by A. S. Teague
It’s obvious they have tried to make the space a home. There are photographs on the walls and a few beautiful throws on the back of the ratty couch. The table that is entirely too large for the kitchen was well cared for, a vase of silk flowers in the center. They remind me of the fake sunflower Ryker left me, and I feel bad about the reaction I had all over again.
By the time I arrived, the utilities had been turned back on, no doubt what Ryker had left to take care of. Gram put on a kettle of tea, and I asked her about how they had ended up living here. She was sweet but firmly told me that it was not her story to tell.
We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about my family and childhood, and she told me stories of the antics Ryker had come up with as a kid. I giggled quite a bit about his obsession with dinosaurs and made a mental note to ask him about it later.
If there is a later.
Deciding that it is now or never, I get up and go into the kitchen. Then I settle myself into one of the chairs at the table.
Ryker remains standing, his back to me. “What are you doing here, Rebecca?”
Clasping my hands together, I answer, “We need to talk.”
His back stiffens, and barely above a whisper, he growls, “I knew this would happen.”
Confused, I ask, “Knew what would happen?”
He shakes his head and mutters, “Nothing. What did you need to talk about?”
Tired of talking to his back, I tell him, “Turn around. Come sit down.”
He doesn’t move.
So I add, “Please?”
“Just do what you came here to do.”
Shooting out of my chair, I cross the tiny space between us and grab his arm, spinning him to face me. “I didn’t come here to do anything!” I shout.
He pulls his arm from my hand and shouts back, “No! I’m not! If you’re gonna break up with me, just fucking get it over with and then get out of my house. I’ve got shit to do.”
My head snaps back, and I lower my voice, “Why the hell would I break up with you?”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m a broke bastard?”
Furious, I ask, “Is that really what you think of me? That I am so fucking shallow I wouldn’t want to be with you anymore because you’re not loaded?”
I take a step back, suddenly needing space to breathe.
To think.
How could he think that his wealth, or lack thereof, would have any bearing on my feelings for him? Heartbreak wars with anger, and my head feels close to exploding.
His voice is still harsh when he replies sarcastically, “Yeah, ’cause this shithole is every woman’s dream.” He throws his arms out to his sides. “Take a look around. Who in their right mind would want to come home to this every day?”
I scoff then shout, “Oh, so, now, I’m crazy?”
His brow wrinkles. “Well, yeah. But that’s not what I said.”
I continue to back up until the backs of my legs bump into the chair I was sitting in earlier. “Oh, great! So I’m shallow and crazy.”
“I never said you were shallow or crazy,” he barks, folding his arms over his chest.
“You said ‘who in their right mind.’” I wave an exaggerated pair of air quotes around. “Meaning only a crazy person would want to come here.”
Even to my own ears, it doesn’t make sense, but I’m so upset that he’s been keeping something like this from me. Couple it with the insinuation that I would leave him over it and I can’t stop myself.
Ryker takes a step toward me, reaching an arm out in my direction.
“Don’t touch me right now!” I bite out.
His face hardens, but he stops.
I lean forward and drop my head in my hands, sucking a breath in through my nose before blowing it audibly out of my mouth. Once I’ve repeated the process twice, I sit back up and look at Ryker.
He’s standing in place, intensely staring at me.
I rub my temples as my head begins to ache. “Stop. Okay? Can we both just take a deep breath and try this again?” I say a silent prayer that he’ll agree.
He sighs but shuffles over to the table and pulls the chair out beside mine. Then he sits down hard in it. “Okay.” He concedes. “Let’s try this again. What are you doing here?”
She hesitates, but while I study her, she regains her composure. “I needed to know what’s going on with you. I was worried,” she whispers.
“You needed to know?” I ask gruffly. “And you couldn’t wait for me to tell you? You had to barge into my house and demand an answer?” Sarcasm oozes out of me, but I’m unable to stop it, afraid that, if I do, the embarrassment I’m feeling will take its place.
“I thought we were going to talk about this calmly,” she says, her voice rising.
I throw my arms out to my sides and laugh. “I am calm!”
I’m about as calm as a kid on a playground, my heart hammering in my throat.
She shakes her head, her lips pressed together so tight that they’re no longer pink, but a sickly shade of white.
“You snapping at me and raising your voice is not calm, Ryker.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t stay calm while you interrogate me. In my house. Uninvited.”
Jesus. I’m a dick.
Her eyes look wounded, and a pang of guilt stabs me in the chest.
Fuck that. She shouldn’t have shown up here unannounced.
Her eyes begin to glisten, and she sniffles. “Okay. Have it your way, then.” She shoves out of the chair, and it clatters to the floor behind her. She glances back at it and scrambles to set it upright.
After pushing past me, she grabs her purse from the end of my piece-of-shit sofa and bustles to the door. She hurries out the door without speaking another word, and I sit here in my chair, counting the ticks of the cheap clock behind me. I’m warring with myself. I know I should go after her, apologize, tell her that I know I’m an asshole. But my pride won’t let me admit any of that. I continue counting the ticks of the clock, and when I get to twenty-six, I bolt out of my chair and scramble out the door after her.
