I swear, his whole face lights up with pride. "No way," he says. "You did it? You're actually opening up your own business?"
I nod. "Yep. I figured I might as well try it while I'm still young enough to bounce back from failure."
One of his hands is holding the ice against my ankle, but the other one is wrapped around my bare foot. He's brushing his thumb back and forth, like it's no big deal that he's touching me. But his hand on my foot is way more noticeable than the pain in my ankle.
"I look ridiculous, huh?" he asks, staring down at his solid red onesie.
I shrug. "At least you went with a non-character choice. It gives it a bit more maturity than the SpongeBob option."
He laughs, and then his smile disappears as he leans his head into the door beside him. He stares at me appreciatively. "You're even prettier in the daytime."
Moments like these are why I absolutely hate having red hair and fair skin. The embarrassment doesn't only show up in my cheeks--my whole face, arms, and neck grow flushed.
I rest my head against the wall behind me and stare at him just like he's staring at me. "You want to hear a naked truth?"
He nods.
"I've wanted to go back to your roof on more than one occasion since that night. But I was too scared you'd be there. You make me kind of nervous."
His fingers pause their strokes against my foot. "My turn?"
I nod.
His eyes narrow as his hand moves to the underneath of my foot. He slowly traces his fingers from the tops of my toes, down to my heel. "I still very much want to fuck you."
Someone gasps, and it isn't me.
Ryle and I both look at the doorway and Allysa is standing there, wide-eyed. Her mouth is open as she points down at Ryle. "Did you just . . ." She looks at me and says, "I am so sorry about him, Lily." And then she looks back at Ryle with venom in her eyes. "Did you just tell my boss you want to fuck her?"
Oh, dear.
Ryle pulls his bottom lip in and chews on it for a second. Marshall walks in behind Allysa and says, "What's going on?"
Allysa looks at Marshall and points at Ryle again. "He just told Lily he wants to fuck her!"
Marshall looks from Ryle to me. I don't know whether to laugh or crawl under the table and hide. "You did?" he says, looking back at Ryle.
Ryle shrugs. "It appears that way," he says.
Allysa puts her head in her hands, "Jesus Christ," she says, looking at me. "He's drunk. They're both drunk. Please don't judge me because my brother is an asshole."
I smile at her and wave it off. "It's fine, Allysa. Lots of people want to fuck me." I glance back at Ryle and he's still casually stroking my foot. "At least your brother speaks his mind. Not a lot of people have the courage to say what they're actually thinking."
Ryle winks at me and then carefully moves my ankle off his lap. "Let's see if you can put any weight on it," he says.
He and Marshall help me to my feet. Ryle points to a table a few feet away that's pushed up against a wall. "Let's try to make it to the table so I can wrap it."
His arm is secured around my waist, and he's gripping my arm tightly to make sure I don't fall. Marshall is more or less just standing next to me for support. I put a little weight on my ankle and it hurts, but it's not excruciating. I'm able to hop all the way to the table with a lot of assistance from Ryle. He helps me pull myself up until I'm seated on top of it, leaning against the wall with my leg stretched out in front of me.
"Well, the good news is that it isn't broken."
"What's the bad news?" I ask him.
He opens the first aid kit and says, "You'll need to stay off of it for a few days. Maybe even a week or more, depending on how it heals."
I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall behind me. "But I have so much to do," I whine.
He carefully begins to wrap my ankle. Allysa is standing behind him, watching him wrap it.
"I'm thirsty," Marshall says. "Anybody want something to drink? There's a CVS across the street."
"I'm good," Ryle says.
"I'll take a water," I say.
"Sprite," Allysa says.
Marshall grabs her hand. "You're coming with."
Allysa pulls her hand from his and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not going anywhere," she says. "My brother can't be trusted."
"Allysa, it's fine," I tell her. "He was making a joke."
She stares at me silently for a moment, and then says, "Okay. But you can't fire me if he pulls more stupid shit."
"I promise I won't fire you."
