Only Love

by Melanie Harlow

  “You’re goddamn right I’m not. Because I know better.”

  “And you’re not responsible for his death. He put a bullet in his own head. It was his choice.”

  “He never would have chosen it if Kopecki hadn’t died.”

  “You don’t know that. Look, I’m not saying that Bones was okay. He wasn’t. And he knew it—his mom told me this afternoon that he’d contacted the VA about needing help.”

  I finally looked at Mack. “What happened?”

  “They sent him a letter telling him he’d hear back in eight to ten weeks.”

  Glaring straight ahead again, I finished off my beer and ordered another.

  “You know what Stella said the other night?” I heard myself asking.

  “What?”

  “She said that we were trained to be killing machines, but never taught how to be human again.”

  He nodded slowly. “There’s definitely truth to that.”

  “She gets me, Mack. I don’t know how or why, but she does. I told her things that I’ve never told anybody. She listened without judgment. And it fucked me up. I don’t want to feel this way.”

  “I’m not sure you have a choice, Woods.”

  “There’s always a choice. I can’t see her again.”

  “Ryan?”

  I turned around, and there she was.

  My heart plummeted to my heels.

  Twenty-Nine

  Stella

  After Ryan left me by the driveway, I stood there for a few minutes in the drizzle, kind of hoping I’d wake up to find this scene had been a bad dream.

  But as the raindrops fell harder and the air cooled, I shivered, knowing I was awake. And alone.

  There had been no mistaking Ryan’s brush off. It had been one hundred percent clear to me. Very little eye contact, short responses, practically shoving me aside to get back into his truck … what the hell? What had I done?

  Folding my arms over my chest, I hurried back to Grams’s house and up the porch steps. Even though I was chilled and damp, I didn’t feel like going in yet, so I sat on the swing at the far end, listening to the rain drum on the porch roof.

  I remembered sitting there with Ryan just two days earlier, how earnest he’d seemed in apologizing for his abrupt mood shift the night before.

  I sort of … turn everything off. Shut down.

  Is it easy for you?

  Yeah. It is.

  Is that what he was doing now? Shutting down after opening up so completely last night? After he’d promised me he wouldn’t?

  The front door opened, and Emme came out onto the porch, wrapping a sweater tighter around her. “Hey. How was your run?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “What’s wrong?” She came and sat next to me, setting the swing in motion.

  “Ryan’s acting weird.”

  “Some people can’t talk while they run, Stella.”

  “He didn’t run with me. He had some kind of emergency and took off in his truck. I ran alone, and just as I was getting back, I saw the truck pull into the driveway. He bolted into the house and came out a few minutes later in work clothes. Said he had to go to the inn.”

  “You think he was lying?”

  “It’s not that.” I shook my head. “It was how he treated me. It was like I was invisible. Or worse, like he wished I was invisible. He did not want to see me or talk to me.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t imagining it?”

  I sighed. “I guess not. I mean, he can be hard to read sometimes. And he did tell me flat out that he’s not good at conversation.”

  “There you go. Maybe he’s just having a bad day and doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t take it to heart.” She patted my leg. “Tell you what. Grams is in there moaning about how I don’t know how to bake homemade pies and I’m going to need them to save my marriage. What do you say we spend our last day here making her happy and baking pies? You can take one over to Ryan later, and I’ll have one to bring home to Nate tomorrow.”

  “Okay. While they’re in the oven, maybe we can get the rest of those pictures organized and put into albums for her too.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We rose to our feet and headed in. “So what kind of pie does Grams want to make?” I asked, holding the door open for my sister.

  “Bourbon pecan,” she answered.

  “Good grief, does the woman make anything without booze in it?”

  Emme laughed. “I don’t think so. Maybe that’s the secret to a long life.”

  Pulling the door shut behind me, I laughed too. I felt a little better. “I bet you’re right.”

  In the end, I was glad to have a day to spend with my sister and grandmother in the kitchen. I knew I’d remember it forever. We felt guilty that Maren was so far away, so we Skyped with her as we rolled out the crust and put together the filling. She asked how things were going for me, and I told her they were going great. I wasn’t going to give in to pessimism yet—and I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who needed constant reassurance that things were fine.

  While the pies were in the oven, the three of us sat down and finished putting Grams’s old photos in albums. We marveled at the old black and whites of relatives long gone, we sighed at photos of Grams and Gramps’s wedding, and we giggled at pictures of our mom and her siblings as kids, and then of us—opening Christmas gifts, sitting on the swing out back, grinning toothless smiles at the dining table.

  “Grams, your veil was so beautiful,” Emme said, studying a bridal portrait. “I love the length. And the lace.”

  “Thank you, dear. Believe it or not, that veil was made with lace from my First Holy Communion dress. We got married so quickly, there wasn’t a lot of time to plan, let alone much money.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “Of course I do. It’s in a trunk in the attic, I believe. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes!” Emme exclaimed.

  “And if you like it and the condition isn’t terrible, you’re welcome to wear it,” Grams offered.

  Emme gasped. “Really?”

