“It was fine,” I say, trying to sound normal. I fail. Epically. I can’t keep it together and I begin to cry.
“Oh, honey.” My mom cries and jumps up. She hurries over to me and pulls me into her warm, comforting arms. How I ever thought I didn’t need her here is beyond me. I do need her. Every single day—and selfishly, I don’t want them to go back to Florida, but I know they need to even if my mom still insists on looking into moving back here. “What happened?” she asks. “You’ll feel better if you talk about it.” She guides me to the couch in the front living area so we’re away from the raucous of the TV.
“H-He kissed me,” I admit, my lower lip trembling. “And I didn’t stop him. I liked it,” I confess on a whisper. I sink down on the couch and place my head in her lap. She runs her fingers through my hair. The gesture both comforting and familiar.
She’s quiet, and I know she’s thinking over what she wants to say. Finally, she speaks. “It’s okay that you liked it,” she whispers.
I shake my head in her lap, my tears soaking into her soft jeans. “But Ben—”
“Blaire,” she says sternly, “he’s gone. He’s not coming back. But you … You’re here. Living and breathing with a life. One you have to live. You’re allowed to move on. To love.”
“It feels wrong,” I reason.
“You can’t end your life because he’s gone, B. He wouldn’t want that for you, and I think on a deeper level you know that. Ben never held you back from your dreams or what you wanted while he was alive and he wouldn’t want to do it dead, either.” I swallow thickly at her words. She continues, “I’m not saying that you need to ride off into the sunset with Ryder. You still need time, I know that, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give him a chance.”
I understand where she’s coming from, but it’s hard for me to let go. I think this small part of my brain still believes one morning I’m going to wake up beside Ben and all of this will have been a bad dream. What’s different now, though, when I have that thought is I automatically think of Ryder and how much I do care about him. I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t know him.
I’m torn between two men.
One a ghost, and one very real.
“I’m scared.
“I know you’re scared,” she says softly, still combing her fingers through my hair, “but don’t miss out on something great because of that. The greatest things in life are usually the scariest—but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do them.”
I close my eyes, absorbing her words. “Are you saying I should go talk to him?”
She laughs. “I don’t know. That’s up to you. What does your heart say?”
“That I should go talk to him.” I laugh lightly. “I just ran away from him. I want him to know that I liked it, but I … I don’t know.”
“Then go.” She urges me up and I move to a sitting position.
“Right now? What if he’s not home?”
“Then wait for him,” she reasons.
I nod. “Okay, I will.”
I don’t hesitate. I know if I do I’ll talk myself out of it.
She smiles as I grab my purse again and leave. I know the way to his house now so I don’t take the time to enter it into the navigation system.
When I arrive at his house I’m surprised to find his car in the driveway. I honestly expected him to still be out.
I park, take a deep breath, and head to his front door before I can talk myself out of it.
I ring the doorbell and wait, nervously wringing my hands together. I’m afraid I’ve ruined things between us with my constant need to flee uncomfortable situations. I know that I have every right to be cautious and nervous when it comes to our relationship—I’ve suffered so much already—but that doesn’t mean Ryder has to deal with it.
I hear his footsteps on the other side and then the door swings open. “Blaire?” He gasps, clearly surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?”
“I … I …” I look around, feeling shaky. “Can I come in?” I finally ask.
“Sure.” He holds the door open wider and I step inside. He closes the door behind us and places his hand on the small of my back—not low enough to be suggestive but almost protectively—and leads me into an open family room.
It has high ceilings with wood beams crisscrossing it. The walls are painted a cheerful yellow—not school bus yellow—and the two couches are beige in color with yellow throw pillows. There’s a large, fluffy, white rug with several stains that look like they’re from markers. A TV resides above the fireplace and there are several photos of Cole and some with Cole and Ryder. I don’t see any photos of his wife, and I figure he’s packed them away.
I take a seat on the couch and he sits on the other one, purposely putting space between us, I’m sure.