With that, she grabs Marshall's hand again and leaves the room. Ryle is still wrapping my foot when he says, "My sister works for you?"
"Yep. Hired her a couple of hours ago."
He reaches into the first aid kit and pulls out tape. "You do realize she's never had a job in her entire life?"
"She already warned me," I say. His jaw is tight and he doesn't look as relaxed as he did earlier. Then it hits me that he might think I hired her as a way to get closer to him. "I had no idea she was your sister until you walked in. I swear."
He glances at me, and then back down at my foot. "I wasn't suggesting you knew." He begins to tape over the ACE bandage.
"I know you weren't. I just didn't want you to think I was trying to trap you somehow. We want two different things from life, remember?"
He nods, and carefully sets my foot back on the table. "That is correct," he says. "I specialize in one-night stands and you're on the quest for your Holy Grail."
I laugh. "You have a good memory."
"I do," he says. A languid smile stretches across his mouth. "But you're also hard to forget."
Jesus. He has to stop saying things like that. I press my palms into the table and pull my leg down. "Naked truth coming."
He leans against the table next to me and says, "All ears."
I hold nothing back. "I'm very attracted to you," I say. "There's not much about you I don't like. And being as though you and I both want different things, if we're ever around each other again, I'd appreciate it if you could stop saying things that make me dizzy. It's not really fair to me."
He nods once, and then says, "My turn." He places his hand on the table next to me and leans in a little. "I'm very attracted to you, too. There's not much about you I don't like. But I kind of hope we're never around each other again, because I don't like how much I think about you. Which isn't all that much--but it's more than I'd like. So if you still aren't going to agree to a one-night stand, then I think it's best if we do what we can to avoid each other. Because it won't do either of us any favors."
I don't know how he ended up this close to me, but he's only about a foot away. His proximity makes it hard to pay attention to words that come out of his mouth. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth, but as soon as we hear the front door open, he's halfway across the room. By the time Allysa and Marshall make it to us, Ryle is busy restacking all the crates that fell. Allysa looks down at my ankle.
"What's the verdict?" she asks.
I push my bottom lip out. "Your doctor brother says I have to stay off of it for a few days."
She hands me my water. "Good thing you have me. I can work and do what I can to clean up while you rest."
I take a drink of the water and then wipe my mouth. "Allysa, I'm declaring you employee of the month."
She grins and then turns to Marshall. "Did you hear that? I'm the best employee she has!"
He puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. "I'm proud of you, Issa."
I like that he calls her Issa, which I'm assuming is short for Allysa. I think about my own name and if I'll ever find a guy who could shorten it into a sickeningly cute nickname. Illy.
Nope. Not the same.
"Do you need help getting home?" she asks.
I hop down and test my foot. "Maybe just to my car. It's my left foot, so I can probably drive just fine."
She walks over and puts her arm around me. "I
f you want to leave the keys with me, I'll lock up and come back tomorrow and start cleaning."
The three of them walk me to my car, but Ryle allows Allysa to do most of the work. He seems almost scared to touch me now for some reason. When I'm in the driver's seat, Allysa puts my purse and other things in the floorboard and sits in the passenger seat. She takes my phone out and begins programming her number into it.
Ryle leans into the window. "Make sure to keep ice on it as much as you can for the next few days. Baths help, too."
I nod. "Thanks for your help."
Allysa leans over and says, "Ryle? Maybe you should drive her home and take a cab back to the apartment, just to be safe."
Ryle looks down at me and then shakes his head. "I don't think that's a good idea," he says. "She'll be fine. I've had a few beers, probably shouldn't be driving."
"You could at least help her home," Allysa suggests.
Ryle shakes his head and then pats the roof of the car as he turns and walks away.
I'm still watching him when Allysa hands me back my phone and says, "Seriously. I'm really sorry about him. First he hits on you, then he's a selfish asshole." She climbs out of the car and closes the door, then leans through the window. "That's why he'll be single for the rest of his life." She points to my phone. "Text me when you get home. And call me if you need anything. I won't count favors as work-time."
