by Taylor Dean
“You must be exhausted.”
“Yep.” He looks down for a moment. “So . . . you’re here with Ryker?”
Doesn’t he know me well enough to know I would never go back to Ryker? “No. Just being polite after his father died. Temporary truce.”
I swear, he could be a statue. Or turn me to ice with his glare. “My father just died too, Mila.”
Slip of the tongue, I want to scream. That’s not what I meant. But there’s no time to speak.
He turns abruptly, gets in his Jeep, and drives away, his tires screeching.
Stunned, I stand there in his dust, wondering what just happened. I threw out an olive branch and he rejected it.
He’s upset, he’s consumed with grief, he’s exhausted. This isn’t normal behavior for Zane. In my heart, I know this.
Regardless, everything inside me plummets, like I crash landed and hit the earth hard and fast. I feel blackness descend on me, invade me.
I’m a throbbing mess. My hand is throbbing and my heart is throbbing.
Worst of all, the Great Big Dark just signed a lease to join me in my apartment.
I can’t fight it anymore. I now have a roommate.
chapter thirty
~
FIVE DAYS PASS. Five days of sitting in my apartment, mindlessly watching TV, never wearing anything besides pajamas. The same pair.
And ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. Straight out of the tub. Who needs a bowl? They come in serving-sized tubs for a reason. I have to prop the tubs in between my feet to open them one handed. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
No more walks. No more sunshine. I keep my blinds firmly shut, the drapes closed, my butt on the couch, my eyes on the TV, and the lights off.
I had Lucky Charms for dinner last night. They remind me of Zane. They were even better than the popcorn I had for dinner the night before.
Artie’s always on my lap, my partner in crime, my only friend. He’s my lifeline, my thread of sanity. Without him, I’d be lost.
I tell myself I’m recovering, that I need to rest. Who am I kidding? I’m wallowing in the depths of despair, the valley of the shadow of death. I’m not on vacation, I’ve built my summer home there.
I heard from Zane once. Once! He sent a text shortly after the funeral.
Zane: I’m so sorry, Mila. Forgive me. Really tough day. Crazy busy with legalities. Will see you soon. As soon as I can. We need to talk. I love you. So much.
Not a peep since. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
I know he’s busy. With his father gone, I imagine dealing with his estate and working through the changes to his father’s company are extremely complicated. There’s so much to do when someone passes. It’s a time when all you want to do is grieve. Instead, there’s mounds of small details to take care of.
But is he really so busy that he can’t make an effort to see me? To check up on me? Another text. A quick phone call.
Anything. I only want a crumb.
I stayed here to give us a chance. He says he loves me, but his silence speaks louder than his words. Maybe I’ve already received my answer and it’s a big fat NO. Maybe that’s what his silence means.
Did Ryker reveal things Zane didn’t want me to know? And now that I do know, does he figure the game is up and it’s useless to even try? Was everything a lie? Was he simply trying to one-up his brother?
I don’t know. I’m speculating constantly, trying to reason it all out. I have too much time to dwell on it. My imagination is my worst enemy.
There’s only one thing I know for sure. Zane is not here, and I’m all alone. I’ve lost everything.
So, I’m having a pity party. And no one is invited.
Without Zane, the injury to my hand feels like a death sentence, like I no longer have a life. I’m useless and washed up. I peaked early. It’s all downhill from here.
I probably shouldn’t have portrayed such a brave face to my family during the time they were here. I gave everyone the impression I could handle this major setback.
I can’t.
I should have told them about my worries over Zane. I assured them he’d be here taking care of me once he returned from his overseas mission. Of course, I didn’t expect the way events have played out.
Mom and Dad are both very ill now. Mom’s cough turned into pneumonia and Dad has bronchitis. Neither one of them feels like talking on the phone, understandably. They’re on antibiotics and are telling me they’ll be fine soon, not to worry. Martin’s on a business trip. I don’t want to bother them with my poor me sniveling. So, I’ve kept to myself.
The Marin Symphony found a replacement pianist. A little too quickly. They flew her in from Russia, so I wasn’t exactly easy to replace. Just quick.
Life goes on. For everyone except me. I’ve come to a screeching halt.
I’ve never felt so alone and forgotten. Abandoned and overlooked. Yep, I’ve succumbed to the Great Big Dark. He loves me and keeps me warm at night.
No one cares that my hand is injured and my dreams are ruined. The Martel men have their own lives to worry about. I’m history. Someone they ruined and forgot about.
They’ve probably already moved on to another sick and twisted competition.
I grab the remote and flip through the channels. When I come across Jeopardy, I flick the TV off and stare at the blank screen. For a long time.
What is duped by a stalker?
I rub my forehead in a circular motion. This is what an all-time-low feels like. I know I need to do something to save myself. But I don’t have the energy. All I want to do is watch TV and fade in and out of sleep.
I need help. I should reach out, call some of my symphony friends. Plan a lunch date. Some retail therapy.
But I don’t want to. That’s the catch-22 of the Great Big Dark. It’s like I’m drowning and no one’s there to save me. Yet, if I scream for help, I know someone will come. They’ll pull me out and I will be fine. The thing is, I don’t want to call out for help. I want someone to notice and come to my rescue of their own accord.
