The Light Between Us

by Poppy Parkes

  “He hasn't slept with me,” said Padme. “Or Cecelia or Maddie.”

  “Not yet.”

  “And anyway, you said that he said –”

  “Yeah, sure, he said he wanted something different.” Ruth rolled her eyes. “But I can't help but wonder how many other women he's used that line on.”

  “You should have asked the waitress,” Padme snorted.

  “Nice, really nice,” said Ruth as their elliptical machines beeped nearly in unison, signaling the end of their workouts.

  “Look,” Padme said as they grabbed their towels and water bottles and headed toward the stretching area, “what's the harm in giving him another chance? You know about his seedy past, at least. He's not hiding it from you.”

  “Maybe he's hiding something else. Something worse.” Ruth passed her friend a yoga mat and then unrolled one for herself, sinking down onto it.

  “Or maybe he's not. Maybe he is totally serious about looking for something different. Something that he wants to explore with you.”

  Ruth fixed her friend with a steely look. “Why are you pushing this?”

  “Are you serious?” Padme gaped. “You're the one always talking about how there are no good guys out there, how you just need that one right guy. And here's this smoking hot man who is not only throwing himself at you but also willing to change his philandering ways so he can be with you . . . and you're too scared to let him in.”

  “I am not scared,” Ruth muttered, scowling.

  Padme took a swig of her water. “Well,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “I think you are. And I also think you should give him another chance. It's just one more shot, like you said.”

  Ruth shook her head. “I just – okay, yes, he is totally gorgeous, and he seems to be fairly genuine, as far as I can tell. But why would someone like him be interested in someone like me?”

  “You mean a beautiful, intelligent, creative, talented, and strong person like you?” Ruth scrunched her nose up, but Padme shoved her shoulder gently. “Do not make that face, Ruth. You are every one of those things and more. It's about time you started believing it. That's what Derek sees. You are a hell of a woman, and he'd be damn lucky to have you, and he knows it.”

  “Okay.”

  “No, not just okay. Repeat after me – 'I am a hell of a woman.'”

  Ruth looked around at the other gym-goers stretching around them. “Come on,” she protested. “Here?”

  “Damn straight. Say it, lady.”

  “Don't be ridiculous.”

  “I'm waiting.”

  “Fine. I am a hell of a woman,” Ruth said, rolling her eyes. “Happy?”

  Padme grinned. “Yep. And you keep telling yourself that. Because it's true, and it's important that you believe it. And you tell Derek, too, okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” grumbled Ruth.

  “Good. Now, when are you going to see him again?”

  Ruth shrugged. “I'm not sure. We didn't set anything up. And I kind of want to let him squirm a bit.”

  “He definitely deserves a bit of squirming,” Padme nodded. “But it sounds like there's a 'but' coming.”

  Ruth couldn't help a lopsided smile from spreading across her face. “Well . . . I also kind of totally really want to see him again. Like, really soon.”

  “You mean, tonight?”

  Ruth nodded and Padme squealed a little, drumming the yoga mat with her hands in excitement.

  “Stop it,” Ruth said, wrinkling her nose. “Doesn't that feel kind of desperate to you? I don't want to come off as desperate.”

  “I don't think you're desperate,” Padme pointed out. “More like you are craving a little action, if you know what I mean.”

  “But it's not even that I want to hop into bed with Derek,” Ruth said, cheeks reddening a little. “I mean, I do, eventually, because – well, you said it, he really is super hot. Mostly, though, I just want to hang out with him. For all that he's apparently a massive womanizer . . . there's just something about him.”

  “You like him!” Padme squealed again, louder.

  “Yeah,” Ruth said, waves of hot and cold running over the sweaty expanse of her skin at the realization. “I guess . . . I guess I do.” She swallowed, hard, still smiling, knowing she probably looked goofy and not really caring.

  Padme gazed at Ruth for a long moment. “Look, I'm all for teaching him a lesson. But . . . I think you should call him. Tonight. Ask him out.”

  Ruth's stomach clenched in anxiety and excitement. “You don't think he'd see that as weird?”

  “I think he'd see it as relief. And it's not everyday you meet an insanely beautiful guy that you're actually really into. Especially that you are really into. I say go for it.”

  “Okay.” Ruth grinned, then bit her lip. “Okay. You're right. I'll go for it. But,” she pointed a finger at her friend, who was grinning back, “if this tanks, it's on you.”

  “I am totally good with that.”

  Chapter 4

  That evening, Ruth sat on her bed, staring at her phone. She'd brought up Derek's number – she glanced at the clock – damn, ten minutes ago now, but couldn't bring herself to press “send.” Every time she moved to do so, her throat seized up.

  “This is ridiculous,” she informed her phone. Ruth had showered and gotten dressed up to go out with Derek, all without having made any actual plans with him.

