by Noelle Adams
He’d made a huge mistake.
He’d destroyed any progress he’d made over the past six years to rebuild his heart after it had been demolished by their relationship before.
He was right back in the same place again—hopelessly in love with Ginny, even knowing that she’d never be able to give him what he needed.
He was supposed to have grown up.
He was supposed to have gotten smarter.
He was supposed to be able to stop himself from getting crushed again.
He’d been through it all before. He knew what was coming. And he only had one more chance to keep safe at least a little bit of his heart.
He stared at himself in the mirror over the sink. His hair was wet. There were bristles on his jaw. And his face still looked sated from his physical release earlier.
Only his eyes were knowing. Slightly scared.
This wasn’t him. It shouldn’t be him. Maybe it had been him back in college, but he was different now.
He wasn’t going to let the same thing happen again.
He breathed deeply until he’d convinced himself that he could handle it. He could come out of this with his pride intact even if his heart wasn’t.
No one would know what a fool he had been.
He would make sure of it.
He tried a casual smile for the mirror, but it didn’t look real. So he did it again—and then again—until it was natural, convincing.
Then he finally walked out through the bathroom door and into the little guest room, where Ginny was still lounging on the bed. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she had the sheet pulled up to her shoulders to cover her naked body.
His heart did a ridiculous flip at the sight of her.
When she saw him, her eyes ran up and down his body, and her gaze looked appreciative, slightly sultry, like she was enjoying the sight of his mostly naked body. But her smile when she met his eyes was soft, almost sweet.
“You can spend the night if you want. Emma won’t be back until Monday morning,” she said, sitting up and still holding the sheet up to cover her breasts. It was a gesture he remembered from long ago. Outside of the context of sex, she didn’t like anyone to peer at her body.
She was confident about most things, and no one in the world could ever call her shy. But about nonsexual, intimate things, she’d always been hesitant.
He’d always loved that little bit of humanness, but he didn’t let his already vulnerable heart melt any further this time. He gave her the casual smile he’d practiced in the bathroom. “Nah. I don’t think so. Thanks though.”
She nodded, reaching over to find his shirt, which had gotten pushed to the very edge of the bed against the wall. She tossed it over to him with another little smile.
If he were weak, he’d indulge the flood of fond feeling her expression evoked. She looked so warm and tender, like tonight had been something special, like there was no one else in the world she wanted other than him, like she was excited for the future.
He could be too. He was almost there already. He could be thrilled, eager, ready to start planning and daydreaming.
But he knew what would happen.
Ginny hadn’t been using him. He knew that for sure. She’d wanted this as much as he had, and she’d jumped in with both feet, no holding back, the way she always did.
But she was who she was. People never really changed. She’d get scared eventually and she’d back off—exactly as she had in college.
And the further he let it go, the more it would hurt him.
This already hurt more than he could easily bear.
He caught the shirt she tossed him and pulled it on over his head, and then he reached down to the floor to pick up his jeans and underwear, pulling them on after he’d dropped the towel.
He tried not to like the fact that Ginny was discreetly watching him get dressed.
She’d reached over to her overnight bag and pulled on an oversized T-shirt, pulling it on as she stood up.
“Okay.” She pressed herself against him, brushing a little kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Well, be careful driving home.”
His heart hammered painfully, and he mentally screamed at himself not to enjoy this, not to indulge it.
“Of course,” he said, a little curtly.
She obviously noticed the tone because she slanted him a questioning look. But she didn’t say anything as he put on his shoes and then walked to the front door of the apartment.
She walked with him.
“I’ll see you later then,” she said with another smile. She still looked expectant, like she thought he would say something, clarify what happened between them, confirm it was going to happen again.
He wanted to. Desperately. Everything inside him was reaching for her, trying to grab hold of the only woman he’d ever really needed.
But he had to be smart. He had to protect himself.
He had to make things clear—not so much to her as to himself.
So he forced himself to say, “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”
The tone of his voice must have clued her in. Her smile faded slightly, and her eyes became even more questioning. “O-kay.”
He had to say more. The vague response wasn’t enough. If he didn’t draw lines in black-and-white, she would call him, come visit him, ask him what was going on.
And he’d be so tempted he wouldn’t be able to hold on to his resolution.
So he cleared his throat and said in his most laid-back tone, “Tonight was fun. I think both of us needed it—as closure or whatever. Not to mention a great way to work off some tension.”
She stared at him, completely frozen, and her expression hurt him so much he had to pretend to pull up his sock just so he could turn away from her for a few seconds and hide the look in his own eyes.
Ryan had slept with a lot of women—almost always casual, onetime things. But he’d always made a point of making the women feel appreciated, valued. He only slept with people he liked, and he wanted to make sure they knew it.
