Having Rosenfeld (Rosenfeld Duet Book 2)

by Leighann Hart

  Her lips parted long before the words were coaxed out. “Where are you?”

  Here we go.

  “At a friend’s place.”

  “Uh huh,” Charlotte said. “Would this friend happen to be of the male persuasion?”

  An emptiness formed in the pit of her stomach as she rubbed her jeans. “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Zayn.”

  It was a half-truth, a desperate measure.

  Her parents were clueless to her ongoing relationship with Peter, and definitely unaware that he had dropped everything and relocated to the Midwest to be with her. While Ryleigh got a kick out of imagining how they would react if the truth were to surface, she also harbored a heap of guilt for hiding a truth so vital to her existence.

  “I just wanted to call and check in. Why don’t you give me a call back when you’re home?”

  It was strange to hear the dorm being referred to as home, which was the absolute last word Ryleigh would have used to describe the prison-like building. “Will do. Love you.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Her mother flashed a warm smile before the screen went black.

  Setting her phone aside, she let her head rest against the wall, straining to catch bits of Janet and Peter’s argument but individual words proved impossible to pinpoint. Ryleigh’s heart wrenched as his mother’s sobs diffused through the drywall. Those defeated cries snaked into her ears and suspended any kind of biological ticking within her body. It was the very despair she herself had been too afraid to set free, and it was cathartic in a way hearing those helpless pleas voiced by another.

  She only hoped the man they were directed at had good enough sense to listen.

  Later that afternoon, Peter and Ryleigh strolled hand in hand through the winding paths of Matthaei Botanical Gardens, the wind rustling their hair and nipping at their noses. The Rosenfelds were a short distance up ahead. Janet linked arms with her husband for extra support, despite Gideon’s insistence that after weeks of physical therapy, her concern over his ambulatory abilities was ludicrous. The exchange made Ryleigh laugh internally as it was so easy to envision Peter firing off the same comment.

  “My mom called earlier.”

  “Yeah? When was that?”

  Keeping her eyes glued to the pavement, she said, “When I ducked out in the hall for a bit.”

  “Ah.”

  In that monosyllabic reply, Ryleigh knew he registered the precise moment to which she had been referring.

  “She knew I wasn’t at the dorm, boys came up. I told her I was at Zayn’s, which isn’t a complete lie because technically you’re a Zayn, even if she doesn’t know that.”

  Peter laughed, nodding with emphasis. “You can’t keep us a secret forever. You’ll have to tell them eventually.”

  She elbowed him. “Yeah, right. Maybe once we’re married. After the fact, of course, or my dad would wreck the ceremony.”

  “Married, huh?” Frowning, he slipped his hands into his coat pockets.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s weird, I haven’t given the whole thing much thought; the institution of marriage, that is. I definitely never pictured myself getting married. I still don’t, really, uh—” Peter shut his eyes and shook his head upon opening them. “Look, this is something that’s crazy for us to discuss. Don’t you agree?”

  “Totally.”

  Though Ryleigh had not been entirely serious, the hypothetical rejection stung. Was this the same man she had lost her virginity to the night prior? The same man she had fallen for? There was merit in her shock, but she had no right to pretend she did not know who Peter was. God, he probably thought she was a clingy leech for bringing it up.

  Walking beside him became unbearable when only moments before it had been something transported out of a dream. Ryleigh swallowed repeatedly, trying and failing to extinguish her shame.

  She stole a glance at him and her lungs constricted, that tightness worsened by the merciless winter air. Peter’s dismissal of marriage made her question their entire relationship all over again, bringing back the uncertainty that ruled her heart and mind during their situationship. What exactly did he want from her, if not that?

  He stopped on the path and hunched his shoulders. “I don’t think I’d be a good husband is all I meant.”

