“So what happened?” He opens the bottle and reaches for the cotton balls.
“Um, I fell . . .” I’m pretty sure he saw the whole thing.
“No, I mean, why were you at a bar I’ve never seen you at, drinking an entire pitcher of tequila?”
I swallow as the tears come again. I’ve seriously never cried so much in my entire life as I have in the last two weeks. “I doubt you’d want to know.”
Ryker sets my hand on a towel in his lap, his blue eyes still searching mine. “I asked, didn’t I?”
“I’m sorry, Ryker,” I squeak out between even more tears.
“For what?” He looks up in surprise.
“I-I-I,” I’m stuttering through an ugly cry, “I ruined your life and I’m sorry.”
His face twitches. “Deep breath.”
“Huh?”
His voice is calm and even. “Take a deep breath, this is going to sting.”
He takes one with me as he pours the peroxide over my arm. He’s right. It hurts like a bitch, but not for long.
“So,” he continues, “you were at The Harp, getting dangerously drunk because you think you ruined my life?” Ryker’s eyebrows pull in as he pours another round of peroxide over my arm.
I shrug. “Among other things . . .”
Ryker dabs the cut dry and starts looking at my arms, I guess to see if I have any more gashes.
“You didn’t ruin my life—” he stops as his calloused thumb runs along my upper, inner arm. Looking down, I find him tracing the last place I cut. “Jesus, Nat . . .”
I shrug out of his hold, but it’s too late. His hard swallow as he looks away is the only proof I need that he knows what those marks are from. He’s seen them before, even if it was only once. His face melts as he squeezes his eyes shut. Before I can respond, Ryker’s walking to the kitchen and filling up a glass of water. He returns, setting the ice-cold glass in my hand.
“Drink this.” He paces around the coffee table and rubs a hand over his face. “By the looks of things, I think it’s safe to say I ruined yours.” His tone fills me with uncomfortable anxiety. He wants me out of here, I can tell. He doesn’t need some screwed-up ex-girlfriend messing up the good thing he clearly has going for himself.
Feebly, I try to console any guilt he’s feeling. I know what I can do to a person. “You didn’t ruin anything for me, Ry.”
Ry.
In a huff, his hands are running through his hair. He seems to choose to ignore my reply. “When you said you didn’t have a home . . .” Ryker shrugs, waiting for a response.
“Oh. Well, you see,” I lay on the cheery sarcasm I’ve become good at, “my boys are staying at my parents’ house this week and my husband—I just found out—has been having an affair for the last year. Which, really, is just as well since I was leaving him anyway . . . so last night I stayed at Tosha’s.” In one breath I just told him that I’m a mom, a wife, and a soon-to-be ex-wife. Neat.
He winces and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Is she home now?”
“No. She and Liz are at Tosha’s parents’ house for a few days, why?”
Ryker grabs the back of his neck and groans almost inaudibly to the heavens. “I can’t let you go home like this. You’re far too drunk—”
“Wait,” standing, I balance myself on the arm of the couch, “you’re not suggesting I stay here . . . are you?”
“Yeah, Nat, I am.” He chuckles, but I can’t tell if it’s from nervousness or the absurdity of the situation. Probably both. I’d like to pass out now. “Unless you’re uncomfortable . . .” His face changes, and it breaks my heart.
“No, Ryker, that’s not it. It’s just . . . I don’t see you for the better part of a decade and . . .”
He laughs nervously again. “Go figure. I can loan you some shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in.”
Yeah, sure, why not?
“Okay. Can I shower?” I’m starting to sober up at a rapid pace, but that might just be the tequila making me think that.
“Of course, shower’s upstairs.” Ryker leads me to the stairs with his hand gently pressing against the small of my back. Praise God for my dress or I’d be on fire. “You okay to do the stairs?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
And incredibly distracted by your hand. On my back.
“All right,” Ryker turns on the light in a small bathroom at the top of the stairs, “towels are here, and I’ll have you sleep in the room next door. I’ll put clothes on the bed.” He’s shaved since I saw him a few days ago, and apart from the crease between his eyebrows as he focuses on what he’s trying to tell me, he looks exactly the same as the last healthy day I saw him.