Can't Let Go

by Michelle Lynn

  “Hi,” he replies.

  He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a hoodie, since the weather has turned colder the last few weeks. His hat forward like most days lately, concealing his eyes and facial features from prying gaze.

  I begin to close the gap toward my room, and he steps up to meet me. With my hand on the doorknob, he comes a few inches away from me, and my heart picks up speed while shivers rise up my back. “You look better without all that shit on your face,” he whispers, and I shake my head and turn his way.

  All the warmth that had just spread across my body vanishes, leaving a rush of cold in its departure. “I guess it’s too much to say I look beautiful.” I turn the knob but am unable to push the door open due to my body being right where it wants to be—close to Dex.

  “I never said you weren’t beautiful.” He finishes the two steps to the stairs and jogs down them.

  “You never said I was,” I whisper to myself in an empty hallway.

  Pushing my door open, I shut it behind me, collapsing to the floor with my back against it. Tears prick, desperate to escape my eyes. For some reason, they don’t fall and I wonder am I finally getting rid of Dex Prescott’s hold on me?

  Not willing to allow Dex to ruin my date with someone who actually wants my company, I rise to my feet, push my shoulders back and grab my purse. Exiting my room, I walk down the stairs just as Sadie’s opening the door to a very handsome Ryland.

  “Hi, Ryland,” Sadie greets him, and, when he enters through the doorway, I’m glad I took Sadie’s advice.

  A slow smile creeps across Ryland’s lips when he spots me on the stairs. Stopping briefly, I admire him. The nice, barely worn jeans, casual Western t-shirt untucked with a pair of slip-on canvas shoes. His sunglasses rest in his wavy dark strands while his finger is wrapped in his key ring.

  “Have a good time, you two.” Sadie dismisses herself, and I give her a small wave.

  “Bye, Sadie. Nice seeing you again.” Ryland’s polite demeanor shines through.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, he links my hand in his. “You make every other woman doubt themselves,” he compliments me, it’s so much more than merely saying beautiful or gorgeous.

  “Thank you.” A slow heat rises up my neck. His kind words reiterate that Dex may not be the one for me anymore.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He puts his elbow out for me, and I wrap my arm through it.

  I’m not one step down the stoop when a familiar sensation of someone watching me prompts me to look around. My teeth slide on my over lip glossed lip when they catch Dex’s eyes fixated on me from his truck that’s resting idle in the middle of the street. My arm relaxes, drooping in Ryland’s arm hold. Even though he’s yards away, his eyes are wrenched with dejection right before they smolder with rage.

  Ryland looks my way and back to the truck at the same time Dex’s tires squeal. The truck peels down the street, not even bothering to break at the stop sign. “Am I missing something?” Ryland turns back to me after Dex’s taillights disappear.

  I deflect the loaded question, because how am I supposed to answer that? Oh, that’s just the guy I wish my arm was entwined with, but, hey, he doesn’t want me, so I’m trying to allow you to make me forget. Probably not a very pleasant first date conversation.

  Instead, I smile and pat his hand with my free hand. “He’s just having a bad day.” I try to force my voice to sound nonchalant, not to release the small notes of anguish.

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, we pull into another driveway in a residential area. A house not as big as the Carsens’, but just as nice. Flowers planted in the front along a laid brick sidewalk up to a door with a silver knocker inscribed The Davis’. Curiosity if I’m about to walk into his parents’ house from the whole aura of family etched in every personal touch from the potted plants to the small white fence lining the yard.

  The gut feeling that there’s more to Ryland than I know increases when I step into the newly remodeled house. My feet step on almost-black wood floors with hues of blues, silvers, and white on the walls and fabrics lining the furniture.

  “Please, come in. I was thinking I’d cook for you.” He shrugs his shoulders lowly as though he’s asking permission. Little does he realize there’s no need to impress me. He could have taken me back to that restaurant Filgree’s, and it would have been my best ‘date’ ever.

  “Sounds great.” I press on with a cheerful voice that strains every time I speak.

