by Dana Mason
His chest clenched at the look on her face. “Nothing is ruined.”
“Yes, it is. Things will be different—our friendship will never be the same. We’ll never get it back.”
“Why?” He had to swallow back a hurtful retort. “Am I so bad?”
She leaned forward and rested her head on his bare chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me, Bay.”
He pulled her closer, hoping the closeness and a moment to cry would help her clear her head.
When the sobs slowed, she finally said, “We can’t sleep together and still be friends. It never works. Jesus, Ryan! I just broke up with Dex yesterday. What kind of slut am I?”
“Stop! Bailey, you’re not a slut. It’s not like we just met. We’ve known each other for most of our lives. There’s no reason we can’t work things out.”
“We don’t want the same things.” Her eyes popped open and focused on his chest before lifting toward his face. “You’re not interested in a relationship anyway. So if we just…don’t do this again…”
What could he say to that? She hadn’t even given him a chance. All he could do was stare at her and fight to keep his anger tempered.
“We can’t do this again,” she repeated in a clear and decisive tone, and he recognized the ‘fix everything’ expression on her face.
It hurt him. Hurt more than he could explain. “All right. If that’s what you want.” He slid out from under her and went to get his shirt.
When he came out of the cabin, her eyes followed as he prepared the boat for the ride home, but he didn’t know what else to do…or say. She’d made herself clear. They’d made a mistake, and now he needed to stop feeling. But how the fuck was he going to do that?
* * *
Bailey didn’t go to her apartment. She went directly to her mother’s house. She and Ryan had always seen romantic relationships differently. She liked having someone to love, someone who loved her back. She liked Sunday drives and lying in bed for hours talking with her lover. Ryan didn’t want a relationship. He wanted sex. She couldn’t remember him ever staying in a relationship for more than a couple of weeks before he either got bored or found some lame excuse to stop seeing her. He always had, so why he’d get upset about what she said was a complete mystery to her.
Ryan was hurt. She’d seen it in his eyes when he started packing the boat to return to shore. They needed to talk about it before he let his hurt stew into anger. She waited a full hour, but he never showed up.
Dammit. She shouldn’t have let him walk away from her without talking this through.
Ryan wouldn’t even look her in the eye. He’d simply helped her off the boat and walked her to her car with very little to say but “see you later” with a slight wave goodbye.
He just didn’t understand what she was afraid of—what she didn’t want to happen, which seemed to be happening anyway. This wasn’t a rejection. She loved him and needed him in her life. He was her last lifeline, and without him, she didn’t know where she belonged. No lover had ever given her that, and she needed him to understand their friendship was more important to her than sex.
Bailey’s stomach turned in anxious energy as she waited. She paced back and forth, unable to sit still. Here she was, worried about his hurt turning into anger, but the longer she waited, the angrier she became. Maybe she should go home and talk to him after some time had passed.
She plopped down in her mother’s desk chair and looked over at the piles of papers. Seething inside, she grabbed the stack, and, with all her strength, pushed everything off the desk with a roaring growl.
Paper flew in every direction. The lamp crashed to the floor, sending glass everywhere. She didn’t care. Fuck the mess, fuck her mother for lying, and fuck you, Ryan, for not talking to me. Fuck it all. She kicked the piles of paper with her bare feet and froze.
The letter stood out enough to catch her eye as it flew across the room. Bailey recognized her Uncle Pat’s stationery immediately. She rushed over and snatched it up from the floor, then stumbled through the mess as she ripped the pages out of the envelope.
“Ouch—shit!” She lifted her foot and saw dripping blood from where she stepped on the glass from the lamp. Her mother’s lectures about walking around barefoot rang in her head. Damn it! She walked over to the stairs, sat on the bottom step, and unfolded the letter. It was longer than the others.
Dear Helen,
I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been feeling well. I’m praying for you and Bailey in hopes there is still a chance of recovery. You’ve overcome a lot and have never let your diabetes keep you from living the fullest life possible. I have nothing but respect for the devotion you have to your passion for music and your family.
You’ve been blessed with a beautiful home, a loving husband, and a daughter. Blessed indeed we were to get Bailey and to have been able to keep her in our lives even after the circumstances under which she came to us.
Now, my dear friend, I implore you to keep our secret. Nothing good can come from your confession. The truth will only hurt Bailey. The truth will only do harm to our family. You’ll be gone soon, and we will be left picking up the pieces of the mess you made. Fear, I’m sure, is what took my brother to an early grave. I’ve lost my brother due to your decisions. Please do not let your guilty conscience force you into sharing a secret that could threaten all our lives. Please consider my family’s safety, as well as Bailey’s.
Expect me, dear Helen, to do what is necessary to protect myself and my own family. If you insist on clearing your conscience, I cannot guarantee Bailey’s safety.
Yours truly,
Patrick
* * *
Ryan used his key to let himself in. He knew Wade and Lucas would still be sleeping, but he needed a cup of coffee and some time to catch his breath. He snuck in and started the coffee, then opened the Sunday paper, hoping for a distraction. Bailey was taking over his every thought, and he needed to break free from it. If he had his guitar, he could play her away, but everything was at the house, and he had a feeling she was there, waiting for him.
