“I bet they’d let you use their drum set and hold real drum sticks. What do you say?”
It worked. He’d have to hope Cam had a set with him and would actually let the kid hold the sticks—Ryan would promise to wipe the grape jelly off her fingers first. But they’d figure it out later. At least she let him turn off the TV and then got in the car.
The bar was one of those places off the highway that looked like trouble on the outside, but inside was mostly just sad. The lights were dim to hide the fact that it was just some concrete square with cheap booze running through it. Ryan had been to plenty of those in his day.
But this time it was different. He was sober, for one thing. And he walked in carrying Maya on his shoulders, because it was cute as hell and because she didn’t want to get her pink sneakers dirty on the gravel. Her fingers clung to his hair, but when he slid her down and plunked her on a bar stool, she was grinning like she seemed to think this was all pretty cool.
“No kids at the bar,” the bartender growled, so Ryan moved her to a table instead and ordered her an orange juice with grenadine, plus a seltzer with lime for him. He wanted what Maya was drinking but figured he shouldn’t push his luck in front of these guys.
He’d been afraid that it was a mistake to bring Maya—and for him to show up here at all. But Cam did actually teach her a few beats on the table, and she caught on pretty quick. The bass player, Seth, was a thin, reedy guy Ryan hadn’t seen in years, but now he had three kids at home and did a good job of peppering her with questions about school and her toys. Little did he know he was about to get an earful about dinosaurs as Cam and Ryan caught up.
“What are you working on next?” Cam asked, tossing back a beer. “You’ve got to follow that last album up with something big.”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said honestly. He knew what Eddie wanted the answer to be—getting Little White Lie back together. But he couldn’t say it out loud. What if Little White Lie was his past? What if his future was here?
“You’ve got to have a plan,” Cam said. “So here’s what I’m thinking. If you’re going to be in town for a while—”
“I’m hungry.” Maya tugged on his sleeve.
“One sec,” Ryan said and motioned for Cam to keep going.
“I’ve got some guys working on a sound I think would work with this direction you’re going in.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Ryan said.
“Of course not. And we’re leaving on tour. But when we’re back—”
“Yeah,” he said, thinking it through, feeling his fingers already aching to pick up a guitar. “We could try it.”
If I’m still in Washington. If I blow off Chicago altogether. If Claire really is going to be mine.
“Can I have a snack?” Maya pulled on his shirt again.
“How about another pink juice?” he asked. She’d already drunk two, but orange juice was a fruit, right? He could ask the bartender to go lighter on the grenadine this time.
But Maya stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head.
“Okay, we’ll get some dinner soon.”
He swore it was only a few minutes that he kept talking to Cam. No more than five. He just wanted to hear the guy finish his thought. He’d been so focused on jumping from Square One up to Little White Lie he’d forgotten there were other possibilities outside of Chicago and New York. Possibilities that might not have to take him away from here.
But it seemed like they’d barely launched into the opportunities for Ryan in the Seattle music scene when someone was grabbing his arm.
Ryan whirled around. Seth was lunging for him and yelling something he couldn’t make out.
“Get off me,” Ryan said reflexively, shoving Seth away as though this were the old days and being in a bar meant some kind of trouble was coming for him.
But then Seth pointed to Maya, who was half sitting, half sliding out of her chair, and Ryan remembered where he was. He remembered who he was.
He leaped up, shoving chairs out of the way. Maya’s eyes were glassy, her face puffed up and swollen, and she was clawing at her throat. When he felt her pulse, it was racing.
He lifted her up, supporting her in the chair so she didn’t slide down again. “What did she eat?” he shouted to Cam, his band-mates, the bartender—everyone in the goddamn bar. “What the fuck did she eat?”
“She said she was hungry,” Seth said helplessly.
“What did you give her?”
Ryan had never shouted so loudly in his life. He didn’t even know he could make such a sound. But he felt the flutter of Maya’s chest, heard her wheezing as she struggled to breathe, and a protective, animal instinct roared to life.
“She said she was hungry, so I asked the bartender for some of those snacks.” Seth pointed to a bowl on the bar.
Ryan stirred his fingers through it and saw pretzels, little spicy orange rods he was sure Maya wouldn’t have liked. And, sure enough, honey-roasted peanuts.
He didn’t know who called 911, only that he was shouting for someone to fucking do it already.
He didn’t know how he remembered where the EpiPen was, but somehow, he’d had the foresight to throw it in the glove compartment of the car. Hadn’t Claire said to never go anywhere without it? Wasn’t he doing the right thing?
Now he knew that “never go without it” meant having it on his person at all times. He couldn’t believe it took so long to race to the car and back. Then there were the precious seconds he wasted fumbling to figure out how to use the damn thing. He had to close his eyes before he stuck the needle into her thigh. He was terrified to hurt her—and even more afraid of what might happen if he chickened out.
And then he was rocking her in his arms, waiting until he heard the siren. Those long minutes felt like hours, felt like his whole world distilled to that one moment. He realized with a painful, sickening shame that this was the first time anyone in his life had truly mattered more than him.
