We step into the water and Ryder hands me a pole. I immediately say, “Don’t even think about handing me a worm to put on the end of this thing.”
“Aw, don’t be so skittish, Blaire,” he jokes, rifling through the bag. He pulls out a worm and throws it at me.
I scream, like the little girl that I am, and flail. I lose my balance on a rock and slip into the water.
“Oh. My. God,” I say. Ryder is laughing uproariously at me. I can’t really blame him. It is pretty funny even if I can’t see the humor at the moment.
“I didn’t even throw it,” he chortles, holding out the worm.
“I hate you so much right now,” I say. I haven’t bothered getting up. What’s the point? I’m already soaking wet. Instead, I kick out at Ryder and splash him with water. He holds out his hands against the spray and drops the stupid worm in the water.
“Oh, you’ve done it now.” He laughs and splashes me with water. He ends up slipping in the process—seriously, those rocks are slippery—and goes down in front of me.
I bust out laughing. Now this is funny.
“Oh, so it’s funny when I fall?” he jokes.
I can’t answer because I’m too busy laughing. He splashes me, just a light spray, and I send a whole wall of water at him.
I can’t stop laughing and neither can he. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.
We both completely forget about the objective of fishing. This, living in the moment, is too much fun.
Minutes later, and out of breath, I gasp, “We’re a mess.”
We’re both completely soaked. My hair drips onto my shoulders and I’m sure my mascara is streaked across my cheeks. I can’t bring myself to care, though. Not when I’m having this much fun.
Ryder sits beside me in the water—it’s not very deep where we are—and neither of us makes a move to get out.
He shakes his wet hair like a dog and droplets of water spray across me.
“Hey.” I laugh and hold up my hands to protect against the onslaught.
He laughs and glances over at me. A droplet of water drips from the end of his nose, to his chin, where it gets lost in other sluices of water.
“Some date, huh?” He chuckles and stands up, holding his hand down for me. I slip a bit on the rocks as he pulls me up and he holds me tight against his chest. Despite the cool temperature of the water, his body is warm and I’m instantly heated.
“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” I tell him.
“So much for fishing, though.” He holds my hands and we cross the few feet back to the grassy shore. “We better change our clothes.”
I look down at my soaking wet dress and shiver. “Yeah, good idea,” I agree.
We grab everything and head back to his car. While he loads everything inside I try to squeeze as much water as I can from my dress so I don’t completely soak his car. When he has the trunk packed he hooks his thumbs in the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head.
Time slows and I stare as his stomach is exposed. It’s smooth and tan with dark hair disappearing into the band of his boxer-briefs that peek out of the top of his shorts. He’s muscled, but not overly so. It’s clear he works out and stays in shape, but he’s not the body builder type. He’s real, and I like that.
He tosses the shirt in the trunk before closing it. The sound of it slamming closed snaps me out of my reverie.
“Ready?” he asks, hands settling on his narrow hips.
“Mhm.” I nod, trying not to stare. My skin prickles with awareness, tightening all over. I hurry into the car before I do something stupid.
Inside the car, Ryder turns the heat on despite the fact that it’s nearly ninety degrees today. We need it, though, thanks to the chill from the water.
“I’m sorry we have to cut our date short,” he says a few minutes later.
I look away from the window. “I don’t want it to be over,” I admit.
He looks surprised. “Really?” I nod. “We could hang out at my house? Dry our clothes? I have a ton of movies, or we could just talk, or—” he rambles endearingly.
I reach over and touch the tips of my fingers to his forearm. His muscle tightens at my touch. “That sounds great.”
Ryder looks nervous, but happy. I can understand his nervousness. I’m not normally so forward so he’s probably afraid that it might end up being too much for me and I’ll get scared again. Maybe I will, but I don’t know if I don’t try, and I want to spend more time with him. I’m not ready for today to end. For the first time in seven months, I feel like a normal woman again, and that’s not a feeling I’m ready to give up.
We both grow quiet the rest of the drive. I think we’re both too lost in our thoughts to speak, but there’s no awkwardness in the silence, which is nice—it reminds me of what my mom used to say to me.
“Find a man that even in silence you’re comfortable with. That’s a telling factor, B. If someone makes you nervous to the point that you have to chatter endlessly, then they’re not the person for you. You need to be able to communicate without saying a word.”
Those words came back to me many times over the years as I was dating and would inevitably encounter the wall of awkward silence. Until I met Ben. There was no awkward silence with him, only comfort, and now I felt the same with Ryder.
“We’re here,” Ryder says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I look up to see that we’re parked in his driveway.
My dress is still damp and sticks to my body. I slide off the leather seat and it makes this horrible squishing sound.
“I feel gross,” I announce, meeting Ryder at the trunk where he grabs his shirt and the cooler.
“Me too,” he agrees. I follow him up the front porch and inside the house. He drops the cooler in the sink and turns around, bracing his hands behind him. He’s still shirtless and the movement flexes all of his muscles. I swallow thickly and force my eyes up. “I don’t know about you, but I want to shower.”