  “Sure. It’s not doing anyone any good up there. And it will bring you good luck.”

  My sister squealed and clapped her hands. “This is amazing! I have a veil for the ceremony, but it’s really long. I was going to just take it off for the reception, but I love the idea of switching to a short veil like yours. Stella, will you come up to the attic with me and look for it?”

  “Of course.”

  Temporarily abandoning the photos, we went up to the second floor and pulled down the ladder to the attic. Grams stood at the base of it and directed us to the corner where she thought it might be.

  We coughed at the dust, and nearly tripped over all the junk up there, but we managed to find the trunk and open it up. “Oooooh,” Emme said, lifting it from a tissue-paper-lined box. “What do you think?”

  I watched as she placed it on her head and looked at me expectantly. “Gorgeous,” I told her.

  She beamed, her face lighting up the shadows. “I’m so happy!”

  “I can see that. I’m happy for you.”

  “Maren could wear it too. And when you get married, you can wear it,” she said excitedly.

  I smiled back, but it was hard not to wonder if I’d ever be the one trying on Grams’s veil. My luck in love wasn’t as good as theirs.

  A couple hours ago, I’d gotten Ryan’s cell number from Grams and sent him a quick note. Hi, it’s Stella. Hope all is well. Baking with Emme and Grams today, so I will have a surprise for you when you get home. Can’t wait to see you.

  He hadn’t replied.

  The pies came out of the oven just before five o’clocktails, and I joined Grams in the living room with a martini while Emme sipped on some ginger ale. Neither of them brought up Ryan, and I wondered if Emme had told Grams not to mention him.

  Still no reply.

  We ate dinner—l
eftovers from last night—sitting at the dining room table, and I could tell I wasn’t the only one who kept glancing at the empty chair where he’d sat. Finally, Grams couldn’t help herself.

  “Stella, will you see Mr. Woods tonight?”

  “I hope so.”

  “You should have invited him for dinner again.”

  “I told you, Grams. He was busy today.”

  “At the inn?”

  “I guess so.”

  Still no reply.

  We cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher, and Grams asked us if we’d like dessert.

  What I really wanted was to get out of the house.

  “Actually, Grams, I think I might like to go out for a drink,” I said. “Emme, do you want to join me?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Sure. Let me just use the bathroom and grab my purse.”

  Ten minutes later we were in her car heading for town.

  “Sorry to drag you out. You’re probably tired,” I said.

  “I’m fine.” She glanced at me. “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. No.”

  “It’s really shitty that he didn’t even call you today.”

  “Yeah.” I stared out the window and tried not to cry. Would I leave tomorrow without ever hearing from him? Had everything he said last night been bullshit?

  “Maybe he was really super busy at work,” Emme suggested. “Or his phone could have died. Or … or something.”

  “Right.” I knew she was only trying to make me feel better, but at this point, I wasn’t sure that was possible. “Look, let’s not talk about Ryan. Let’s talk about you. About wedding plans.”

  “Okay,” Emme said brightly. “I can’t believe there’s only three weeks to go!”

  We ended up at a place called Bayside Grill, and Emme was still talking as we rushed in from the rain. “I don’t want a lot of downtime between the ceremony and reception,” she was saying. “That’s the worst. So we’re going to try to get as many photos done before the ceremony as possible. That’s why—what is it?”

  I’d stopped walking the moment we entered the bar area. Blinked a few times. Let my eyes adjust to the dim light.

  But I could’ve sworn I saw Ryan at the bar. Something came over me, and I marched right toward him. “Ryan?”

  He turned and looked at me. Said nothing.

  “This is a surprise,” I said, crossing my arms. “I thought you had to work.”

  “I did.”

  I looked over his shoulder at their beers. “Really?”

  “This is Mack. We work together at Cloverleigh.”

  Mack nodded, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Uh. Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said stiffly before looking at Ryan again. “You didn’t get my text?”

  “I got it.”

  “But you chose to ignore it?”

  He rose reluctantly to his feet. “Stella, we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  He didn’t answer, the coward. But he didn’t have to. I knew what this was. I was being dumped—again.

  “Maybe I should take off,” Mack said uneasily.

  “No, don’t bother.” I held up one hand. “It’s me that should leave. In fact, I should have left yesterday like I was supposed to. This was all a huge mistake.”

  I turned around and bolted for the door, throwing it open and running out into the rain.

  “Stella, wait!” Ryan was at my side in a heartbeat, grabbing onto my arm.

  “Let go of me, Ryan.” I shook him off.

  “Come back inside. You’re getting wet.”

  “What do you care?”

  “Stella, come on.” Rain soaked us both, running down our faces, dripping from our hair.

  “Why should I go in there with you? All you do is lie to me.”

  “I never lied to you!” he yelled with more force than I’d anticipated.

  “Yes, you did!” I yelled back. “If you’d meant what you said last night, you wouldn’t be blowing me off today.”

  He struggled to come up with a reply. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  I laughed harshly, although tears were mingling with the rain on my cheeks. “No, actually. It isn’t. You’re either in love with me or you’re not. Which is it?”

