in high school you were against it."
That came out way, way too damn civil.
I expect a sharp defense. It was only for your own good. I was looking out for you. The usual Ryan bullshit. But he just nods.
"That's why I'm here," he says. "To make amends."
"You could have done that in L.A. anytime in the last year or so."
"I know," he says, taking a step closer to me. "I had some business in the city, and I heard about your Broadway debut. Congrats, by the way."
"Thanks." I take a step back, until I'm pressed against the drawer of my vanity. "Did my mother have something to do with this?"
He shakes his head. "Does she even have your phone number?"
"No." The drawer is sharp against my ass. I press off it, but I'm too close to Ryan now. Only three or four feet away. If someone saw us...
"Barbara didn't call me," he says. "You really think I'd listen to her if she did?"
"You two were pretty aligned against me moving to L.A."
"She's a drunk, Alyssa. She gave up her right to look out for you a long time ago. Do you even remember how many times I had to pick you up because she had too much wine at dinner?"
"Sorry for the inconvenience." I press my nails into my thumb.
"I didn't mean it like that." He takes another step towards me. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you back then."
What. The. Hell. Ryan Knight does not apologize to anyone. Not ever.
He brings his gaze to me. It's not his usual authoritative glance, the one that says he practically owns me. It's kind. Sincere.
"I didn't treat you well. I wish I could say I had the best of intentions, but I'm not sure that I did. I didn't think about what you wanted, sweet--" He clears his throat. "Alyssa. I assumed you understood the role you were going to play, and I assumed you were okay with it."
"I was. For a while." My mouth is dry, my throat ragged. This isn't possible. This isn't happening. I dig my fingernails into the tender skin of my wrist to make sure I'm not dreaming, but it does no good.
This is happening.
"Even so," he says. "I was an awful boyfriend." He takes another step towards me. "And I want you to know, I don't have any ill will towards you. I don't blame you at all for what happened with Luke."
"You should." I'm not about to accept absolution.
"Sure," he says. "It was terrible. It was embarrassing. And, once I got over licking my wounded ego, it hurt realizing I lost you. But I didn't deserve to keep you."
I swallow hard. "Okay."
"I've been in therapy for a while now. I'm trying to improve myself, to be the kind of person you would--"
"Ryan, I'm not... we're not. Not ever." I clutch the drawer behind me, my fingers digging into its fake wood surface.
"Of course not." He says it without any ill will.
Maybe he really has forgiven me. Maybe he really is over it. But that isn't anything like the Ryan I left a year and a half ago. He was a petty, malicious guy. He was the kind of guy who would hold a grudge, who would never forgive someone who betrayed him.
I take another look at Ryan, at those hazel eyes of his. I loved him once. It wasn't the most passionate or the most romantic love, but it was something.
"I'm sorry too," I say. "I shouldn't have carried on an affair like that."
"I appreciate that."
His eyes connect with mine. I must look more alarmed than I think I do, because he softens and takes a step backwards.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to impose on your space," he says.
I shake my head, pulling my robe tighter. "It's okay."
"Are you still with Luke?"
He's so calm, so serene. But Ryan has always been collected.
"Does it matter?"
"It might." He adjusts his tie. "I only want what's best for you."
"You gave up your right to give me advice a long time ago."
"That might be true, but I worry about you sometimes."
What else is new?
My voice is demanding. "Don't."
"I hope I was wrong. I hope that he can handle, well, not handle. But, I hope he... isn't afraid of how hard it is to reach you."
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I take another step back, hitting the damn vanity again.
"I know it's not my place, but I do worry about you."
"Save it for someone else."
"Alyssa, please. I did love you. I want to help."
My blood surges. So Ryan hasn't changed. He's here to tell me how to live my life. As usual. I open my mouth to scold him, to tell him to fuck off, but I bite my tongue.
I can't deny that I've considered it. I've considered that Luke really can't handle me, even though, yes, handle isn't the right word.
That he's getting tired of me, ready to give up on me.
"You worry about him too," he says.
I nod. I can't bring myself to say it aloud.
"I hope I'm wrong. I hope he loves you enough..."
"Am I really that miserable?" I ask.
Ryan takes another step towards me. He puts a hand on my shoulder. It's more friendly than anything, but there's still something so damn off about it. Like he's about to cross some line.
"No. But most people aren't strong enough to be with someone so..."
"Awful."
"Guarded."
"Are you admitting failure?" I ask. That would be something of note.
He leans towards me. Just a little bit. Just enough. "Maybe. I still think about you. I'd be willing to try and make it work."
"Why?"
"You don't have to believe it, but I did care deeply about you. I'm sure it's not the kind of love you're interested in any longer, but it was love."
"Who the fuck do you think you are?"
He steps backwards. I expect some kind of smug satisfaction, a lecture about how I don't know the meaning of love,
how Luke is a loser who will give up on me, but Ryan looks apologetic.
"I don't want to impose. I really did come to make amends."
"You could start but not springing 'I still love you' on me."
"You deserve all the facts." He looks at the ground for a moment, then brings his gaze back to me. "I still want to protect you."
"Then where have you been the last year and a half?"
"Respecting your wishes."
I can't exactly argue. I did tell Ryan I never wanted to see his stupid face again. But he did deserve it.
It's fine. All I need to do is let him apologize. Then he'll leave and I can get on with my life.
"Well, thank you for that," I say.
"I'll leave you be." He moves back, just a little. "But I really do hope things work out for you and Luke. He may not deserve it, but you do."
"I appreciate your concern, but things are great. We're going to Hawaii. And we're engaged. I'm not sure if that ended up online, but it's true. We're engaged."
Ryan smirks. "I hope that works out better for him than it did for me."
I bite my tongue again. Whatever Ryan's intentions are, I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.
"It will," I say. "Because we're honest with each other. And we love each other."
"Are you going to tell him I was here?" Ryan asks.
Ryan will see through a lie, but it's not worth explaining things to him. Luke gets jealous. Telling him Ryan showed up when things are already strained... forget about it.
"I haven't had much time to process that," I say.
He smirks. "You should stick with honesty. I know I would have appreciated that."
"We've covered that."
"So we have." He looks at me with a hint of sadness, like he really does love me. "I really do hope he makes you happy."
"We're very happy," I say. I almost believe it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Luke
I spend fifteen minutes listening to Ellen berate Nicholas. She mentions something about Alyssa needing time to pack up since she's leaving New York tomorrow. It's not entirely believable, but I trust her enough not to question her motives.
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