I nod in agreement. “Y-Yeah, a shower would be nice,” I stutter, completely distracted by him. He’s beautiful in a different sort of way—and being a guy, he’d probably hate that I think he’s beautiful, but he is, not just in his appearance but who he is as a person is beautiful.
“Okay.” He claps his hands together. “Showers are upstairs. Come on. I’m sure I have a shirt you can borrow.”
I follow him upstairs and I can’t help but glance into the rooms. There’s a guest room that also appears to double as an office space, a bathroom, Cole’s room, and at the end of the hall: Ryder’s room.
It’s obvious to me that he must’ve redecorated the room after his wife died. Unlike the rest of the house, it looks like a bachelor pad. The bed is unmade and there’s stuff cluttered everywhere—papers, coffee mugs, and laundry. It’s not dirty, more lived in, and it gives me a bit of insight into who Ryder is. He keeps the rest of his house spick and span, but this room—his space—is a mess, and I wonder how much of a reflection it is of him. Is he calm, cool, and collected on the outside and a mess on the inside? I don’t mean that in a bad way. I, personally, find that there’s beauty in chaos—if it’s the right kind of chaos.
“Sorry for the mess,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “I would’ve cleaned up if I would’ve known you were coming over.”
“It’s okay.” I dismiss his concern with a wave of my hand.
He rifles through a dresser drawer and pulls out a shirt and holds it up. It’s navy with a faded logo on the front.
“This should work,” he says, handing it to me. “I have some old basketball shorts in here somewhere that are too small,” he muses, moving to another drawer. “I meant to throw them away and never bothered. A-ha,” he exclaims and holds them up proudly. “Here they are.”
“Thanks.” I take those from him too.
“Wait here,” he says. “I have some extra soap in my bathroom. You’ll either smell like a man or a toddler, though …” he trails off.
I watch as he goes into the attached bathroom and rifles through the bottom cabinet. He comes back with body wash and shampoo. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wash your hair,” he says, clearing his throat.
I hold my arms out so he can pile the bottles on top of the clothes. “I probably should. Who knows what’s in that river water.”
“Shower’s down the hall,” he says. “I’ll show you.”
“That’s okay.” I edge toward the door. “I saw it on the way up.”
“Oh, okay.” He stands there nervously. We’re both on edge, not knowing what the right thing to do or say is. Maybe if we were both normal—not tainted by losing ones we love—we wouldn’t feel that way. Maybe things wouldn’t feel so … foreign.
I can feel him watching me as I go down the hall. I look back before I close the bathroom door and my gaze seems to break him from whatever trance he’s in. I smile at him and he smiles back, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The door clicks shut and I lock it. I lean my head against the cool wood and breathe in and out. Ryder does strange things to me. His presence shakes me up until I can’t think straight. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, though.
I turn around and set everything on the counter. I turn the shower on, waiting for steam to fill the room before I undress.
Beneath the spray of the water, I close my eyes as I scrub my body—pretending it’s Ryder’s hands on my body and not my own. My breaths pick up speed, coming out in short, sharp pants. I pretend to feel his lips on my neck, ghosting over my collarbone, sucking on my breasts. My legs grow weak from my fantasy and my body shakes. I picture his hands sliding down my sides, pulling me against his slick hard body. He kisses me long and deep, drawing a moan from my throat. His fingers dig into my thighs as he lifts me up and presses my back to the tiled wall. My fingers clasp around his neck as I lower onto his cock—
My eyes shoot open.
What the hell am I doing?
I swallow thickly and slap my hands against my face.
“Snap out of it, Blaire,” I say to myself. “It’s too soon. Too soon.”
My words have no effect on my body, though. I’m still incredibly turned on, my core pulsing, and my nipples pebbled. I’ve never had a fantasy quite that detailed and with Ryder.
Tears leak out of my eyes, lost in the water. I feel like I’m cheating on Ben, even though that’s not true. He’s gone, and I have every right to move on, but I can’t seem to let go. I guess it’s easier to hold on.
“Fuck,” I curse, slapping my hand against the tiled wall. “Dammit, Ben, why did this have to happen,” I scream, still beating my hands against the wall. “It’s not fair! I hate you! I fucking hate you for leaving me! I hate you so much! I hate this!” I sob and sink down onto the floor of the shower. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around them. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” I repeat over and over again, but what I really mean is I hate myself.
“Blaire?” I hear pounding against the door. I cover my ears with my hands. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Is this a mental break? “Blaire?”
I can still hear the pounding even through my covered ears and the roar of the water.
When the shower curtain is torn back, I jolt away, covering my body.
“Oh, Blaire,” Ryder breathes. He grabs a towel and bends down to me in the bottom of the tub, cowering away like a wounded animal. He’s the last person I want to see right now after my fantasy or whatever you want to call it.
He turns the water off and wraps the towel around me. His strong arms wind around me and he lifts me up, cradling me against his chest. I hang there like a limp rag doll. I’m scared to touch him—scared of what I’ll do.