He wasn’t sure if Maya could hear him, but he kept telling her to breathe, trying to keep her from panicking. Making sure she knew she was loved.
Finally, the paramedics came. Maya looked so tiny strapped into the stretcher, a tube down her throat. Ryan raced out to the ambulance with her, not leaving her side.
“I’m sorry, sir. You’re going to have to follow us to the hospital,” the EMT said as Maya was lifted into the back of the ambulance.
“I’m her father,” Ryan practically growled and pushed his way inside.
The shittiest father ever.
But he wasn’t letting go of her hand.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Of all the things that Claire would never forgive herself for, the first was that she almost didn’t answer her phone.
She smiled when she saw that it was Ryan calling. That was second on the list of things she’d later kick herself for. That she’d actually been happy to see his name come up. It was proof of how far he’d hooked his claws into her again, that seeing his name could make her think of good things instead of pain.
She assumed he was calling to check in, see how things were going with her, let her know they were doing something fun so she didn’t have to worry. She had a sneaking suspicion Maya was going to be on a major sugar high after a full day with him. She’d laughed to herself, imagining the trouble he’d have putting her to bed.
Well, let him see what it was really like. If he wanted to be with Claire, if he wanted Maya to know the truth about who he was, he’d do it all gladly just to be in their lives.
That was what she thought “trouble” was. A sugar high, a little too much TV, Maya staying up past her bedtime and thinking Ryan was way more fun than her mom.
She’d finished up a session about new techniques in sports massage that she knew would be important for all her clients who were hikers and skiers. Now she had a few minutes to run to another conference room to hear a talk on the rotator cuff and shoulder mechanics—techniques she imagined she’d be using on
Ryan if he really got into the bouldering scene in the Cascades.
She didn’t have time to chat, but it would be nice to hear his voice, and then she’d call back after the panel so she could say good night to Maya. She was lucky she’d been able to fit in these classes after all.
But what she heard when she answered the call wasn’t the sweet voice of her daughter, or Ryan’s silky growl asking her how everything was going.
Instead, she heard the unmistakable sound of sirens. And Ryan, panicked, shouting at her through the phone.
“I’m so sorry,” he kept saying. “They say she’s going to be fine, but I’m so, so sorry.”
Claire stopped in her tracks. Her hands suddenly started to shake. It was as though her body registered what Ryan was saying before her brain caught up.
“What are you talking about?” she said, pressing the phone closer to her ear. “Ryan, where are you? I can’t hear you.”
“I’m in the ambulance.”
“What?” she cried so loudly that everyone milling around the hotel lobby turned and stared.
“Maya’s having a reaction. She—”
Claire heard fumbling, the sharp sounds of other voices. What sounded like Ryan being told to move, or maybe to get off the phone.
“I have to go,” he said.
“I’m on my way.” She hung up before he could add anything else.
The only way to keep the shaking from taking over was to move. She raced to the elevators and jiggled the button, pushing it over and over again as though that would make it come faster. When she finally got to her floor, she flew down the hall and into her room. She threw what she could into her bag, but she hardly cared about what she might be forgetting. Right now, all that mattered was getting to her car.
She never should have left Maya alone with him. She was selfish, going off to her conference, thinking only of herself and her career. That voice that said she knew Ryan and could trust him? That was nothing but hormones talking, the same heady mix of loneliness and lust that had driven her into bed with him again. She’d tricked herself into thinking things would be different. But he was the same Ryan, reckless to a fault. She never should have put him in charge of the most important person in her life.
She had to believe Maya was going to be okay. She was in the hospital, where they’d take care of her. It was going to be fine.
She couldn’t let herself imagine any alternative.
But she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white, her heart in her throat and tears streaming down her face as she sped home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ryan paced in the waiting room, checking his phone, hoping for something. A call. A text. He knew Claire was driving. As soon as she’d hung up on him, he knew she was jumping in the car.
She wouldn’t call while she was on the road, and he didn’t want to text or do anything that might distract her. She probably wasn’t exactly going the speed limit, an idea that made him all the more uneasy, even though he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Especially since it was his fault she was flying up Route 5 in the first place.
But waiting was never his strong suit, and his forearm felt sore from where he kept rubbing at the ink as he paced.
When the doctor came out to find him, Ryan didn’t say, “Yes, I’m the father, but barely, and Maya doesn’t know it yet, so it’d be better to wait until the real parent is here to discuss any treatment.” Instead, he rushed over, phone in his hand, and demanded to know everything.
“She’s still unconscious, and we’re going to keep her on a ventilator until the swelling goes down and we’re sure her airways are clear,” the doctor said.
“But she’s breathing?” Ryan said, barely able to choke out the words. “She’s going to be okay?”
There were a million details about the reaction. But all Ryan could hear was that although they wanted to keep an eye on her, she was going to recover.
“Can I see her?” he asked.
She wasn’t awake yet, but she was there, her small chest rising and falling, her gray eyes closed. She looked pale, her face still puffy but better than when she’d started to balloon in the bar. Ryan could have wept with relief, but he was too frozen, still in shock. All he could do was sink into a chair by the bed and stroke the soft skin of her palm.