  I should just go out and write, she thought, looking at the clock again. It was only seven thirty. Plenty of coffee shops were open for several more hours. She could hole up in one of her favorite nooks with her beloved characters, writing them deeper into life. That was her definition of the the perfect night out.

  Or it used to be. Until Derek.

  She couldn't believe that it was only last night that she'd locked eyes with him for the first time. It felt like so much time had passed, that so much had happened.

  And really, she supposed that quite a bit had happened. In the space of twenty-four hours, she'd gone from writing romance novels to living one. Ruth wondered if she and Derek would make a very good story. It certainly wasn't feeling so great at this point.

  In fact, it felt like torture, sitting here, alone, with the silent phone, agonizing over do-or-don't.

  “Just do it,” she told herself, the words sounding awkward in the quiet of her bedroom. What's the worst that could happen?

  Drawing in a deep breath, she hit “send,” wincing as she pressed the phone to her ear and heard its ringing.

  There was a click on the other end and then loud background noise. “Hello?” a woman's voice said. A sudden cold swept over Ruth.

  “Um,” she said, tongue feeling thick, “sorry, I'm looking for Derek. Wrong number, I guess.”

  “No, he's here,” said the woman. “Hang on, I'll get him.”

  Quickly Ruth shoved her thumb against the “end” button, her breath coming fast and shallow as she stared at the phone. She clenched her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry, not to feel the hurt throbbing hot through her veins.

  A woman had answered Derek's phone. A woman. Another one. The reality of this felt like a knife sliding into her, slow and inexorable and excruciating.

  Ruth slammed the phone onto her nightstand, rolling over onto her back, limbs flung out across the bed, limp. She'd wanted him, wanted this thing with Derek to be an actual thing. A relationship.

  You like him! Padme's gleeful words from earlier played through her mind. Her head ached.

  She'd liked him. In spite of all her misgivings and the obvious issue, she'd liked him. She'd wanted him, wanted to be his, to have him fold her into his chest with those beautiful arms, to hear his heart beating close, to feel his lips on hers, on her neck, on her everything.

  Hope. That was it. She had let herself hope, for the first time in maybe ever. She'd hoped for something with him, and now here she was feeling her hope shatter into a thousand, thousand shards while he was out playing with some other woman, jus
t like he'd apparently always done.

  She should have known. She had known. She should have known better.

  A pair of tears squeezed out from beneath her still closed eyelids. Ruth sat up and wiped them away, hard.

  There was no way she was going to sit here and feel sorry for herself. Derek was an asshole. A womanizing asshole. She should never have believed he would or could change, especially change for her. This was her fault, really, for indulging in fantasy. That sort of thing was best kept for her novel.

  And she had work to do. Ruth launched herself from the bed, leaving the covers rumpled, Rufus eying her with one of his yellow eyes from his perch on her dresser. She grabbed her bag, stuffing her notebook and pens and laptop inside, along with a book of angsty love poetry to read if she got bored – appropriate, she thought, for a romance writer who was far smarter than she'd acted in the past twenty-four hours.

  Ruth paused just as she was about to slip her phone into the bag, too. Her hand hovered over the phone on the nightstand for a moment, then with a small shake of the head she decided to leave it. There was no one in the world that she wanted to talk to at the moment, only her novel characters. They never did her wrong.

  Stalking from the bedroom, she slung a coat around her and snatched her keys from the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. Then, at the last minute, she dashed back into the bedroom to tuck the phone into her coat pocket before heading out, somehow soothed by its weight there. Checking to make sure it would lock behind her, she slammed the front door, finding the impact satisfying, the apartment reverberating into silence in her wake.

  * * *

  “Hey,” Derek said, practically shouting through the din of the bar's opening band as he returned to the table he was sharing with his friends, toting a round of drinks. He saw Sandra, Ridger's girlfriend hanging up Derek's cell phone. “Who was that?”

  She shrugged, shoulders brushing her purple A-line fringe, the angular style complementing her short, lusciously plus-sized stature. “Don't know. Some chick, I think. She hung up.”

  Derek groaned, practically throwing the drinks on the table and snatching his phone, praying it hadn't been Ruth. The phone's screen blinked to life – shit. Shit. It had been her. The one person in all the world who needed not to hear a woman's voice answer his phone.

  He slammed his hand onto the table in frustration, making Sandra scowl and Ridger jump. “Why the hell did you answer my phone?”

  She pursed her magenta-painted lips. “I was bored. This band is playing way long. It's got to be our turn by now.”

  “Damn it, Sandra. That was a really fucked up thing to do.”

  “Sorry,” she said, voice flat and insincere, her eyes burning into the opening band's lead singer.

  “What's up, man?” asked Ridger, leaning forward to slide one of the beers towards him, leaving a trail of condensation across the table. “It's just a chick. What's the big deal?”

  Derek felt his neck redden in – what? Embarrassment? He didn't know what name to put on the unfamiliar feeling.