He never—never—blew a woman off, even when he was telling her he wouldn’t see her again. He had nothing but disdain for men who treated women like that.
So he hated himself right now, knowing exactly what he was doing to Ginny, knowing exactly how it would make her feel.
Like he’d just used her for some hot sex and to work off the last threads of lingering emotion. Like she’d been a tool, rather than a person.
When her stunned stillness finally broke, she smiled again, and her smile only wavered slightly. “Yeah. Definitely. Nothing like a little closure.”
Ryan’s throat ached so much he could barely breathe, and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms, tell her he was sorry, tell her he’d never stopped loving her.
But that was the way of more pain—for both of them—and he’d made enough mistakes for this night.
“We’re good then?” he asked.
“Sure. We’re good.”
He didn’t think either one of them was good at the moment.
He wasn’t sure he would ever be good again.
“Good deal,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “I’ll take off then.”
He opened the front door, stepped over the threshold, took three steps down the hall before he absolutely had to look back at her over his shoulder.
She stood in the doorway with her messy hair and her big T-shirt, watching him walk away.
Six
Ginny somehow managed to go through the motions on Sunday and Monday without breaking into tears every few minutes, but she wasn’t sure how she did.
The worst day of her life had been when she was ten years old and her father walked out on her, Noah, and their mother.
But this hurt almost as bad.
Naturally, she’d known that nothing was certain when they made love on Saturday night. It was obviously spontaneous, impulsive for both of them, and one or two great rounds of sex didn’t guarantee a future.
And evidently it didn’t.
Ryan had always been a kind, warmhearted person. She’d never known him to treat anyone as coldly as he’d treated her.
Not that he’d been mean. He’d just been... heartless.
There was no reason to imagine various scenarios that might have led him to act that way. No sense in daydreaming about romantic motivations. He’d told her the truth. He’d made it very clear.
He saw what had happened as closure, and he didn’t want anything else from her.
Just because she wanted more—for the first time in her life, she wanted everything—didn’t mean he would ever feel the same way.
He wasn’t the loving, earnest boy he’d been in college, innocently assuming that being in love meant they’d live happily ever after. He’d changed as much as she had—he’d just changed in a different way.
She kept telling herself all those facts—over and over again—but she still felt like death warmed over on Tuesday morning as she went into work at Tea for Two.
She might have lost any hope for a future with Ryan, but she wouldn’t also lose her circle of friends. So that meant she had to keep what had happened from everyone else. Their intersecting relationships were too close, too tangled. If she and Ryan pulled apart, the rest of them would pull apart too. It was unavoidable. It had almost happened with Noah and Emma a few months ago, and it could so easily happen again.
For real this time since there was no happy reconciliation waiting between her and Ryan that would heal over any rifts.
Noah had been best friends with Ryan and Patrick since he was twelve years old, and he’d only recently really gotten them back. He needed them. He needed both of them. And she wasn’t going to be responsible for any festering resentment between her brother and Ryan because of the way Ryan had acted on Saturday night.
Noah could never know.
She was brooding about this—about all of it—as she smiled mindlessly at customers, helping out behind the counter since they were busier that morning than normal.
When the crowd finally cleared, she went into the back room to finish the weekly inventory.
“Did your lunch on Sunday not go well?” Carol asked, breaking into her bleak meditations.
Ginny blinked and turned around, seeing Carol approaching. She’d been baking all morning, so there was flour covering her apron and dusted on one of her cheeks. “What do you mean?”
“I was wondering if something had happened in your lunch with Noah and your dad. Did they argue again or something?”
“No. No, nothing like that. It actually went pretty well. Noah had to bite his tongue a couple of times, but everyone was pretty pleasant for the whole time. I don’t think we’ll ever be really close to him, but things are lot better than they were.”
Carol nodded, her eyes wide and worried. “Oh. That’s good. So then what’s wrong?”
Ginny bit back a curse as she realized she hadn’t been as good about hiding her mood as she’d hoped. Carol had obviously noticed that something was off. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. It’s obviously something. You’ve looked like you’re about to cry for the past two days. Tell me what happened.”
Ginny shook her head. She wasn’t a crier—at all, in any way—so she hated the fact that she was close to tears as a swell of emotion rose up at Carol’s concern.
“Ginny, what is it?” Carol asked in a different tone. She stepped closer and lowered her voice so there was no chance that anyone else could hear. “Did something happen with Ryan?”
“Why... why...” There was no way she could finish the question.
But Carol obviously knew what she was trying to say. “Ryan has been antisocial for the past two days, and that’s not like him at all. It actually didn’t occur to me until just now, but since both of you have been weird since the weekend...” She trailed off, her eyes studying Ginny closely. “Did he kiss you or something?”