"Thank you, Allysa."
She smiles. "No, thank you. I haven't been this excited about my life since that Paolo Nutini concert I went to last year." She waves goodbye and walks toward where Marshall and Ryle are standing.
They begin walking down the street and I watch them in my rearview mirror. As they turn the corner, I see Ryle glance over his shoulder and look back in my direction.
I close my eyes and exhale.
The two times I've spent with Ryle were on days I'd probably rather forget. My father's funeral and spraining my ankle. But somehow, him being present made them feel like less of the disasters they were.
I hate that he's Allysa's brother. I have a feeling this isn't the last time I'll be seeing him.
Chapter Four
It takes me half an hour to make it from my car to my apartment. I called Lucy twice to see if she could help me, but she didn't answer her phone. When I make it inside my apartment, I'm a little irritated to see her lying on the couch with the phone to her ear.
I slam our front door behind me and she glances up. "What happened to you?" she asks.
I use the wall for support as I hop toward the hallway. "Sprained my ankle."
When I make it to my bedroom door, she yells, "Sorry I didn't answer the phone! I'm talking to Alex! I was gonna call you back!"
"It's fine!" I holler back at her, and then slam my bedroom door shut. I go to the bathroom and find some old pain pills I had stuffed into a cabinet. I swallow two of them and then fall onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling.
I can't believe I'll be stuck in this apartment for an entire week. I grab my phone and text my mother.
Sprained my ankle. I'm fine, but can I send you a list of things to grab for me at the store?
I drop my phone onto my bed, and for the first time since she moved here, I'm thankful my mother lives fairly close to me. It actually hasn't been that bad. I think I like her more now that my father has passed away. I know it's because I held a lot of resentment toward her for never leaving him. Even though a lot of that resentment has faded when it comes to my mother, I still have the same feelings when I think of my father.
It can't be good, still holding on to so much bitterness toward my father. But dammit, he was awful. To my mother, to me, to Atlas.
Atlas.
I've been so busy with my mother's move and secretly searching for a new building between work hours, I haven't had time to finish reading the journals I started reading all those months ago.
I hop pathetically to my closet, only tripping once. Luckily, I catch myself on my dresser. Once I have the journal in hand, I hop back to the bed and get comfortable.
I have nothing better to do for the next week now that I can't work. I might as well commiserate over my past while I'm forced to commiserate in the present.
Dear Ellen,
You hosting the Oscars was the greatest thing to happen to TV last year. I don't think I ever told you that. The vacuuming skit made me piss my pants.
Oh, and I recruited a new Ellen follower today in Atlas. Before you start judging me for allowing him inside my house again, let me explain how that came about.
After I let him take a shower here yesterday, I didn't see him again last night. But this morning, he sat by me on the bus again. He seemed a little happier than the day before, because he slid into the seat and actually smiled at me.
I'm not gonna lie, it was a little weird seeing him in my dad's clothes. But the pants fit him a lot better than I thought they were going to.
"Guess what?" he said. He leaned forward and unzipped his backpack.
"What?"
He pulled out a bag and handed it to me. "I found these in the garage. I tried to clean them up for you because they were covered in old dirt, but I can't do much without water."
I held the bag and stared at him suspiciously. It's the most I'd ever heard him say at once. I finally looked down at the bag and opened it. It looked like a bunch of old gardening tools.
"I saw you digging with that shovel the other day. I wasn't sure if you had any actual gardening tools, and no one was using these, so . . ."
"Thank you," I said. I was kind of in shock. I used to have a trowel, but the plastic broke off the handle and it started giving me blisters. I asked my mother for gardening tools for my birthday last year and when she bought me a full-sized shovel and a hoe, I didn't have the heart to tell her it's not what I needed.
Atlas cleared his throat and then, in a much quieter voice, he said, "I know it's not like a real gift. I didn't buy it or anything. But . . . I wanted to give you something. You know . . . for . . ."