  “Why do you always talk about yourself in such a negative light?” Ryleigh stepped toward him, hugging herself. “You have to stop thinking of yourself as this broken, problematic thing no one wants. People aren’t born knowing how to fill those roles, they grow into them. And if anyone ever gets the privilege of calling you their husband, they’ll be the luckiest woman on the planet, because you’re an incredible guy with a tough heart and one hell of a smile.”

  The corners of Peter’s mouth twitched but he did not give in to the smile. She swore as he turned to face the path ahead that the muted sunlight exposed a cloudiness in his eyes.

  “You always make me feel better, you know that? Even when I don’t deserve it.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Especially when I don’t deserve it.”

  “Peter,” Janet called from down the trail. “Will you come here, please?”

  He and Ryleigh exchanged tense looks, both fearing the worst with Gideon in tow. Nodding in the direction of his mother, she urged, “Go.”

  She continued along the path, but slowed her pace for fear of catching up with the family and discovering an unthinkable scene. Soon enough, Janet approached from the opposite direction, and Ryleigh was unsure whether she should have felt worried or relieved.

  “Is everything okay?” she immediately asked.

  “Gideon? He’s fine, save the incurable attitude.”

  “That attitude is hereditary.”

  Janet pressed a fist to her lips. “It certainly is.”

  Alone with Peter’s mother, a million questions vied for attention. Any consideration for tact or what may have been appropriate went out the window as nausea held Ryleigh hostage until she dared to speak. “I’m scared for Peter.”

  “Makes two of us,” she said with a wistful smile.

  “I want to be there for him. I try, but it’s like he won’t allow it, and I try to be supportive from a distance, to do things to help that I think he won’t notice. Not like any of it’s working. It seems like, every day, he’s getting worse. I’ve tried putting on a brave face for both of us but I’m worried I can’t do it anymore. Some days, it’s too much, and I have to admit to myself that maybe I don’t know how to handle this.”

  Toying with her necklace, Janet said, “Honey, you couldn’t be any sweeter if you tried. Don’t go blaming yourself for this. You’re so good for him, so very good.”

  The heaviness of things left unsaid weighed down the space around them, creating a sort of imagined humidity that further wrecked Ryleigh’s breathing. She wanted, more than anything, to believe his mother, to certify the assurance as the truth and ease up on her concern for Peter; but she loved him with a fierceness that often kept her awake at night, and simply pushing those worries out of her mind was not a plausible option.

  Images from her dorm room looped through her head, a taunting reminder that the most beautiful evening of her life had also been the most devastating. A chill reached Ryleigh’s bones that had little to do with the seasonable weather.

  “How much?” she asked in a whisper.

  No context was necessary. The pain illuminating Janet’s honey gray eyes confirmed her understanding. “One three zero.”

  Only 15 more than me.

  Tears rushed to the surface, their depths too great to blink away. What perhaps pained Ryleigh more than the weight was how Janet had spoken the numbers individually, as if separating them lessened their credibility.

  “He went through this before.” Janet wiped the corners of her eyes. “Not quite to this extreme, but as a mother I was shaken up, no less.”

  “When?”

  “Toward the end of his senior y
ear of college, after Heather broke up with him. Of course, I didn’t know at the time they had split up, but I figured as much when he stopped bringing her around the house.” Janet hung her head, focusing on her tennis shoes as they went. “The night of graduation, one of his friends had a pool party. Right before Peter was supposed to leave, he came to me in the kitchen wearing his trunks and a t-shirt, and he told me he didn’t feel like going. And I thought it was odd because he was already dressed. Why get dressed if you don’t want to go? I didn’t press him on it. He stayed home and we watched Steel Magnolias.”

  Ryleigh laughed through her tears, thinking back to when she and Peter had watched the film over Skype once he caught wind that she had never seen it.