  My mind tainted with images of Dex speeding down the streets of Western, maybe he jumped onto the highway to press the accelerator to the max. What if he’s punching something or someone? I’ve been witness to his rage too many times for me to think otherwise.

  A part of me is relieved that Ryland being with me inspired the reaction it did. Confirms to me that I’m not alone in this draw to one another. The fire that singes me from the smallest touch or the warm beating of home when his arms swarm me into his body.

  Ryland places a glass in front of me filled with red wine. I’m not a huge wine drinker and have no idea between the different kinds. Merlot and Cabernet are the extent of my knowledge, and if I was asked the difference, I wouldn’t be able to answer. Smiling, I bring the glass to my lips, and the strong aroma pushes me to shut off my sense of smell while I drink. I take a tentative sip while Ryland consumes his all while intently watching me for my reaction.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, and I nod my head, plastering a fake smile.

  Once I swallow, I wouldn’t mind a sip of water, but I grin over to him, assuring him I do.

  Pulling fish out of the fridge, with a lemon on top, I admire his skills in the kitchen. Expertly, he cuts the fish open, whose eyeballs I swear are inspecting me the entire time. Taking some seasoning, he douses a hefty amount of green herbs in the slit he cut and then carries the fish to the stove.

  I admire his muscular back. His t-shirt pulls across his shoulders as it tapers down to jeans that appear new, as if he purchased them today. Crossing my legs, I lean forward on my stool, elbows resting on the island in the middle of the room. His kitchen is just as perfect as the rest of the house. Stainless steel appliances and white cabinets with black marble counters. You’d think I’d arrived on the set of a home interior magazine shoot with how beautifully decorated this house is.

  Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he begins the conversation. “So, tell me something about you I don’t know.” I’m glad his back is to me, because I begin to fidget while racking my brain to figure something to share that’s not pitiful.

  “There’s not much.” I stall.

  Taking another peek, he smirks. “If you went to school, what would you have liked to do?” he asks, and luckily, that’s an easy one for me.

  “I would love to be a school counselor,” I answer. “Junior High level,” I clarify.

  “Why that age? All those hormones going crazy, drama. I hated those years,” he comments, and I laugh, remembering how much I needed someone at that time rushes to mind, wishing my mom wouldn’t have deserted me. The confusion of what a girl’s body is going through and the security they desperately craved. So many girls I saw gave into temptation from a boy’s peer pressure or the pressure of her friends.

  “Adolescence is so confusing and exciting at the same time. In my mind, it’s the most crucial time for development on who you’ll be when you grow up.” I’m not sure I’ve ever revealed that to anyone before.

  He twists his attention my way, and his strong hand grips his glass, bringing it to his lips. I watch as he opens slightly and the fluid streams in and he licks his lips right after, enjoying every drop. One side of his lips turns up slightly, and he leans across the counter, his body weight on his forearms crossed in front of him. “I’m pretty sure if I was a thirteen-year-old boy, I’d want you to be my counselor. You do realize what swarms in a boys mind at that age?” He winks, and I giggle, rolling my eyes.

  “Sex, sex, sex,” I kid, and he nods.

 
“I swear, I think I only identified girls by their developed chests, ass, or legs at that age. The face was second,” he jokes.

  “Third or fourth,” I add, and he laughs harder.

  “About right.” He nods in humored agreement.

  When he finishes preparing our meal, I help him carry everything to the table, and I sit down while he lights the candles. It’s the most romantic evening I’ve ever experienced. I eat the fish, asparagus, and salad, dotting my lips with the cloth napkin after every bite. Our conversation is light, humorous, and casual throughout dinner. Dex remains in a distant corner of my mind, but it hurts that Ryland was able to so easily occupy me. Does that mean my feelings are waning for Dex? Guilt began to form by the time dessert makes its way to the table, when a flash of my life here, in this house, with Ryland becomes visible in my mind. Dismayed that, for the first time, when I imagined my future, Dex wasn’t the one sitting across from me at the dinner table.