He didn't finish his sentence, so I nodded and tied the bag back up. "Do you think you can hold them for me until after school? I don't have any room in my backpack."
He grabbed the bag from me and then brought his backpack up to his lap and put the bag inside of it. He wrapped his arms around his backpack. "How old are you?" he asked.
"Fifteen."
The look in his eyes made him seem a little bit sad about my age, but I don't know why.
"You're in tenth grade?"
I nodded, but honestly couldn't think of anything to say to him. I haven't really had much interaction with a lot of guys. Especially seniors. When I'm nervous, I kind of just clam up.
"I don't know how long I'll be staying at that place," he said, bringing his voice down again. "But if you ever need help with gardening or anything after school, it's not like I have much going on there. Being as though I have no electricity."
I laughed, and then wondered if I should have laughed at his self-deprecating comment.
We spent the rest of the bus ride talking about you, Ellen. When he made that comment about being bored, I asked him if he ever watched your show. He said he'd like to because he thinks you're funny, but a TV would require electricity. Another comment I wasn't sure if I should have laughed at.
I told him he could watch your show with me after school. I always record it on the DVR and watch it while I do my chores. I figured I could just keep the front door dead bolted, and if my parents got home early, I'd just have Atlas run out the back door.
I didn't see him again until the ride home today. He didn't sit by me this time because Katie got on the bus before him and sat next to me. I wanted to ask her to move, but then she'd think I had a crush on Atlas. Katie would have a field day with that one, so I just let her stay in my seat.
Atlas was at the front of the bus, so he got off before I did. He just kind of awkwardly stood there at the bus stop and waited for me to get off. When I did, he opened his backpa
ck and handed me the bag of tools. He didn't say anything about my invitation to watch TV from earlier this morning, so I just acted like it was a given.
"Come on," I told him. He followed me inside and I locked the dead bolt. "If my parents come home early, run out the back door and don't let them see you."
He nodded. "Don't worry. I will," he said, with kind of a laugh.
I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he said sure. I made us a snack and brought our drinks to the living room. I sat down on the couch and he sat down in my dad's chair. I turned on your show and that's about all that happened. We didn't talk much, because I fast-forwarded through all the commercials. But I did notice he laughed at all the right times. I think good comedic timing is one of the most important things about a person's personality. Every time he laughed at your jokes, it made me feel better about sneaking him into my house. I don't know why. Maybe because if he's actually someone I could be friends with, it'd make me feel less guilty.
He left right after your show was over. I wanted to ask him if he needed to use our shower again, but that would have cut it real close to time for my parents getting home. The last thing I wanted was for him to have to run out of the shower and across my backyard naked.
Then again, that'd be kind of hilarious and awesome.
--Lily
Dear Ellen,
Come on, woman. Reruns? A full week of reruns? I get that you need time off, but let me make a suggestion. Instead of recording one show a day, you should record two. That way you'll get twice as much done in half the time, and we'd never have to sit through reruns.
I say "we" because I'm referring to Atlas and me. He's become my regular Ellen-watching partner. I think he might love you as much as I do, but I'll never tell him I write to you on a daily basis. That might seem a little too fan-girl.
He's been living in that house for two weeks now. He's taken a few more showers at my house and I give him food every time he visits. I even wash his clothes for him while he's here after school. He keeps apologizing to me, like he's a burden. But honestly, I love it. He keeps my mind off things and I actually look forward to spending time with him after school every day.
Dad got home late tonight, which means he went to the bar after work. Which means he's probably going to instigate a fight with my mother. Which means he'll probably do something stupid again.
I swear, sometimes I get so mad at her for staying with him. I know I'm only fifteen and probably don't understand all the reasons she chooses to stay, but I refuse to let her use me as her excuse. I don't care if she's too poor to leave him and we'd have to move into a crappy apartment and eat ramen noodles until I graduate. That would be better than this.
It Ends With Us Page 5