His traitorous mind went precisely to the thoughts he was trying to avoid. Bailey, naked and in his arms. She’d been exquisite and perfect in every way. They fit together so well, it scared him. He’d never felt like that with a woman, never felt that connection. His heart ached in his chest, knowing he had to figure out a way to move on without her.
Was she right? As much as she worried about losing him, he also worried about losing her. They were one screwed up pair, needing each other like air and water, but not able to admit their true feelings to each other. His head told him to back off, to give her some time to consider how great they could be together, but his heart…his body…ached for her.
When the coffee finished brewing, he poured a cup and sat back down. The vision of Bailey, lying in the dark on the stern deck, looking at him with dangerous eyes, flashed in his head, and he had to take a deep breath.
“Fucking—God help me.”
“It’s Lucas, not God, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Ryan shifted in his chair to see Lucas standing behind him. “Hey, shit, man, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“No. Well, yes. It was the smell of coffee.”
Ryan grimaced. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, as long as you saved me some.” He poured himself a cup and sat down across from Ryan. “So, what do you need saving from?”
“You don’t want to know.” Ryan rested his head in his hands and inhaled deeply. “I’m a complete fuck up.”
“What on earth could you have fucked up on the boat last night? It was just you and Bay…” Lucas’ eyes grew wide. “Oh, hell, Ryan. What did you do?”
Ryan met Lucas’ eyes and lifted one eyebrow, then slid down and placed his cheek on the cold tabletop.
“Why would you do that? You know she’s vulnerable.”
Ryan felt Lucas’s mug hit the table. It vibrated
his brain. “It wasn’t just me. I tried to stop, but she wouldn’t let me.”
“Bullshit. Don’t give me that. What do you think vulnerable means, you asshole?”
“We were both completely wasted. I didn’t plan it.” Ryan felt like he could cry. Was Lucas right? Had he taken advantage of a friend when she had her guard down?
“And so you had sloppy, drunk sex on your boat with your best friend, you fucking slut.”
Ryan’s head came up off the table so fast, it made him dizzy. “Fuck you. There was nothing sloppy about Bailey and me. It wasn’t like that. She’s—I’m—it wasn’t like that with her.”
“So, are you trying to say you’re in love with her?”
Ryan’s head smacked the table again, and he sighed heavily. “God—is that what this is? Fucking love?”
Lucas whistled. “You’re in trouble, my friend.”
“Kill me now,” Ryan slurred, the side of his mouth pressed against the table. “Just fucking kill me.”
“Why don’t you talk to her about it?”
“You act like that’s so easy. You act like I haven’t thought of that. She’s my best friend, Lucas.” Ryan lifted his head and took a sip of coffee, praying for clarity.
“You talk to her about everything else. Why is this different?”
“It’s always been such a taboo subject. We’re friends. Just like you and I are friends,” Ryan said, waving a hand between them.
Lucas lifted an eyebrow. “Gee, Ryan, are you trying to tell me something now?”
“That’s not helping,” Ryan said.
Lucas grinned and said, “How do you think she feels about you?”
“Let’s just say, when I woke up this morning, it wasn’t to her smiling face.” Ryan sipped again. “She was upset—crying even.” Ryan’s stomach flipped at the memory of her sobbing.
“Ah, crap. She was crying?”
Ryan nodded. “She said I was all she had left, and now she’s lost me.” His voice grew quieter as he spoke, the words still slicing through him, just like they had when she said them.
“Ryan, you need to find a way to get past this. You need to either come clean and tell her how you feel or stay the hell away from her. Rebounds don’t work.”
Ryan nodded, scowling. As if it was that simple. As if he hadn’t tried over the years to figure out how he felt. If he could voice his feelings for her, he would have a long time ago. He stared at Lucas and finally said, “I’ve tried, but somehow, the words get in the way.”
Lucas watched him for a minute, contemplation clear on his face. “Imagine that. Ryan Walker, songwriter extraordinaire, out of words.”
“No.” Ryan shook his head. “Not out of words—just too many and with no expression.”
“Bullshit. You just gave up too easy.”
“You’re wrong, man. I can’t blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. I can’t just throw some words at her and hope they’re the right ones. What if it comes out wrong or, I don’t know, I say the wrong thing. I need to get it right. I just… I’m afraid of screwing things up.”
“Well, it’s too late for that.” Lucas pointed toward the door. “You have a mess to clean up, and it can’t wait.”
“Right,” Ryan whispered as he stood to leave.
* * *
When he entered the house, he had to step over a slew of papers. They were splayed all over the hall and the living room. When he looked closer, he saw a trail of blood that pooled at the bottom step and traveled up the stairs.
“Bailey?”
His heart started pounding hard in his chest, and when he shouted her name, he didn’t get an answer. “Bailey!” he shouted again and rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The trail led to Helen’s bedroom. He rounded the corner and found Bailey kneeling over an old scrapbook. Tissue stuck to the bottom of her foot, covered in blood. She was still in his sweats and t-shirt from the boat.