Ryder carries me down the hall to the guest room and lays me on the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells me. The worry is evident in his eyes and his boxers hang loosely on his hips like he heard me screaming and put on the first thing he could get his hands on.
I’m so mad at myself, for breaking down like this, especially after such a good day, but I guess moments like this are unavoidable.
Ryder returns with the clothes he’d given me and helps me to sit up since I don’t have the energy to do it myself. He directs me to lift my arms and he slides the shirt down over the towel. When my body is covered he whips the towel away and it drops to the floor. He helps me into the shorts next and then stays bent in front of me while I sit on the bed. My hands find their way to his shoulders, needing the support to stay upright. Droplets from my wet hair drip onto his naked chest but he doesn’t move away.
He swallows thickly, his eyes flitting over every exposed piece of me. He’s looking for an injury—some sign to explain this.
“What happened?” he asks when the answer to his question isn’t obvious. I stay immobile. There’s no way I can tell him I had a fantasy about him and it set me off. “Blaire,” he says, “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. I thought everything was okay today. What changed? Is this too much for you?”
I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t know,” I cry. “I’m so confused.”
“Hey, hey,” he soothes, tucking a piece of damp hair behind my ear. “It’s okay to be confused.”
“I want you in my life,” I tell him, biting my lip. It’s more of a confession than I meant to give.
“I’m here for you,” he says, his dark eyes flickering over my face with so much care. His fingers ghost over my cheek. “In whatever way you need, I’m here.”
I clutch at his chest and break down, falling off the bed and into his arms.
Maybe it’s wrong to seek comfort in his arms—he’s the reason for my breakdown after all—but I need to be held and I need him to be the one to do it. Yeah, it’s definitely wrong, but everything about this is wrong. Us, being together, it’s all because we lost the loves of our lives. What does that mean for us? Do we even have a chance for a future? A chance to love each other completely and as we are, without comparing the person to the one we lost? Right now, every time I get close to Ryder I have Ben creep into my mind and it confuses me.
My fingers shake against his skin and I murmur, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he breathes.
“I ruined today,” I whine, pressing my forehead to his chest.
He lifts my head up. “No, you didn’t,” he assures me. “I’ve enjoyed every second.”
“Did you break the door?” I ask him.
“What door?” His brows furrow.
“The one to the bathroom?” My fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Probably,” he says with a slight shrug. “I wasn’t paying attention in the moment.”
I lean my head against his chest, my ear over his heart, and close my eyes. His hands rub up and down my back, soothing and relaxing me.
After a little while, I pull back and say, “I should probably go home.”
“Okay,” he says, brushing stray hairs away from my forehead. “I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs.”
I climb off his lap and watch him go.
I head down the hall and gather up my clothes then go downstairs and wait by the door. Ryder jogs down the steps a minute later, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts similar to the ones he let me borrow.
“Ready?” he asks, opening the door.
“Yeah,” I say.
He holds the car door open for me and I climb inside. It doesn’t take long for him to reach my house. I don’t make any move to get out of the car, though.
“Thank you for today,” I say. “I really did have fun.”
“Good.” He smiles and leans over, pressing his lips to my forehead. “And maybe one day you’ll tell me exactly what goes on in that pretty head of yours.”
“Maybe,” I echo.
I slip out of the car and he watches until I’m in the house. I close and lock the door,
then turn around, exhaling a heavy breath.
My eyes land on the vase full of paper cranes from Ben and my heart clenches. It’s been too long since I found a new one and I need to hear from him. Compelled by some unknown force I stride across to the vase and pluck out one of the carefully folded birds.
Remember, it’ll be okay.
—Ben
He left this paper crane for me on our bed shortly after the first negative pregnancy test. Those words, though, I need them now just as much a needed them back then.
Maybe it was fate that made me pick this particular crane, or maybe it was just random, but whatever the reason, I’m supremely thankful for it.
I fold the paper crane back up and put it back in the vase with the others.
“Until next time,” I whisper.
I sit in bed snacking on chips with the baby name book propped on my belly. I crunch down on the chip and Winnie glares at me from the windowsill. The silly cat is finally coming around more. She’s mostly hidden under the bed the last few months, only coming out to eat in the middle of the night. At one point I thought she’d died, but when I crouched on the floor and lifted the bed skirt, mean blue eyes glared back at me.
Animals, they know things we can’t comprehend, and I believe she understood that Ben was gone and never coming back. I think in her crazy cat brain she thought I’d done something to him and it gave her more ammunition to hate me.
“What are you looking at?” I ask her, chomping on a chip.
Her dark brown tail swishes and her eyes blink lazily. The disdain in her expression is almost hysterical. I should probably find her a new home, but she’s been with us for so long that I can’t fathom her not being there. With the baby coming it’s something I have to seriously contemplate. I can’t imagine Winnie doing well with a baby.
I flip to the next page in the baby name book. I never realized there were so many names before.
I glance at the empty space beside me in bed and my heart aches. This should be something that Ben is a part of. I feel wrong picking our child’s name on my own, but it’s not something we ever talked about.
Bring Me Back Page 23
