by J. Saman
“Damn.” He shakes his head as I stand up, adjusting my shirt and running my fingers through my messed up hair. “You are lucky I like you as much as I do. I don’t let just anyone threaten my manhood.”
I wink at him. “Lucky me then.” I reach out for his hand, trying to yank him up which is just impossible but he stands anyway, helping me along. “Let’s go feed me, I’m hungry.”
We walk outside into the Texas sun and head in the direction the concierge told us to go in. A block down, we spot a coffee shop and Ryan points to it, indicating that he wants to run in. The guy is as addicted to coffee as I am to diet coke. It’s sad, really.
I turn toward the street and pull out my phone to check my email when I feel something tug on the bottom of the back of my t-shirt.
“Mommy, Mommy.”
I spin around and my eyes lock in on Maggie.
My beautiful, towheaded angel is staring up at me.
Her hair is longer, almost to mid-back, but still has the spiral curls. Her eyes are the exact same color as Eric’s. She’s older, maybe closer to four.
I can’t move.
I can’t speak.
I’m staring at my little girl. She called me mommy, and I want to grab ahold of her never let go. But the rational part of my brain is cementing me firmly in place, because I know this is not her.
My Maggie is dead. And my whole body aches.
“Olivia,” a woman calls out and the little girl’s head snaps to the right and then she runs off without another word, leaving me standing here without my daughter.
The pain is unreal.
One hand flies up to my pendant—the only piece of her I have left—and my other crosses over my stomach trying to splint myself against the crushing agony that is taking over. I’m shaking, and just as my legs are about to give out on me, a large strong body covers me, holding me up. I grab onto Ryan like my life depends on it and I let out the sob that had been threatening.
He holds me close, my fists clenching the back of his shirt, balling up the material. “She called me mommy,” I cry.
“I heard,” he says softly as his hand gently caresses down my hair over and over again.
“She looked just like her, Ryan. Just. Like. Her.”
“I’m so sorry, Katie.” It’s all he can say, but he continues to hold me in the middle of the street as I lose myself, again.
“Why Maggie? Why Eric, and why my baby?” I pull back to look up at him, his eyes so full of sorrow. “I’m so angry, Ryan. So fucking angry that my baby girl is gone and I don’t know how to get past it. I don’t know how to manage it or move on or even cope with it. Every time I think I can do this,” I wave a hand around in the air. “Think I can start to find a way to live without her, I get sucked back into the vortex.”
His eyes bore into mine and I see the helplessness in them. He wants to fix this, but he can’t. There is no fix. Finally, after a moment, his eyes adjust on something behind me and he grabs my hand and begins to pull.
“Come with me, Katie. I’ve got an idea.”
I have no idea what it is, but right now I’ll try anything that makes this pain go away.
After Eric and Maggie died I didn’t take the easy road. I never drank or took pills, though both were offered to me by friends and doctors. But at this point, if Ryan pulls me into a bar and tries to get me shitfaced, I’ll let him.
He drags me into a store with an obnoxiously loud bell over the door, but the second we step foot inside, I realize it is not a store. I’m immediately assaulted with the smell of sweat, cleaning products and rubber. All around me men and women are hitting and kicking large and small punching bags while grunting and shouting. A few are even sparring in some sort of makeshift ring.
Ryan leaves me standing by the entrance as he walks up to the counter. He begins talking to the very muscular bald guy there. The guy’s eyes flicker over to me, then back to Ryan and before I can make sense of what is happening, Ryan pulls out his wallet and hands him a credit card. They both make their way over toward me because I haven’t moved since Ryan released me.
“Katie, this is Carlos. He’s going to get you set up.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but again, I don’t care so I just nod.
“Follow me, I have gloves for you.”
Ryan takes my hand, clearly sensing that I need the help. Before I know it, my hands are forced into bright pink boxing gloves, and I’m standing in front of a hanging bag that looks huge and heavy.