  I oblige in the dessert that Ryland shamefully divulged he bought instead of preparing. As if that would blemish our date in some way. We sit on his couch with a roaring fire in the gas fireplace, talking about his childhood. How different of a person he’s become than his parents. With no pictures adorning the walls or propped on the mantle, I have no one to picture, except for my imagination of how he describes them.

  Two hours later, my cheeks are sore from laughing at Ryland’s funny stories. It’s been a nice reprieve from the weeks of Dex overriding my thoughts. His sleek white car turns into the driveway and stops at the sidewalk that paves the way to the front door. A relieved breath leaves my lungs when Dex’s truck is parked behind Brady’s Camaro. He didn’t wrap it around a pole in an uncontrolled anger rage.

  My lungs constrict again, desperately wishing it wouldn’t have released that amount of air. Dex stands in the garage, leaning over my car with his head facing the driveway. Rob glances over, the unfamiliar car’s headlights grabbing his attention, causing the tightness in my chest to deepen. When Ryland exits his side, I watch the two guys stand to attention and walk to the edge of the opening and my stomach weighs down like a ten-pound weight just landed on it. From the passenger seat, I silently beg to whoever is listening that the awkwardness that’s unfolding will end soon. Ryland raises his hand in the air in the form of a greeting with no response except a nod from Rob because Dex’s eyes are glued to mine, unnerving me with guilt.

  Ryland opens my door, holding his hand out for me to take. My hand grips his as he helps me climb out of his car. I divert all of my attention away from the two in the garage as Ryland links his fingers around mine. Now comes the weird part, kiss or no kiss? Is Dex going to be peeking around the corner, or Sadie in the window? Maybe Ryland doesn’t even want to end our date with any intimacy.

  At the welcome mat, we turn to face one another. “I had a really nice time, thank you.” I speak first.

  “I did, too. I’m glad you accepted.” He releases my hand, but cradles my cheek in his palm. A small flutter begins, but the thought of Dex just around the corner squashes them immediately. Why are feelings of betrayal washing over me when I did nothing of the sort? “Can I take you out again?” He steps forward, our chests brushing along one another.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Next Saturday. Dress required.” He smiles, enticing my own to come out.

  “Okay,” I accept.

  He begins leaning close and my heart picks up pace a little, but he detours just as I’m about to close my eyes and wait for his moist lips to grace mine. “I’d kiss you, but I feel like we’re being watched. This will have to do until next week.” His lips press against my cheek and he backs up. “See you Monday.” He winks and then descends the steps to walk down the sidewalk to his car.

  After I wave to Ryland, I turn the knob and step inside, shutting the door behind me. Releasing a tense breath that Dex didn’t barrel down the driveway, hauling off and hitting Ryland, I double-time it up the stairs to the solitude of my room. Tossing my body on the bed, it bounces up, and I throw my arm over my eyes, trying to compartmentalize Dex and Ryland in my brain. Ryland is so great and I wish I could demand my heart to veer to him, but hard as I might try, Dex’s hurt face standing in the garage is all my mind envisions.

  WHEN I’D EXITED the house, the white car was foreign, but we’ve had wedding people in and out of the house since Brady asked Sadie to marry him, so I didn’t over think it. Why I didn’t figure out leaving a very made-up Chrissy upstairs and then a new car in the driveway meant a date, I have no fucking clue. A date … she’s accepted an invitation to be in the presence of another man. It shouldn’t pain me the way it did when I glanced over after pulling out.

  There in the middle of the street, my eyes saw her smiling over as they left the house. The happiness I want for her, evident on her face at that moment, tormented me like a knife slowly piercing the skin. I felt every millimeter of the sharp device breaching my skin. Doing what I do best when it comes to Chrissy, I sped off. Left her instead of the obvious alternative of jumping out of my truck and claiming her as mine.

  Toying with going to my dad’s and drowning it all in numbers to win some money, I couldn’t do it. Something felt so wrong with gambling away my jealousy of Chrissy moving on. As if that would confirm my deepest fear that I’m not the best guy for her. Strange, because I’ve been on a roll lately. Spending most of my time there in order to forget her; however, it’s done the opposite. Maybe because she’s too close to it, and her disapproval in my involvement has always spoken volumes.