  “A few days later, he was outside cutting the grass, and he pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face. Even during that brief glimpse, it was clear to me why he hadn’t gone to the party. I didn’t make him take off his shirt or anything. I didn’t want to humiliate him anymore than was necessary. I had a scale waiting on the kitchen floor when he came inside.” She lifted her chin, fingers flying to her breastbone. “Oh, Ryleigh, when I saw that number, I cried and I cried.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “But he got better?”

  “Eventually, yes. He moved to Connecticut a few weeks after our little confrontation. I didn’t hear from him for two months. He was in such bad shape when he left…I was so worried, fearing the worst, that he had died and I’d never hear about it because I didn’t know exactly where he’d ended up and he didn’t have anyone there.”

  Ryleigh felt the mascara tracks drying on her wind-whipped cheeks, but it did not faze her. “That’s what Peter does. It’s how he handles everything: alone and shutting everyone out.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s also where—quietly, when no one’s watching—he destroys himself.”

  Pop-up tents in every conceivable shade lined the university’s lawn. Everyone from suited accountants to frayed denim wearing small business owners guarded the stations. Ryleigh had no interest in the networking event but had scampered off to the Diag after class upon receiving a text from Peter that he was covering it. They milled about the lively campus, arm in arm, catching the occasional scrutinizing look from passersby.

  The nefarious scent of nicotine hung in the air. At first, Ryleigh brushed it off to the mass of people they continually crossed paths with as they navigated the event, but the faint smell lingered everywhere they went. While she did not know Peter to smoke, she did know that it had been a part of his life; another pit stop in his history that predated their time together.

  If she could smell it on his clothes, why was there no evidence of it in their kisses? In high school, Ryleigh had once made out with a guy who smoked, and it had been like licking a dirty ashtray. Yet, all she tasted when they kissed was the dark bite of espresso and the bitter tang that was unmistakably Peter.

  “It may behoove you to engage with some of these people.” Peter gestured to the endless expanse of stalls, blowing into the oval cutout on his coffee’s lid. “You can’t stay undeclared forever.”

  “Oh no, Mr. riding the coattails of undeclared until your junior year? I don’t forget these things.” Her nails dug into her palms as her grip tightened on her backpack straps. “I get anxious just thinking about making that kind of decision.”

  His election of the topic made her eager for the impending fro-yo date with Kayla. Anything to escape this dreaded discussion.

  Still a freshman, she refused to believe a major was something that demanded her immediate attention. A more rational corner of Ryleigh’s brain insisted that she heed his advice, and explore the resources that were at her disposal that afternoon. Truly, besides reading, poetry, and Peter, she was at a loss for what sparked a fire within her.

  Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Peter pulled her closer as they meandered along the paved path. “That can’t be true. You’re the most decisive person I’ve ever met.”

  “Goes to show you haven’t met too many people.”

  Ignoring the jab, he said, “I noticed the new edition of the Quarterly floating around this afternoon. Have you thought any more about submitting?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. Sure, she had thought about it, and those thoughts had led to a self-induced bout of nausea and panic pricking her skin like needles. “I don’t know if I’m ready to put myself out there like that.”

  “You owe it to yourself to give it a shot. To hell with what anyone else may think if it makes it to print. Concentrate on how you’ll feel.” Squeezing her hand, he gave a small smile. “I believe in you. Try having a little faith in yourself.”

  This was a quality of Peter’s that Ryleigh adored: he made her believe that her passions were worth pursuing, that her poems were worth so much more than being relegated to a desk drawer, never to be read by anyone other than the two of them. He made her believe that she could pursue anything, that reaching up and grazing the stars with her fingertips would have been possible if only she tried.

  As they came to a fork in the walkway, Ryleigh spotted Daniel interviewing a table of insurance agents, his Michigan Daily lanyard hanging around his neck.

  “Oh, Christ.”

  Peter stopped in his tracks. “What is it?”

  “Don’t look now, but the guy hovering by the red tent, the one that looks like he bathed in a bottle of hair gel—that’s Daniel.” Ryleigh’s gaze ping-ponged between her boyfriend and the general direction of the tent.