“Now, would you like me to offer you instruction or do you just want to have at it?”
I look up at Carlos who has very kind brown eyes, and I feel my chin quivering. “I don’t know.” Christ, I’m a hot mess.
His expression softens and he looks over to Ryan like he has all the answers. “Come on, Katie,” Ryan cajoles. “Punch the ever-loving shit out of the bag. Give it all your anger.”
I look at him—really look at him, and I finally understand what he’s trying to do. He’s giving me an outlet. A way to take out all of the burning aggression that is eating a hole through me.
Ryan nods towards the bag. “You’ve got this.”
Carlos moves behind the bag to hold it for me and I take a step forward, rolling my neck and straightening my back. Instead of pushing everything I feel down or away, I allow it to bubble up to the surface and a loud sob escapes my lips.
Normally, I’d be embarrassed for doing the ugly cry in front of this stranger, Ryan, and anyone else who might be watching—but I’m not. I reach back with everything I’ve got and I punch the bag dead center. It barely moves. The thing is just as heavy as I thought it was.
But that one punch felt so fucking good.
I go at it again and again, switching my fists. It’s uncoordinated and sloppy. I’m yelling and grunting and crying my eyes out.
But I’m doing it.
I’m pushing all the overwhelming anger and heartbreak out of me and into this bag, over and over again. I even try a couple of kicks, but those don’t seem to make me feel as good as punching does.
I have no idea how long I go, but eventually I collapse to the mat in an exhausted, sweaty heap. Ryan sits down next to me, his legs bent and his forearms resting on his knees as he waits me out. I’m breathing hard and heavy, but I feel lighter. Freer. My anger is nowhere to be found. I’m sure it will come back, I don’t for a second think that this was the cure, but it helped.
It helped, and I think I need Ryan.
He just saved me.
I throw my arms around his neck, practically tackling him back down to the rubber mat. “Thank you,” I breathe into him. “Oh my god, thank you so much.”
He holds me—sweaty, smelly, disgusting mess and all.
“If you ever want to train, let me know,” Carlos says from above us.
“Thank you, Carlos. That was fantastic.”
He smiles warmly down at me and then walks off.
“Come on, Katie. Let’s go get you cleaned up and fed.”
I pull back and kiss his cheek before prying myself off the floor.
“You’re brilliant, Ryan,” I beam at him. “That was exactly what I needed. How will I ever get by without you?”
He doesn’t say anything back—it was rhetorical after all, well for the most part— he just helps me remove my gloves. Ryan may think my words were said in an off-the-cuff way, but they weren’t.
I meant them wholeheartedly.
Chapter 12
Kate
Amarillo and Albuquerque end up being uneventful. They’re a series of standard hotels and amazing Tex-Mex food and pools. No complaints, but the part of the trip that I’m really getting excited about is ahead.
The drive through Arizona is freaking hot, since most of it is desert. Nothing but flat dry earth and endless blue sky as far as the eye can see. I make us stop along the way and take a million pictures with my phone.
I’m sure R
yan thinks I’m nuts, but I don’t care.
I’ve noticed he takes plenty of pictures himself.
Ever since my punching match with the bag in Dallas, Ryan has been…a little distant. I wouldn’t say he thinks less of me or anything, but he has definitely changed and I don’t know why. I try to talk to him, ask him questions and behave like I always have, but his answers are short and direct and he doesn’t tease me or touch me the way I have grown accustomed to.
He barely even looks at me.
After the longest drive ever, through construction and traffic and desert, we pull into the hotel late at night. We’re both exhausted and somehow dirty, and Ryan seems to be in a mood, so I offer to go and check us in.
“Good evening and welcome,” a short man with black hair and dark skin says with a thick Spanish accent. “Do you have a reservation?”
“No, we were hoping you have two rooms available.”
He looks at me like I’m insane. “I’m sorry, we only have one room left and it is a king room.”