“Bailey, you’re bleeding.” He ran into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. She was shouting about letters and the newspaper, nearly hysterical, her voice pitched like fingernails on a chalkboard.
When he returned with the towel, she was leaning against the trunk, holding up a handful of paper, still going on about a letter.
“Ryan, I found this. I think we’re missing something. I want to go to Wisconsin.” All her words were running together. She talked too fast, and Ryan moved too slowly, the sight of blood turning his stomach.
His head buzzed, and he couldn’t focus on what she was saying. “I know, babe. Hold on, let me stop the bleeding.” Sweat ran down the back of his neck, and his pulse pounded deafeningly in his ears.
Bailey was still talking, and he couldn’t think straight. He pulled away the wad of tissue stuck to the bottom of her foot, but that seemed to reopen the wound. It was gushing now, and he wanted to throw up—and she was still talking.
“Bailey, stop. Hold on.” He pried his cell phone from his pocket and dialed home. “Dad, can you come next door? Bailey’s cut her foot pretty bad.”
“How bad is it? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No, it’s not that bad, but you should come look at it.” The line went dead, and Ryan took a deep breath, fighting for calm. He looked up at Bailey, and her eyes were wide, her skin pale. It looked as if she just realized she was hurt.
“Ryan, I’m sorry,” she said and leaned back against her mother’s trunk.
“It’s okay. I’ll clean up the mess.” He swallowed hard and tried to focus on her face.
“Mess? No, I’m sorry about this morning.”
He heard his dad on the stairs and shook his head.
Ryan scrambled back so his dad could take care of Bailey. Vince carefully pulled the towel from her foot, and Ryan’s stomach lurched. He swallowed hard and went to sit next to Bailey.
“What happened?” Ryan asked her.
“Look what I found. It’s from Uncle Pat. I think there’s more to the story.”
“No, Bay. What happened to your foot?”
“Broke the lamp then stepped in glass. It didn’t hurt and wasn’t bleeding that bad.”
“What are you talking about? There’s blood up and down the hall and stairs.”
“Bailey, how’re you feeling? Are you light-headed at all?” Vince asked.
“No. I feel fine.”
“You’re going to need a few stitches. Ryan, I’m going to hold her foot to keep the pressure on. I need you to pick her up. Can you carry her down the stairs?”
“No, no, I can walk.”
“Bailey, no,” Vince said, the authority in his dad’s voice centering them both. “Ryan, I’ll sit in the backseat with her if you can drive.”
“He can’t drive. He’s about to pass out from the blood,” Bailey said, amused with his discomfort.
“I’m fine!” Ryan almost shouted it to prove his point.
“Listen,” Vince said, holding a hand out to shut them both up. “You,” he said, pointing to Bailey. “Relax and be quiet for a minute. You…” He turned his finger in Ryan’s direction. “Relax. Take a deep breath. The blood looks scary, but she really is fine. It’s not that bad, but we need to take her to the emergency room for stitches, okay?”
Ryan swallowed and nodded. “I’m fine.”
“On three, you pick her up. I’ll keep the pressure on her foot.”
Ryan slid one hand under her rear and the other under her shoulders.
Vince said, “Three, two, one.” They both lifted at the same time while Bailey crossed her arms over her chest in irritation.
CHAPTER TEN
“I told you I can walk,” Bailey growled.
Ryan glared at her. “The doctor very specifically said you should stay off your feet for twenty-four hours. Don’t make me throw your ass over my shoulder.”
He snatched her up out of the back seat so fast, she couldn’t do anything but yelp.
“Bailey, I’m right next door if you need me for anything. Any more bleeding or pain,
just give me a call.”
“Thanks so much, Vince. I’m sorry for being so much trouble.”
“No trouble. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.” He kissed her cheek then gave Ryan some last-minute instructions before walking back next door.
Ryan carried her into the house and up the stairs, then set her on her mother’s bed.
“You should’ve taken me back to my apartment.”
“No, Dad said someone needs to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t think that should be you. If I start bleeding, you’re just going to pass out.” She sneered at him and said, “Your mother was a nurse, and your dad is a paramedic. How is it that blood makes you queasy?”
“Your mom was a music teacher, and you can’t play a note.”
Bailey’s face grew instantly hot at the reminder, the answer to her question now obvious. “I can call Mae. You don’t have to be the one to take care of me.”
Ryan dropped his chin and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say that to hurt you. If you want me to call Mae, I will.”
“It’s okay. Mae’s probably already in bed.”
“Make up your mind.”
“What are you angry about?”
He stared at her for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m not angry.”
The room was dark except for the small bedside lamp he had turned on, but it was enough light to see his frustrated expression.
“Ryan.”
“What?”
“I really want to take a shower. I haven’t…” Her eyes dropped to her clothes. “It was a long night.”
When he frowned, she instantly wished she hadn’t said anything to remind him of their night together. “I mean—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I’ll run a bath. You can prop your foot up on the side of the tub.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.” She smiled at him, hoping it would be some sort of a peace offering.
Ryan went into her mother’s bathroom and started the water. “Do you want bubbles?”