He sat there, holding her hand, murmuring to her about how sorry he was as he waited for Claire. At some point, the pain in his shoulder returned from sitting hunched over for so long like he’d done in the van. Reluctantly, seeing no change in the monitors, he got up to get a cup of coffee down the hall.
He’d only be gone a second, though. Maya wouldn’t wake up alone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
How dare he.
That was all Claire could think when she rushed into Maya’s hospital room and found her little girl lying in bed, alone. Maya’s face was pale but her skin was warm. Claire had seen that look before, the pastiness of her cheeks as the swelling slowly receded.
She didn’t know what made her more furious—that Ryan had put Maya in this position, or that after endangering her daughter like this, he wasn’t even here to make sure she was okay.
What if Maya had woken up and no one was beside her? What if something happened, she went downhill, and Claire was still on the road?
Then she heard the door open, and he waltzed in, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a bag of cookies from the vending machine.
Like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Claire dropped Maya’s hand and turned on him, instinct making her stand between her daughter and Ryan.
“She’s okay,” he said before she could find the words to tear into him.
“Okay?” Claire cried loudly enough to wake Maya if she’d been sleeping.
But the fact that Maya didn’t stir was a reminder that she wasn’t asleep, that this was anything but normal. Ryan had picked the completely the wrong word to describe Maya right now. “Okay” wasn’t anywhere in the same galaxy as what was going on.
“The doctor just came by,” he said. “I got her the EpiPen in time. The EMT administered some other medication, and the swelling has already gone down.”
His voice was weird. Flat. He sipped the coffee. Did he think this was just some ordinary conversation? Did he not care that Maya was lying unconscious behind her?
She wanted to hurl herself at him, pound him with her fists until he broke. She wanted to sob into his arms and trust him to take care of her like he was supposed to.
But he was the reason they were in this mess, and she knew she couldn’t turn to him, couldn’t rely on him, and sure as hell couldn’t trust him anymore.
So she kept her fists by her side. And she tried to keep her eyes dry, even as tears threatened to spill.
“What did you do?” The words came out raw and angry, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing she could say would be enough to capture how upset she was, a rising panic that made her want to scream.
He looked stunned, as though he hadn’t expected her to ask that question. As though he thought he could go and get his coffee and his cookies and pretend to be the good guy, the one who used to be an asshole but had finally learned how to care.
But it was too late for that act.
“It was an accident, baby,” he said, his voice so soft it made her want to throw up.
“This isn’t a good time to baby me.”
“It was an accident,” he repeated, holding up his hands. “An honest to God accident, and I’m so, so sorry.”
“An accident would be if she tripped and fell on the jungle gym. This—” She gestured to the bed behind her. “This wasn’t just some mistake you can pass off as though you had no responsibility. You knew she has a life-threatening allergy.”
“Jesus, Claire. I didn’t feed her peanuts. What do you think I am, a monster? I turned my back for one second—”
“You can’t do that!” she cried, wringing her hands. “Don’t you get that? She
’s five years old. You have to be the responsible one. You have to be the adult.”
“It happened so fast, Claire. You have to believe me. I was right next to her, she wasn’t eating anything, and then I turned around and the next thing I knew, it turned out Seth had fed her something while I wasn’t looking.”
“Seth?” Claire said, suddenly confused. What was he talking about?
Ryan paused.
“Tell me,” she said when he didn’t go on.
The silence felt heavy. Thick. A physical force separating them. She realized he probably hadn’t meant to say all that, that he’d spilled details he’d hoped to leave out.
Well, let him suffer. Let him squirm. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. The storm had gone out of his eyes, and they were flat and gray, dark as the fog on a sea when everything was eerily still.
He ran a hand through his hair, his nervous gesture. It was so heartbreaking, she almost went to him, to take him in her arms and touch his hair, his cheek, feel the angle of his jaw and the scratch of his scruff on her skin. To play her usual, reassuring role.
But she didn’t. And he must have known she wasn’t going to do that ever again, because he sighed and told her.
“Seth Richter.”
He said it the same way he used to confess when she’d ask him what he’d done the night before, or how much he’d had to drink. Like the problem was her making these demands of him, not the fact that he’d done it in the first place.
She remembered, too, not just the tone of his voice but the way the numbers would increase the more she pushed. Three beers, he’d say. I only had three beers. She’d have to ask every other question—how many shots on top of the beers, who had bought a bottle and passed it around, where did he go after everyone else had piled into cabs and he lied and said he’d walk home. Lied so no one would know he was going to another bar, that the night wasn’t over. Not even close.
It felt like that, like there were all these pieces she had to pry out of him because this wasn’t just some story about an accident—an accident she still couldn’t understand because hadn’t she left him crystal clear instructions? Didn’t he know what Maya couldn’t eat? Wasn’t there absolutely nothing in her house that Maya was allergic to, so she could never get into anything without realizing it?
Make Me Yours (Men of Gold Mountain) Page 15