Crap. Ryan will not like that. In truth, I don’t know how I feel about it either.
“Okay, give me a sec,” I start to walk away and then pause. “Can you please hold the room for a minute while I talk to my friend?”
“Sure.”
I doubt anyone is going to claim it since it is so late, but still.
“Hey, Ryan?” I call out and then find him pacing, staring at his phone. He looks up and does not look pleased to see me. “Sorry, to interrupt,” I nod towards his phone. No response so I continue. “Um. They only have one room left and it’s a king room.”
He glares at me like it is my fault that we are in a pattern of not making reservations ahead of time. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Okay, this is not the reaction I was hoping for. I shake my head. “No. Sorry.” I bite my lip suddenly feeling like shit, because I’m the one who really wanted to come to the Grand Canyon. “Do you want to drive around and look for another place?”
“No,” he snaps, running a frustrated hand through his wild hair. “I’m fucking tired and sick of driving.”
“So I’ll just tell the guy we’ll take it?” I hedge, shifting my weight.
“Whatever, Katie.”
I guess I’ll take that as a yes. Making my way back up to the counter, I give the guy my credit card and he gives me two room keys.
“Ryan?” Damn, why do I suddenly feel so nervous to talk to him? I hate this feeling. “I have our room.” My voice is meek.
“Great. Looking forward to it.”
We get up to the room, which is actually pretty nice, and he slams his suitcase down. We have clean clothes; we did our laundry in a Laundromat at our last stop.
“Why don’t you go shower first, princess, and I’ll just make up my pallet on the floor.” His sarcasm and disdain are killing me. I’ve officially had enough.
I slash my arm through the air in front of us. “What the hell is your problem?” I yell, and he looks stunned for a flash before his eyes narrow in anger. Well, fuck that. “I get it. You’re tired. I’m tired. We’ve been on the road for two weeks together, and you’re sick of me, but ease the fuck up.”
“Ease the fuck up?” he yells back. “Katie, this is bullshit.”
“What’s bullshit?” We’re both working up a good head of steam here. He paces around a small circle in front of me.
“I’ve been stuck in a tiny ass car with you all day and now I have to sleep on the goddamn floor.” He points down at the carpet next to the bed.
“I never said you have to sleep on the floor.” I point at him. “You did. It’s a king bed, Ryan, I’m sure we can both fit.”
“Oh,” he throws his hands up. “So now it’s okay for me to sleep next to you?”
He’s not even making sense. “What the hell?” I yell and push his chest with my palms. “Why have you been so cold to me since Dallas? Was it because I had my freak-out? You’re the one who brought me to the boxing place.”
He stops pacing instantly and looks at me. “No. It’s not about that.” He’s serious and I’m glad, because the thought of him becoming distant over that stung.
“Then what is it? We were having such a good time together.” All of the fight is out of me and now I just feel small. “What did I do? You’ve been like a different person towards me.”
He takes a harsh step forward, cutting our distance by half. “What do you think this is between us?” His tone is clipped, strident. His finger is flying back and forth, gesturing between us.
I’m stunned. And hurt. And I don’t know what, but it’s not good.
“I thought you were my friend,” I say in a weak voice, wishing I had it in me to be stronger.
“That’s what you think this is? Friendship?” Why does he sound so incredulous? What the hell else would it be?
I have no idea what’s going on right now.
I’m totally at a loss so I just stare up at him blinking.
When I don’t respond, he runs his hand through his hair, mutters something under his breath that I cannot make out and then walks past me.
“I’m going to shower first.” The door to the bathroom slams behind him, startling me. Maybe I’ve pushed him too far on this trip and he is finally getting sick of being stuck with me. He probably just thinks of me as some bat-shit crazy charity case that he has to deal with.
I walk over to the bathroom and once I hear the sound of the shower curtain opening and closing, I knock softly on the door.