She’s yanking the door to her car open when I catch up with her, and like it’s déjà vu, it reminds me of the last fight we had. A new wave of guilt rolls through me. That one was on me, too. She doesn’t deserve this. Any of it.
She climbs in and tries to shut the door, but I catch the handle, preventing her from pulling it all the way closed.
“Rebecca, wait.”
She doesn’t look at me, instead, staring straight ahead. “Wait for what, Ryker?”
I let the handle go and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Rocking back on my heels, I look up at the sky as a bird flies across it.
Wish I could fly away from this shit.
“Can we try again?” I ask sheepishly.
She snorts. “For the third time?” She shrugs. “Sure, why not? Maybe third time’s the charm.” Her voice is dry and devoid of her usual humor.
That’s your fault, you asshole.
I’ve hurt her, and the knowledge makes me feel like shit.
“You wanna get out of the car?” I ask.
She sighs then finally turns to look at me. “I don’t know. Will you actually talk to me? Or are you just gonna get defensive and make unfair assumptions? ’Cause, if you don’t plan on talking, then no, I don’t want to get out of the car. I just want to go home, put on a Christmas movie, and drown myself in a bottle of wine. So, which is it, Ryker? You gonna try this thing called communication? Or you gonna be responsible for my hangover tomorrow?”
In spite of myself, I chuckle. After reaching into the car, I grab her hand and give it a tug. “Let’s go talk.”
She rolls her eyes but reluctantly gets out.
We trudge back up the rickety stairs to my apartment, and I’m relieved to see that Gram is still shut away in her room. I’m sure she’s heard everything we said; these walls are paper thin. But she has t
he courtesy to let it play out.
Once inside, I gesture to the couch, and she precedes me, sitting on one end. I position myself at the other end and turn to face her.
“Let me start,” I tell her.
She opens her mouth to argue, but I hold a hand up.
“Don’t interrupt. Promise?”
She shoots me a scowl, but eventually, she relents and nods.
Even though my heart is racing, I begin talking. “If it’s not already obvious, I’m broke.”
“Ry––”
Seething, I ask through clenched teeth, “For the love of God, Rebecca, will you please just let me talk?”
She clamps her jaw shut. Then she says, “Fine. But I reserve the right to interject if you start saying something stupid.”
My eyebrows jump in surprise. “Something stupid?”
“Yeah. If you start spewing some bullshit about me not wanting to be with you because you’re broke, I’m not keeping my mouth shut.” She crosses her arms across her chest and levels me with a pointed glare.
“It’s not bullshit, Rebecca. It’s the truth. What woman wants to be with a man who can’t afford to eat most days?”
Her face pales. “Wha-what??”
“Yeah, you heard me. I haven’t eaten more than one meal a day in the last few months.”
She puts her hand to her mouth, her horror apparent. I knew that that would be her reaction, and it feels exactly how I thought it would––like a punch to the gut.
Two years ago, I would have been able to give her everything she wanted and more. Because she deserves nothing less than that. But now? Now, it’s fucking impossible.
I swallow hard. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I get it. I won’t hate you for wanting to get out while you still can.”
Her cheeks redden. She turns away from me, and her shoulders heave as she breathes heavily. Then she turns back to me, her hands fisted at her sides.
Very slowly, she speaks through clenched teeth. “If you say one more Goddamn thing about me leaving, I will kick. Your. Ass.”
Bitterly, I laugh. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re okay with this.” I gesture between us. “It was fun while it lasted. A good time, an incredible fuck. But all good things must come to an end. First, my career. Now, this relationship. If that’s even what this was.”
With a speed that I didn’t know she possessed, she snatches a pillow from the couch and heaves it at my head. Caught off guard, I don’t react quickly enough to catch it and it nails me right in the face.
“You dumbass!” she screeches right before lunging at me.
I jump back and wrap my arms around her, preventing her from grabbing me. “Fuck, Rebecca.” I grunt as she bucks and kicks, trying to free herself from my grasp. “Stop fighting me.”
“A good fuck? Is that all I am to you?” she hisses, still trying to break free of my arms.
“No!” I shout, turning my face to avoid her flailing head from smacking me in the mouth.
“Then why did you say that?”
Why did I say that?
Against my better judgment, I release my hold on her and take a step back. She whirls to face me, her eyes blazing.
Shoving my hands through my hair, I mutter, “I don’t fucking know, Rebecca.”
I shove past her and stalk to the kitchen. I pull the refrigerator door open to get a beer and see that the shelves are bare. My fingers tighten around the handle, and I slam the door shut. After opening it back up, I slam it again.
“Fuck!” I scream, slamming the door one last time. “I can’t do this. Not with you. Jesus fucking Christ. This is not happening.”
She places one hand over mine, stilling it, and commands, “Stop. Just stop.”
I pull my hand free from hers and walk to the sink, where I place both hands on the ledge and lean forward. I don’t know what the hell just happened between us, but I’m terrified I’ve said something I can’t take back.
“Ryker, look at me.”
