For the next several minutes I tell Ryker about how it was the day he left, my first time cutting at that party, and about most of the other times after. When I say I tell Ryker, I mean I tell the space on the table between us. I can’t watch his face as I talk about what was going on with me while he was off doing more important things.
“So it wasn’t all the time?” He shakes his head in question. “I’m sorry if I’m prying, but I’m just trying to . . .”
“I know, it’s okay. No, it wasn’t all the time. God,” I sigh, “I guess the best way to explain it up to that point is it was kind of like binge drinking. When I needed a release from it all. I missed you so bad I didn’t know what to do with myself. But it wasn’t all the time. Not till you came home . . .”
Ryker goes pale, and for the first time since he sat down, shifts a little in his chair.
“How ‘bout that beer now?” I chuckle nervously and stand.
His voice is firm. “I’m fine.”
“Wait,” I pause as I pull the wine bottle out of the fridge for myself, “do you drink at all?”
“Well, yeah.You saw me at The Harp, right? I don’t go there for the water. I just don’t want to drink right now.” Ryker leans back a bit in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.
Gracefully, there’s a knock at the door. I put the wine back in the fridge, un-poured.
“Oh, good, the pizza.” Picking up my wallet on the way, I race to the door for cheese-y relief.
I drop my wallet the second I open the door to find Eric standing there.
Shit.
Shit.
“What?” I act as bored as possible despite the stampede in my stomach.
He looks even worse than yesterday. Which serves him completely right. I think those are the same jeans. It’s definitely the same shirt, and his shower status is questionable.
“You didn’t come home last night.” His voice his hoarse and distant. I’ve never heard him sound anything but sure before.
“It’s not my home, Eric.” I note from the corner of my eye that Ryker doesn’t move.
Oh, now the pizza guy decides to show.
I hand him the money, say thanks, and resume staring at Eric.
“Come on, Nat . . .”
“Seriously, Eric, what’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on calling me Nat when I tell you not to. Every single time. You can’t honor that simple request, it’s no wonder you had such trouble with our marriage vows.” Turning, I shut the door and walk for the kitchen.
Time sends a warning chill through me before it freezes. Eric’s caught the door with his foot and is walking toward me. I hear his feet stop as he reaches the kitchen and, undoubtedly, sees Ryker. Though, I haven’t turned back around yet.
Straightening my shoulders, I take a prayerful deep breath as I turn to find Eric and Ryker looking between each other and me. As far as I know, Eric’s only seen Ryker once before—and that’s only if he caught a good look at him at my graduation seven years ago. He’s never seen any of my pictures of Ryker; so unless he employed Google, this could very well be the reason he’s looking quite confused.
This can’t possibly end well . . .
“Eric, this is Ryker Manning. Ryker, this is Eric Johns—”
Eric cuts me off. “Are you fucking serious?”
I feign indifference with a shrug. “Yes, that’s his name—”
“Oh, I know his name, Natalie.” He’s not even looking at Ryker, “I know his name because it’s the only name you’ve been mumbling in your sleep for weeks, and the only name you screamed out in bloody murder when I had to wake you up from that nightmare the other day.”
Ryker’s eyes shoot to me as Eric reveals more than I planned on Ryker ever knowing. With a hard swallow, I look to the floor for a second to regain some sense of reality. Eric tangles a hand through his greasy hair before turning to Ryker, who appears fairly unfazed.
“How long have you been fucking my wife?”
“Eric!” I lunge toward the table, watching Ryker carefully stand.
I’ve never compared them before in my head. Ryker had been out of my life for a couple of years before I met Eric. Eric’s slightly taller than me, probably 6’1”, but Ryker at 6’5” is towering over him. I don’t know if Ryker notices Eric’s slight back-step as he looks up at him, but I do.
“I’m not sleeping with Natalie.” His confidence calms my nerves.
“Ryker, you don’t have to explain yourself. This is absurd. Eric, get the hell out of here.” I gesture toward the door.
“Prove to me you’re not sleeping with him, Natalie.” He shrugs in the arrogant manner that makes my stomach churn.
Jesus Christ, he’s drunk. I’ve only seen Eric drunk a few times, but it’s the only time he’s more arrogant than he usually is. He’s not wasted, or I would have smelled it, but he’s certainly not sober.
“I can’t prove it, you know that. I can tell you I haven’t seen him for almost ten years and we just ran into each other at Atkins last week. And, I wouldn’t know, but a week isn’t really enough time to strike up an affair, is it? This is your area of expertise, so, enlighten me.”