  His hands clenched into fists. His face was etched with pain, his eyes full of sorrow. His chest rose and fell with quick, heavy breaths that matched my own. He opened his mouth to speak.

  Then he closed it and looked away.

  He does care, I told myself. This wouldn’t be such torture for him if he didn’t.

  “Look at me, Ryan.” I softened my voice. “Please.”

  His eyes met mine once more, but this time, I saw nothing in them. No pain, no love, no human emotion whatsoever. It was almost frightening.

  “I know this is hard for you,” I told him. “I know it’s sudden, and I know that it’s nothing either one of us planned on. But I’m in love with you, and I want to give this a chance. Don’t you?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Damn you!” I said, losing my composure and beating on his chest. “I trusted you. I told you I was scared, and you let me believe I was safe. You promised me you would try!”

  “I never promised anything, Stella!” But he made no effort to stop me from hitting him.

  “Ryan, please.” I stopped the pounding, and placed my palms on his chest. “Can you honestly say that you don’t feel something for me?”

  He grabbed me hard by the wrists.

  “I don’t feel anything anymore,” he said coldly. “I told you that from the start.”

  He let me go, and took off into the restaurant again. I stood there sobbing into my hands for a moment, and then I heard Emme’s voice.

  “Stella!” She rushed over to me and put an arm over my shoulders, steering me toward the car. “Come on, honey, let’s go home.”

  I let her lead me to the car, open the door, and gently nudge me in. I didn’t feel the rain, or the motion of the car, or even Emme’s hand clasping mine.

  All I felt was my newly whole heart being torn into pieces.

  How could this have happened?

  “What did he say?” Emme asked.

  “He said he doesn’t feel anything for me,” I wept.

  “I don’t get it.” Emme pounded the steering wheel. “He does feel something. I can see it. Even his friend Mack sees it.”

  “What?”

  “While you guys were outside, I introduced myself to Mack and we talked for a couple minutes. I asked him point blank if Ryan was a dickhead, and he said no, but—”

  “Jesus, Emme.”

  “Let me finish! He said no, but that he was having a really bad day because one of the guys from their squad committed suicide Wednesday night.”

  I gasped. “Oh, no.”

  “Yeah.”

  “God, I wish he’d have said something. Now I’m the dickhead.” I wiped my nose on the back of my hand.

  “You’re not, Stella. He also said that, in his opinion, Ryan does have feelings for you. He said he’d never seen him act this way over a woman before.”

  “He volunteered that information?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Um, I may have asked him some very specific questions.”

  “Oh, God.” I tipped my head against the passenger window. “I just want to go home and forget this ever happened.”

  “But what if—”

  I picked up my head. “No! No what ifs! I’ll go crazy, Emme. I asked him right to his face if he felt anything and he said no.”

  “But what if he only said that because he’s just too jacked up with emotions right now?” Emme pressed. “What if he’s just scared?”

  “He’s not scared of anything,” I said. “And it doesn’t matter what he really feels. He walked away. I have to let him go.”

  I went right upstairs when we got home, leaving Emme to explain to Grams that I wasn’t
feeling well and didn’t want to be disturbed. Grams wasn’t an idiot and would probably guess what was going on, but I couldn’t worry about that. And maybe she’d be asleep anyway. It was almost ten o’clock.

  Inside my bedroom, I threw myself facedown on the bed and sobbed into my pillow. I felt sad and stupid and sorry and hurt and confused. I wanted to know why he’d led me on like that—if he just wanted the sex, he could have said so.

  And despite what I’d said to Emme, it did matter to me what his real feelings were. I wanted to know if he’d been lying to me last night, or lying to me tonight. I knew how easily he could switch his feelings on and off—I’d seen it with my own eyes—but what was really in his heart?

  I curled into a ball, hugging my stomach as I cried.

  Emme came in a little later, quietly shutting the door behind her. By that point, I was pretty much cried out.

  “Can you hand me a tissue?” I asked.

  “Of course, dear.”

  I sat up to see Grams, not my sister, reach over to the tissue box on the nightstand and pluck one out for me. “Oh! I thought you were Emme.”

  “I asked Emme if I might come up and chat with you a bit.” Grams handed me the tissue. “She went to bed.”

  “Thanks.” I blew my nose and reached for another tissue. Grams stood patiently at the side of the bed, dressed in her nightgown and robe. Her slippers peeked out from beneath the hem, and she had her hair in pin curls, wrapped in a giant hairnet. My sisters and I had always laughed at Grams in her nightclothes and hairnet. Even now, I couldn’t help smiling a little.

  “I know you’re laughing at me,” Grams said with her nose in the air, “but I don’t mind, as long as it puts a smile on your face.”

  “Want to sit down?”

  “Thank you, dear.” She lowered herself to the edge of the bed. “I hope you don’t mind, but Emme filled me in a little.”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to—I mean, the way you wanted them to.”

  “Me too.”

  “Can’t say we didn’t try, right?”

  “Right.”

  She moved closer and put her arm around me. She smelled like she always did—like gardenias. “You know, Gramps was a lot like Mr. Woods.”