I can’t look her in the eye and see the hurt there again. Hurt I caused. I shake my head, and she huffs.
“Fine. You don’t have to look at me. But you do have to listen.”
“Just go. I don’t want to fight anymore,” I tell her, defeated.
“Oh? You just want to give up? Are you a quitter, Ryker? We have one little argument and you’re throwing in the towel?” she says, her voice close.
I can feel her body nearly right behind me, and every cell in my body screams to turn around and take her in my arms. Apologize for being a dick.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since you gave up your career so easily. Why would I be any different?”
Her words hit me so hard that it feels like I’ve just gone five rounds in the cage.
“That was a low fucking blow, and you know it,” I growl.
“Then tell me I’m wrong. Be a man, turn around, and face me.”
After a few moments of contemplation, I slowly stand upright and turn my body to face her. She’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, her arms across her chest.
I stick my hands out to my sides. “Happy now?”
“No.” She vigorously shakes her head. “You’re done talking. Now, it’s my turn.”
I laugh humorlessly. “I didn’t get the chance to do much talking.”
“Oh, you said plenty. Plenty of ridiculous bullshit.” Her face is animated, her cheeks red. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were broke?” she asks bluntly.
“I’m a man, Rebecca. Men have egos. I’m a fighter. Fighters have even bigger egos,” I admit. “What man in his right mind would tell a woman he is into that he is poor? No man worth a shit. Maybe if I were a fucking loser with no balls.”
She uncrosses her arms and begins wildly waving them around. “Men and their fucking pride. It’s Goddamn ridiculous.” She takes a step toward me and reaches a hand out to me.
I shake my head at her, not ready for her to touch me yet. “I saw your face when I told you that I can’t afford to eat most days. You were disgusted.”
Her mouth gapes. “Yes. I was disgusted! At myself!”
“What?”
“Jesus, are you dumb? You’ve been taking me to all of these fancy dinners. I yelled at you when you ate pizza that day. I made fun of the fucking flower you left me! I’m horrified at the way I’ve been acting. God, all this time, you’ve been struggling to make ends meet and I’ve been acting like a spoiled brat!” She covers her face with her hands.
“Hey, don’t cry,” I tell her.
“I’m not.” She assures, looking me in the eyes. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, doll. You didn’t know. I should have told you. You deserve to be spoiled. And I like being the one to do it. I just didn’t want you to think less of me. I didn’t want you to judge me based on my current circumstances. I thought that, if you knew the truth, you’d never give me a chance. And then, once we got serious, I couldn’t find the right time to tell you.”
She pushes away from my chest and swipes a hand under her eyes, smearing her makeup. Her nose is red, and her hair’s falling out of the loose ponytail it was in.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. Yeah, it’s nice to be spoiled, but that’s not a requirement to date me. I wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy.”
“I know, but look at this place. Even you can’t deny that this place is a dump.”
Throwing her arms out to her sides, she raises her voice. “I still don’t care about that! Of course, I don’t want you living here. It’s not safe. But I’m not fucking judging you for it.”
“Your dad said that he went broke catering to your wants,” I remind her.
“Yeah, in high school. When I was a spoiled brat!”
“But you––”
She cuts me off, jabbing a finger in my chest. “I love you, Ryker! I. Love. You. Not your money. Not your apartment. Not your car. You!”
She stares at me, and the longer she goes without speaking, the more my stomach wrenches.
Lamely, I attempt a joke, “Well, that’s good, ’cause I don’t have any money.”
She lets out a strangled cry, “Argh! Can’t you shut up for just one second!”
“Hello, pot. Meet kettle.” I smirk.
Her eyes narrow, and I make a show of zipping my lips.
“I love the guy that pursued me, refusing to take no for an answer. I love the guy who gives me just as much shit as I give him. I love the guy who loves my stupid dog. I love the guy who lets the kids pound on him for hours each week without complaining. I love the guy who swallowed his pride and walked into the one gym that he had no business walking into. And, now that I know it, I fucking love the guy who’s been skipping meals and bills to take his girlfriend out. So, fuck all of your reasons why you didn’t tell me. Because they’re invalid. I don’t care about any of that shit. All I care about is you.”
The crappy apartment, the empty bank account, the bare cabinets—all of that served to make me feel like less of a man, like I wasn’t good enough for anyone, especially Rebecca. But her words redeem me. Maybe I so deserve to have found love. Maybe I am worthy of the affections of a woman as incredible as Rebecca Toler.
When she finishes her rant, I grab her by the shoulders and, with my heart hammering, crush my mouth to hers. Using my mouth, I tell her everything I want her to know about how the words she just said affected me. I plunge my tongue into her mouth. I lift one hand to her head and fist her ponytail tightly, anchoring her head in place as I continue to pour all the words I’ve never been able to find into our kiss.
She loops her arms around my neck and pulls her body tight against mine. Rolling her hips, she grinds her core against my cock, causing it to strain against the fly of my jeans.
I begin walking her backward toward my room, bumping into furniture as we go. After letting her waist go with one hand, I turn the knob on my bedroom door, and it swings open.