  Ridger squinted at Derek's hesitation. “Dude. Dude. Don't tell me that there's a girl out there that you actually like. I mean, that you like for more than one night at a time.”

  Derek's mouth flapping wordlessly for a moment. “Well –”

  Ridger threw his hands in the hair as if in victory, sloshing beer onto the table and over Sandra, who was still staring bullets into the lead singer and didn't seem to notice or care. “That is amazing, man!”

  “Well, it's less amazing when this girl gave me exactly one chance to prove that I'm not a womanizing hoe bag, and your girlfriend probably just screwed me out of that chance.”

  “Don't be so uptight.” Sandra threw the words over her shoulder.

  “Don't be such a bitch,” Derek threw back, making her laugh, a short, mirthless sound.

  “She really can be a bitch,” admitted Ridger, leaning close to Derek so she wouldn't hear. “But I'm so whipped, it just makes me love her more. Don't tell her, though.”

  “Yeah,” Derek said, staring down at the phone's black face.

  “So, this chick – what's her name? Is she hot?”

  “Her name is Ruth. And yes, she is beautiful. And – I don't even know what it is, but there's just something about her. Something . . . real? I don't know. She's just different. Good different.”

  “Man, I have been waiting for this day. I'm really happy for you.” Ridger nudged him. “So, what are you going to do, bro? You going to call her?”

  He shook his head, clenching his hands into fists, imagining himself taking the bottles and glasses adorning the table and shattering them against the wall, the floor, anything and everything. “Is there any point? She found out that I slept with someone else last night, after we met, and I don't know if she could forgive two major slights in one day. Even if one of them was just a misunderstanding. A totally messed up one, Sandra.” He just about yelled the last words her way.

  She spun to face him. “Look, I really am sorry,” she said, and somehow the ferocious apology she hurled felt sincere this time. “I messed up, I get it. Now what are you going to do about it? And,” her lips curled into a feline smile, “just so you know, the right answer is that you go after her. Got it?”

  “Go after her?” Derek repeated slowly. “Are you sure? I mean, she's got to be so hurt and –”

  “I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure. She's a woman, and as a fellow woman, it is my belief that the majority of us want to be pursued, even when we're all empowered and free and shit. As long as the guy isn't a total douche. Which I don't think you are – yet.” Her eyes glinted with fierce humor.

  “Do it, man,” Ridger nodded. “This is the first woman in, like, ever that you've wanted for more than sex. That's legit. That's worth some groveling.”

  “And flowers,” added Sandra, stabbing a purple nail-polished finger into Derek's shoulder. “And a whole lot of good behavior.”

  Derek drew a deep breath, cracking his knuckles. “Okay.” He nodded, more to himself than his friends. “Okay. I'll call her.”

  “Damn straight,” Sandra said, turning back toward the opening band. “How are they not done yet?”

  “Don't screw it up, dude. Like, again.” Ridger held out his fist, and Derek nudged his own fist against it.

  “Yeah.” Derek stuffed his phone in his pocket and, leaving his drink untouched, wove his way out of the bar . He hoped his friends were right.

  * * *

  Ruth lifted the white porcelain mug to her lips, tilting it up, but only a trickle of latte dripped onto her tongue. She wanted to slam the empty mug down, to watch it shatter into shards that could slice into her skin and make crimson art of her body. But instead she set it down carefully next to her laptop, which sat open and practically untouched.

  She sighed and checked the time. She'd been here in this coffee shop for nearly an hour already, with barely fifty new words written. All she could think of was the ache throbbing in her throat. She wanted to open her mouth and howl her hurt, her rage at the man who had lifted her hopes against all her misgivings, against all the odds, only to smash them the way she wanted to smash the mug. And he'd been calling her since she'd phoned him and heard that woman's voice speaking over the line. But what was there for him to say? She hadn't answered a single one of his calls.

  And for some reason, to add to her frustration, she couldn't translate all this into words, into her novel. She massaged her temples, scowling. This was perfect fodder for romance writing, wasn't it? She was living out the spurned damsel trope she'd read of in so many books. Why couldn't she take Derek and ingloriously immortalize his toying ways in her story?

  Ruth moved to take a sip from the mug again, then remembered it was empty. Her gaze slid toward the barista, who lazily wiped the counter he stood behind while chatting with another customer. She considered ordering a second round. But she didn't want another coffee, not this late, not even decaf. T
he coffee shop was just about empty, with only a few patrons opting for a quiet night with their computers or books.

  One of her fellow – losers, she thought, before shoving the sour word away – was sitting just one table over from her own, a fair-haired willowy man who looked to be about her age, and he'd been throwing glances her way for the better part of her stay. Ruth gritted her teeth as she felt his eyes on her back yet again. Her skin crawled and writhed beneath his looking, and before she had decided to do so, she'd spun to face him.