Notice me. Save me.
It’s not a healthy viewpoint. I know it’s self-indulgent. But knowing that changes nothing. It is what it is.
The longer no one comes, the further I sink into the water. My head is covered. I’ve been underwater for days and I’m powerless to save myself. It’s like my hands are tied behind my back.
I hate the Great Big Dark, and yet I embrace him and hold him tight. Because I don’t have anything else.
I grab another tub of ice cream from the freezer and indulge in the only happiness I can find.
When my phone rings, I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s been eerily silent for so long, I hardly recognize the ringtone. I have no voicemails and no texts. Nothing. It’s enough to make a girl feel invisible.
Ryker’s name flashes across my screen. The devil incarnate is calling.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice sounding like a croak at three in the afternoon.
“Mila?”
“Why does that surprise you? That’s who you called. Or did you butt dial me?”
“Are . . . are you okay?”
“I’m fantastic. Never been better. Why wouldn’t I be? If you can’t answer that, you don’t deserve to be speaking with me.” My voice shakes with emotion, betraying me. Tears are never far from the surface these days. Okay, constant. Same difference.
“I, uh . . .”
“Never mind. Why are you calling me, Ryker?”
“You sound weird. What’s wrong?”
“Really?” I ask, heavy on the sarcasm. What could possibly be wrong?
“Really. You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I’m not myself. Things have changed in my world.”
“I know they have. I’m sorry about that.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I mean it.”
“Why the phone call, Ryker? Please get to the point.” I’m positive he didn’t c
all to check up on me. He never does. No one does.
Oh man, I’m sinking fast. In the self-pity pond.
Ryker is silent for far too long.
“Hello?” I say.
He clears his throat. “Listen, the reading of my father’s will is tomorrow morning. Will you go with me?”
Is he serious? “Why would I do that?”
“I would love to have you by my side. I need a friend. That’s all.”
No, he doesn’t. He wants Zane to see us together. He’s so transparent. The twisted competition hasn’t ended.
“And you think I fall into the category of friend?” I curse my trembling voice. It announces I’m on the edge.
No, I’m not on the edge. I’m freefalling toward the ground.
He’s quiet again, this time for several moments. “What’s wrong with you?”
Does Ryker actually have a perceptive bone in his body? Who’d a thought? “Do you really want me to answer that? You would probably regret it.”
“Mila . . .”
“What?” My tone is challenging.
“Will you go with me or not?”
I bow my head, my thoughts whirling. If I go, I will have a chance to see Zane. Maybe afterward I’ll have the chance to corner him and demand to hear an explanation. I’m torturing myself, but I need to hear Zane’s side of the story from Zane’s lips. I can’t give up on us until that happens. Is Zane the bad guy Debra and Ryker purport him to be? I don’t think he is. I can’t turn tail and run back home to Idaho until I know without a doubt.
The only way to know is to face Zane.
That means I have to take a shower and get dressed, which seems like a lot of effort. I don’t know if I have the energy. It’s something I need to do, though. If I don’t pull myself out of this rut, I might never get out. No one’s going to do it for me. Prince Charming doesn’t exist.
Well, he does, but he’s dealing with settling his father’s estate—and grief. He’s busy. He can’t hop on his white horse and save me.
And maybe, just maybe, he’s filled with regret because he let himself get entwined in sibling rivalry. Maybe he’s filled with guilt and can’t face me.
There goes my imagination again.
“Sure. I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Mila. I’ll pick you up at ten-thirty.”
“No, I’ll meet you there. Give me the address.” I jot it down on a soiled napkin and toss it onto the cluttered coffee table. Then we hang up.
I contemplate taking a shower, but a new episode of Judge Judy is on. And the couch is really comfortable. And getting up is so hard. My body feels like it weighs a ton.
I might not ever get up again. I have no reason to, anyway. Other than tomorrow morning, that is. If I decide to show. Why should I go after Zane? Shouldn’t he come after me?
Yes. Yes, he should.
chapter thirty-one
~
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, there’s banging on my front door. I curl up tighter, pull my blanket over my head, and ignore it. I don’t feel like getting up or seeing anyone or talking to anyone. I only want to wallow in the dark world of nothing.
“Mila, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
I breathe in and out deeply. It’s Ryker, the dream slayer. Fantastic.
I let him bang on my door for another five minutes, to see if he’ll give up.
He doesn’t.
“If you don’t answer, I will break down the door. I’m not joking. Remember? I don’t joke. So, let me in right now.”
I shuffle to the door and throw it open. “Or what? You’ll huff and you’ll puff?”
“Does that make me the big bad wolf?”
“If the shoe fits.”
I navigate the minefield of my palace, return to my comfy couch, and pull my blanket up to my chin. Artie resumes his position cuddled up at my side. We’re a pity party team.
Ryker slowly enters the apartment, stepping over the bags of garbage that are stacked up in the foyer. I have the feeling he wouldn’t call my home a palace. He looks in my kitchen, distaste marring his features. I didn’t expect him to love my new decorating style. It’s where you let all of your takeout and pizza boxes clutter the countertop. It’s a great look.
