It Ends With Us

He lifts his hand and places a set of keys on the counter in front of me. My eyes fall to the keys.

“I’m leaving for England tonight,” he says. “I’ll be gone for three months. I paid all the bills so you won’t have to worry about it while I’m gone.”

His voice is composed but I can see the veins in his neck as they prove his composure is taking all the effort he has. “You need time.” He swallows hard. “And I want to give that to you.” He grimaces and pushes the keys to my apartment toward me. “Go back home, Lily. I won’t be there. I promise.”

He turns and begins walking toward the door. It occurs to me that he didn’t even try to apologize. I’m not angry about it. I understand it. He knows that an apology will never take back what he did. He knows that the best thing for us right now is separation.

He knows what a huge mistake he made . . . yet I still feel the need to dig that knife in a little deeper.

“Ryle.”

He looks back at me and it’s as if he puts a shield up between us. He doesn’t turn all the way around and he’s stiff as he waits for whatever I’m about to say. He knows my words are going to hurt him.

“You know what the worst part about this whole thing is?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, waiting for my answer.

“All you had to do when you found my journal was ask me for a naked truth. I would have been honest with you. But you didn’t. You chose to not ask for my help and now we’ll both have to suffer the consequences of your actions for the rest of our lives.”

He grimaces with every word. “Lily,” he says, turning toward me.

I hold up my hand to stop him from saying anything else. “Don’t. You can leave now. Have fun in England.”

I can see the war waging inside of him. He knows he can’t get anywhere with me in this moment, no matter how hard he wants to beg for my forgiveness. He knows the only choice he has is to turn and walk out that door, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do.

When he finally forces himself out the door, I run and lock it. I slide down to the floor and hug my knees, burying my face against them. I’m shaking so hard, I can feel my teeth chatter.

I can’t believe part of that man is growing inside me. And I can’t believe I’ll one day have to admit that to him.





Chapter Twenty-Eight


After Ryle left me his keys this afternoon; I debated going back to our new apartment. I even had a cab pull up to the building, but I couldn’t force myself out of the car. I knew if I went back there today, I’d probably see Allysa at some point. I’m not ready to explain the stitches on my forehead to her. I’m not ready to see the kitchen where Ryle’s harsh words cut through me. I’m not ready to walk into the bedroom where I was completely destroyed.

So instead of returning to my own home, I took the cab back to Atlas’s house. It feels like my only safe zone right now. I don’t have to confront things when I’m hiding out here.

Atlas has already texted me twice today checking on me, so when I get a text a few minutes before seven o’clock in the evening, I assume it’s from him. It’s not; it’s from Allysa.

Allysa: You home from work yet? Come up and visit us, I’m already bored.





My heart sinks when I read her text. She has no idea what happened between me and Ryle. I wonder if Ryle even told her he left for England today. My thumb types and erases and types some more as I try to come up with a good excuse as to why I’m not there.

Me: I can’t. I’m in the emergency room. Hit my head on that shelf in the storage room at work. Getting stitches.





I hate that I lied to her, but it’ll save me from having to explain the cut and also why I’m not home right now.

Allysa: Oh no! Are you alone? Marshall can come sit with you since Ryle is gone.





Okay, so she knows Ryle left for England. That’s good. And she thinks we’re fine. This is good. That means I have at least three months before I have to tell her the truth.

Look at me, sweeping shit under the rug just like my mother.

Me: No, I’m fine. I’ll be finished up by the time Marshall could even get here. I’ll come by tomorrow after work. Give Rylee a kiss for me.





I lock the screen on my phone and set it on my bed. It’s dark outside now, so I immediately see the scroll of the headlights as someone pulls into the driveway. I instantly know that it isn’t Atlas, because he uses the driveway to the side of the house and parks in the garage. My heart begins to race as fear rushes through me. Is it Ryle? Did he find out where Atlas lives?

Moments later, there’s a loud knock at the front door. More like pounding. The doorbell also rings.

I tiptoe to the window and barely move the curtains over far enough to take a look outside. I can’t see who’s at the door, but there’s a truck in the driveway. It doesn’t belong to Ryle.