Ginny’s features twisted as she remembered how much further than kissing they’d gone.
Carol gasped. “Did you... did you two make love?”
“It wasn’t love,” Ginny responded in a harsh whisper, swiping away a couple of tears. “It was just sex.”
“Oh my God!” Carol paused. “Oh my God.”
“It was nothing.”
“Nothing! Oh my God, Ginny! Are you... are you...”
“It doesn’t matter what I am because he made it very clear it was just a way to... to get some closure. It didn’t mean anything to him.”
“I don’t believe that. You’ve always meant more to him than anyone else.”
“Well, he’s obviously over it.”
“I don’t think—”
“Carol, please.” Ginny interrupted, more desperate than firm. “Please don’t try to sugarcoat this. He was very clear. Very clear. He doesn’t want anything else from me. And so it doesn’t matter what I ...” Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.
Carol reached over to pull Ginny into a hug. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Ginny hugged her back for a minute until she managed to pull herself together. Then she straightened up and wiped her face with her hands. “I’m having a hard time with it,” she admitted. “You were right about all my old feelings coming back. I was hoping maybe... but no. He doesn’t want it. So I’ve just got to accept that.”
“Okay.” Carol didn’t sound convinced, but at least she wasn’t trying to argue.
“Please don’t tell anyone, Carol. You can’t tell anyone. Not even Emma.”
“I hate keeping secrets from her.”
“But if you tell her, she might decide she needs to tell Noah. And Noah absolutely can’t know. He can’t. Please, Carol.”
Carol nodded. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Even though I suck at keeping secrets.”
“You have to exert every effort this time. It has to stay between us. Ryan obviously doesn’t want anyone to know either, so we’ll just have to pretend it never happened.”
“That doesn’t usually work.”
“I know,” Ginny replied with a sigh. “But it’s going to have to this time.”
RYAN DID HIS BEST TO avoid Ginny—and most of his friends—for the first part of the week. He worked during the days anyway, and he just used the excuse of being busy or tired to avoid hanging out with the others after work the way he normally did.
He’d done what he had to do. He was convinced it was the only good option.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t miserable.
And he couldn’t let anyone else know.
On Thursday evening at about nine, he was stretched out on his recliner, drinking a beer and staring at ESPN without really paying attention.
He was wondering what Ginny was doing now.
He was wondering if she was missing him.
He was wondering if she was upset over what had happened, over the hint of what they might have had if things had been different.
He was surprised when he heard the side door of his house bang open and Carol call out a greeting.
He had no idea what she was doing here. He hadn’t invited anyone over. He didn’t want to see anyone.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as she came into the living room. She wore one of her normal flowing skirts and a lavender top, and she flopped down on the couch.
“Hello to you too,” she replied tartly.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated.
“I’m checking on you. I haven’t seen you all week.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You don’t look busy to me.”
“I’m resting now. I was busy before.” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to argue or convince her. Her expression made it clear she didn’t believe a word he said.
“Ryan.”
He just stared at her, willing her to go away and leave him alone.
Carol might look so
ft and sweet, but she was the most stubborn person he knew. And she obviously wasn’t going anywhere until she got the answers she wanted.
He sighed and gave up. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what’s wrong with you.”
He suddenly realized she already knew what had happened. He adjusted the recliner so he was sitting up straight. “She told you?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it.”
“You can’t be surprised. What did you expect?”
His heart clenched in a different way as he thought about something else. “Does everyone know?”
“Just me.”
He let out a breath. He couldn’t have stood for Noah to have known.
“Did you really have to treat her like crap that way?” Carol asked.
“I didn’t treat her—”
“Yes, you did. And you know it. It’s one of the reasons you’ve been in this funk all week. You don’t treat people that way. You’re better than that. So why did you have to treat Ginny that way?”
“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, leaning back and closing his eyes. “It just... I just had to make it end, make sure it was over, and I didn’t know how else to do it.”
“Why did it have to be over?”
“Are you kidding? You remember what happened last time, don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember. But that was years ago. Both of you are grown up now. Neither one of you has to be as stupid as you were last time.”
He shook his head. “It would be nice to think that, but it just isn’t true. A relationship can never work until I can trust her not to run away. And I just... can’t.”
Carol was silent for a long time. For so long that he finally looked back over to check her expression.
“If you want to yell at me some more, go ahead and do it,” he said at last.
“I don’t want to yell at you. I want to cry.”
He swallowed hard. “Well, don’t cry. I’m fine.”
“I wouldn’t just be crying for you, you know.”
He tried to hold back the question, but he was utterly incapable of it. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if either of you is okay.”
“We’ll be fine. It shouldn’t have happened—this weekend. It wasn’t any sort of closure. It just brought it all back up to the surface and made everything worse. But we can get over it. We have to.”