I gave up on the healthy freezer meals my mom left me. Instead, I’ve been indulging in all sorts of fast food. Anything that’s batter-coated and fried in oil is my new best friend.
Ryker deliberately stands in front of the TV, his eyes perusing the stack of garbage on the coffee table, his lips turned into a frown. When his gaze lands on me, there’s little change to his disgusted expression.
Artie climbs closer to me, shaking in my arms, his whine piercing the air.
“He never did like me,” Ryker says.
“Can’t think why.” I wipe a few tears from my cheeks. They fall unbidden. All the time. It’s the norm, rather than the exception.
I sit up. “You’re blocking my view. I haven’t seen this episode.”
“Where’s Mila and what have you done with her?”
“Ryker, was that a joke? If so, it wasn’t very funny. Try again.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m recovering. You slammed a door on my hand after you ripped my heart out of my chest. Remember? Think hard. I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”
He walks forward and tries to grab the remote out of my hand. We struggle for a bit, but he wins. He flicks the TV off.
“I was watching that.”
“How long have you been watching that?”
I do a quick mental calculation. “Oh, about five days and four hours.”
“Maybe it’s time to give it a rest.” He approaches a window and yanks open the drapes.
My eyes squint from the sudden bright light. “Now I’ll turn into a gremlin.”
“My dear, you already have.”
He removes his suit coat and starts to roll up his sleeves.
“I think you should leave. I don’t even know why you’re here,” I tell him. Perhaps guilt, the great motivator.
“I don’t know why I am, either. Don’t question it and everything will be fine.”
He opens a window, letting a fresh breeze into the apartment. He grabs the garbage can and starts picking up all the trash piled on the coffee table. The only survivor is the napkin with the address on it for tomorrow. He hangs that on my fridge with a magnet.
“Ryker, please stop.”
He casts me a raised brow. “Make me.”
I sink further into the couch. “I’ll pass.”
“That’s what I thought.”
When he’s done with the coffee table, he moves to the kitchen, doing the same thing in there.
I remain firmly planted on my couch, with no intention of getting up. There’s a permanent scowl etched into my features. Not sure it’ll ever fade. Turns out, my mom was right. If I distort my face long enough, it’ll stay that way. I thought it was just something mothers say to make their children behave.
Ryker’s gone for a while as he disposes of all the trash in the parking lot dumpsters. I consider getting up and locking the door, shutting him out, but I can’t make my legs move.
When he returns, he searches a few closets until he finds the vacuum. He proceeds to not only vacuum my apartment, but to dust it. Then he cleans the bathroom and the kitchen. He even mops the floors. There’s a reason why his penthouse was always sparkling clean. He must scour it all the time. Probably on a daily basis.
No wonder he’s so good at it. Surprise, surprise.
When he’s done, I hear the shower turn on. At first, I think he’s still cleaning in there. Then I hear him say, “Right now.”
I look up to find him standing in the hall with his finger pointed to the bathroom. “Get in of your own free will and choice while you have the chance.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Uh, no. I get up and walk toward him. “I was going to take a shower tod
ay anyway.”
“Were you?”
“We’ll never know for sure now, will we?”
“Just get in.”
I decide to ask him the same question I asked Zane. “Tell me something, Ryker. Are you the good guy or the bad guy?”
“Bad guy,” he says with no hesitation whatsoever. “That won’t change. Don’t expect it to. Now get in the shower and don’t come out until the grease from your hair has melted down the drain. It might take a while.”
“You’re a mean man.”
“Proud of it. Now quit stalling.”
“Will you wrap my hand for me?”
“You can’t do it yourself?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried. But I can’t get it wet. How am I supposed to wrap it one-handed and make it waterproof?”
“Oh my gosh. You’re such a baby.”
But he wraps my hand for me anyway. He does a really good job too. And he’s gentle. He ignores the tears falling down my cheeks as if they aren’t there, which suits me fine.
I take a long, hot shower while contemplating Ryker’s actions. I once loved him, but those feelings have long since been replaced with . . . let’s just say, very unkind feelings. I don’t know what’s happening right now on the roller coaster of my life. I only know it’s an odd turn of events.
It makes me realize that most people are not all bad or all good. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, our own set of life experiences that shape us.
Ryker’s done some bad things, but here he is, helping me when he sensed I needed it. So unexpected. Like a wardrobe malfunction, his good side is showing.
I exit the bathroom with wet hair, dressed in fresh pajamas. It doesn’t make the Great Big Dark go away. But it sure does give him a run for his money.
My apartment is fresh, clean, and happy. Not at all how I want it. It no longer matches my mood.
Ryker’s sitting on the couch, and there are two plates of take-out on the coffee table in front of him. Artie’s in his dog bed, as far away from Ryker as he can possibly get. Maybe I need to pay attention to the message Artie is sending me.
Unfortunately, I already know the content of the message from firsthand experience. Ryker’s an ogre dressed in a really nice suit. He might have a soft side, but he also has a mean streak inside of him that I’d rather not tangle with.