“Ryan?” I call out, but my voice is soft and I doubt he can hear me over the water of the shower so I open the door and try again. “Ryan?”
He lets out a harsh breath. “What, Katie? I’m in the shower.”
“I know and I’m not going to look, but I want to ask you something.” I close the lid of the toilet seat and sit down.
“And it couldn’t wait until I was done?”
God, there is just no give with him tonight. As much as I don’t want to ask this next question, I have to. And no, I couldn’t wait.
“Ryan? Do you want to forget the rest of the trip and have me take you directly up to Seattle? Or if you’d rather I not come along, you can always rent a car and go yourself.” I’m trying to keep my voice even, desperate to hide the ache that these words cause inside of me. “I’ll understand either way. I realize it has been a long time on the road with me and that I can be a lot. Whatever you want to do, I’m okay with.”
I’m not, but I have to give him the out just the same.
He’s silent, the only sound in the small steamy space is the shower running. Suddenly I hear what sounds like his fist smacking against the wet tile wall and he curses under his breath.
“I’ll uh… I’ll let you finish your shower.” I stand up and walk towards the bathroom door. “Just think about what I said and let me know what you decide you’d like to do.”
I leave him in there to finish and go directly towards my suitcase. Busy. I need to keep busy or I’ll cry, and I’m so sick of crying.
I dig through my nice clean clothes and find a tank top, boy shorts, panties and my toiletry bag. The shower shuts off and a minute later Ryan walks out with a towel wrapped around his waist.
I’ve seen Ryan without a shirt on several occasions. At the beach and the pool, but I never really allowed myself look too closely. But as he stalks toward his suitcase, I take in every muscle and the way they stretch and pull with his movements.
He is unbelievable looking. So strong and sculpted.
Yet Ryan is so unassuming with the beard and glasses.
I sort of like that about him.
Averting my eyes, because what I’m doing just feels wrong, I grab my stuff and walk past him into the bathroom.
He lets me. Doesn’t even try to stop me.
I hate that I feel like I lost the only real friend in my life right now. Turning on the shower, I strip down and step in, letting the
warm water cascade over me.
I’m getting this feeling again. It is similar to the one I had after Maggie and Eric died. Emptiness. A feeling of void. Like I have no purpose or home. Like I’m lost.
And right now, that is exactly how I feel.
Lost.
I have no home. No job. No real friends.
“How did I get here?” I whisper aloud.
I really don’t know. Leaving Boston seemed like the only solution to an unsolvable problem. Before, Eric and Maggie grounded me. Completed me and gave me a sense of home. When they died, that feeling died with them, and that emptiness only grew and grew until I had a great big chasm inside of me. So I foolishly thought that if I left, that feeling wouldn’t follow me. That I’d be able to find something real to hold onto.
And maybe that is what I have done to Ryan.
Maybe I latched on to him, and everything I thought was mutual, was really just one-sided. How totally and completely unfair of me. He’s just trying to get across the country because he doesn’t fly, and has been indulging my whims because he doesn’t want to be rude to the sad, lonely girl.
No wonder he’s snapping at me.
The poor guy has finally reached his limit, and I’m selfishly making it all about me and my pathetic attempt at finding a life again.
I finish washing up, turn off the shower and dry off. Changing into my clothes, I brush my teeth and hair before braiding it. I usually don’t shower at night because I hate sleeping with wet hair, but I don’t have the energy to dry it, so a braid will have to suffice.
I walk out of the bathroom and the room is bathed in darkness. It takes me a minute or two for my eyes to adjust, but once they do I see Ryan lying on his side facing the window pressed all the way to the edge of the large bed.
Christ, the guy can hardly stand the idea of sleeping in the same bed as me.
I get in on the other side and quietly try to adjust my position without disturbing him.
“Katie?” he asks softly.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for being so distant the last few days. It is nothing you’ve done and I apologize if I have made you feel otherwise.” He doesn’t move to look at me. Just talks to me with his back facing me.