  Something hardened in Peter’s features, subtle changes. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the reluctant way his jaw hung in the balance of being squared or relaxed. Anyone could have seen the confrontation brewing from a mile away.

  And that’s my cue to leave.

  “I’m going to be late if I don’t go now.” She strained to kiss Peter’s cheek in parting. “Play nice, Rosenfeld.”

  “Enjoy yourself,” he said, not sparing her a look as he fixated on Daniel with the sadistic enthusiasm of a poacher who had stumbled across their latest prey.

  Ryleigh felt a slight pang of regret that she was not sticking around to witness whatever would surely transpire between the two men, though she had a feeling she would hear all about it from one if not the other.

  Ryleigh’s neon green plastic spoon dove into her swirl of cappuccino and dark chocolate frozen yogurt, attracting various toppings as she retrieved it from the piled treat. She and Kayla had met up at their favorite spot, Sweetest Swirl, the only place in the city that offered a vegan option. The interior was fairly crowded for an early weekday afternoon; few tables were left unclaimed once they had made it through the assembly line.

  “Okay, I didn’t invite you here solely for the fro-yo.” Planting the spoon in her strawberry coconut creation, Kayla’s hands fell to her lap. Her lips quirked to the side, as if dissuading her from speaking. “I went on a date last weekend. Someone I never dreamed of going out with if we were the last two people on Earth. I thought it would just be one date, which I mostly agreed to because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but we got along so well, it was unreal.”

  Ryleigh failed to mask her suspicion. “If you had such a great time with this guy, why do you seem so hesitant to talk about him?”

  “Because this is either going to unite or divide our friendship,” Kayla said, chewing on her thumbnail.

  ‘Divide’ implied her possible opposition to this mysterious union. She was hard-pressed to come up with a single man who would incite such a reaction. “Who is it?”

  Saying nothing, Kayla traced an imaginary curly mustache on her upper lip. No way.

  “Ivan?” Ryleigh shrieked with theatrical incredulity.

  “I know.” She rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “He’s actually really sweet. If things get serious between us, I think I’ll have to scout out another job.”

  “Don’t you dare leave me alone with Ezra.” Ryleigh pointed her empty spoon at Kayla before
excavating another scoop. Slowly pulling the utensil from her mouth, she contemplated the news while the icy yogurt sailed over her tongue. “I’m kind of surprised you thought I’d be offended by you and Ivan.”

  “We’ve spent so much time mocking him, I thought letting word of this date slip would be social suicide.”

  “You should know by now I’m not a judgmental person, and even if I were, I’m currently in no position to be.”

  Ryleigh pulled back slightly from the table and sunk into the plastic chair. She contemplated telling Kayla about the latest development with Peter; after all, she trusted Ryleigh enough to come clean about Ivan.

  Though the memory of their lovemaking was as tragic as it was blissful, it was all hers, and she had yet to share that secret joy with anyone.

  Kayla broke into a grin. “I know that look. What’s going on?”

  Now you have to tell her.

  Heat rushed to Ryleigh’s cheeks. “Peter and I…” she trailed off, whispering, “for the first time.”

  She expected Kayla’s response to be along the lines of, ‘how have you guys not done that yet?’ Instead, she clamped her lips together and offered a reasonable, “How was it?”

  Nostalgia and hurt danced through her subconscious. How had it been? Truthfully, not as she had pictured it, but what did she know? And yet, despite the imperfections and the awkwardness and the agony of stripping Peter down to nothing but his vulnerability, it had been the most profound moment of her life.

  “It was everything I hoped it would be.”

  Peter remained rooted to the spot after Ryleigh had gone, watching Daniel wrap up his inquiries with the insurance reps. He wore jeans that hugged every curve of his modestly toned glutes, thighs, and calves. Skinny jeans, the style Ryleigh liked to wear. His beige sweater complemented his sandy complexion.