  So, I do the next best thing besides gambling. I jump onto the highway and accelerate, weaving in and out of cars. My truck’s engine practically smoking by the time I pull off and park on the side of the road. I slam my fist into the steering wheel and sit there, dissecting Chrissy and me, our friendship, and when did my heart begin wanting her for more? When did my imagination become overrun with visions of her below me? My lips brushing along hers, tasting her.

  When I couldn’t think any more about ‘what if’s’ and maybe ‘could be’s’, I resorted to my friends and went home. I find Rob hunched over in the garage, socket wrench in his hand, his forearm flexing and releasing with every twist. He sees me immediately, a smirk indicating he had.

  “You want me to break something else?” Rob asks me when I stagger up to the garage.

  Pushing my palm over my head, I release a breath. “Why would you do that?” I ask him.

  “I’m just doing an oil change for her. I could accidentally break a part. A really tough part that is hard to get,” he remarks, and it’s the first time I thought about that. If it continues to be awkward, she’ll leave. My gut constricts with the mere thought of not seeing her face or hearing her laughter with Sadie late at night. I’ve grown used to her shampoo in the shower, her toothbrush next to her sink. The flowery scent that lingers in the bathroom long after she’s finished getting ready.

  “She can leave whenever,” I say offhand. I’m not like the other guys with their whole let’s talk about our feelings shit.

  Rob eyes me from the cooler, pursing his lips together. “All right, man,” he says, not believing a word that I’m uttering. Since we’re so similar, he’s happy to play my game.

  Not sure why I torture myself by staying in the garage, waiting for that white car to return. She wouldn’t sleep with him, right? What if he makes a move on her? Worse, what if she accepts? The nightmare of the white car never coming back tonight has murderous scenes flashing in my mind.

  After hours of me checking my phone for the time, Rob’s snide remarks, and a case of beer between us, the car pulls up. The quiet purr of his engine turning into the driveway and stopping by the walkway, where he turns off the car. Crap, he’s actually going to walk her to the door.

  “Who’s this?” Rob walks to the edge of the garage, his arms stretched above, gripping the frame.

  I keep the answer to myself, because the sentence can’t escape my lips without a stutter. Ryland
Davis exits the confines of his car with a wave to us. My eyes fixate on Chrissy’s troubled hazel gaze staring right back at me through the window of the passenger side. Crossing my arms over my body, I watch another man open her door, offer her his hand, and her accept. All the while, my heart aches with the impact of the weight piling onto it, and I fight every impulse to run and capture her.

  “Date?” Rob questions, not really looking for an answer. He turns around and busies himself with the car.

  Standing there, I look out to the driveway finding all of our friends’ cars along with the guy who will steal her from my grasp if I don’t do something. The torment of letting her live the dream life she’s always wanted: the caring husband with three kids in a nice neighborhood and good schools; never a care for money or want for anything; a guy who can allow her to forget her past and her upbringing, instead of the constant reminder I would be for her.

  “Will you fucking just go?” Rob nudges me forward like the good friend he’s shockingly been this whole time.

  “I’m not sure I can.” My feet remain planted on the cement. When Ryland doesn’t return to his car a minute later, my fists clench with the thought that his lips are on her beautiful mouth. That he’s requesting access to her, and she’s allowing him in.

  “When did you become such a pussy?” Rob asks me, lighting a cigarette. I watch the slow stream of smoke flow out of his mouth, wondering the same thing. “You’re just going to sit here and let that douchebag,” he tilts his head to a smug Ryland pulling out of the driveway, “take what’s yours?”

  “She’s not mine,” I say, and he shrugs.

  “She sure as shit isn’t his. How’s the saving the friendship thing going for you?” he asks, and the answer would be shitty, crappy, and lately non-existent.

  Rubbing my head with my hand, I drag it down my face with the hope some sense surfaces in the next few minutes because my feet are already gearing up. I’m losing the battle within myself to stay away.