Chapter 16
Sixteen
Turning off the water, I grab a towel and wrap it around my hair.
I secure another around my body before stepping out of the shower onto the cool floor.
I quickly dry off before using the towel to wipe away the steam on the mirror above the sink.
The shower has made me feel marginally better, but my head still feels heavy.
I’ll be happy to get back into bed. I can’t remember the last time I was this sick.
When I woke up earlier, I thought I had been dreaming about Ryan. I don’t remember him arriving, but I’m glad he’s here now. It’s very confusing to crave independence but also want someone to take care of you.
Feeling slightly light-headed, I sit down on the toilet seat in my underwear to get my bearings before pulling a long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, followed by a hoodie.
Ryan knocks softly on the door. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m almost done. I’ll be out soon.”
I finish putting on my pyjama pants and warm socks before brushing my teeth.
Opening the door, I can faintly smell the comforting aroma of homemade soup. My nose still functions. I hope my taste buds still work. After dropping my dirty clothes in the hamper, I grab a comb and two elastics.
“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, glancing briefly over his shoulder before pouring soup into a bowl.
Sitting down at the table, I notice all the things scattered across it. Furrowing my eyebrows, I pick up a bottle and turn it over in my hand. Zinc tablets. “What’s all this?” I set it down and pick up a package of throat lozenges.
After placing the bowl in front of me, he sits across from me. “I didn’t know what you would need, so I got you a little of everything.”
“I see that. It looks like you bought out a pharmacy, but where did it come from?” I ask in confusion. All of Emerley shuts down by seven p.m. every night this time of year.
Rubbing his hand across the stubble on his jaw and chin, he says, “I had a guy bring it up from the city. He works for Vaughan.”
“The city? You had someone buy all this and drive it here—for me?” I clarify. Why would he do that?
“Yes. I was worried. He brought food as well. Why were your cupboards bare? If you need money…”
Raising my hand to stop him, I say, “I don’t. I just haven’t gone shopping this week.” Or last week, or the week before, I add silently. I appreciate the offer, but there is no way he’s giving me money. He has done too much already.
“Aren’t you going to eat something?” His hair looks completely disheveled, like he has been running both of his hands through it.
“No, I had a sandwich earlier while you were sleeping. Do you want one? There are more in the fridge,” he says as he begins to rise.
Placing my hand on his arm to stop him, I say, “No, but thank you. This will be plenty.”
I’m taking a small bite when he asks, “How long have you been sick? You shouldn’t have been here alone. What if something happened?” Opening a can of ginger ale, he sticks a straw through the hole and slides it across the table towards me.
“I could tell I was coming down with something on Wednesday. I struggled through it at work on Thursday. And today I crashed. Drove home and went straight to bed.”
Unfortunately, I had to ask April to push all my appointments to next week, which once again fucks me over financially. At this rate, I will never break even, let alone get ahead to cover next month’s bills.
“I wish I had known. I could have brought you what you needed sooner.” Furrowing his brow, he says, “If this happens again, will you call me? Not just if you are sick, but if you need anything.”
“I don’t make it a habit of being a damsel in distress, but thank you for the offer.” The last thing I need is to owe another person.
“Beck, I’m serious.” His eyes soften as he searches mine. “You can count on me.”
“Okay,” I agree, pushing the bowl away. This is not a conversation I’m prepared to have. He’s already doing so much.
“Are you sure you’ve had enough?” he asks, standing to take the bowl.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I take a sip of my drink. The cold liquid helps soothe my scratchy throat.
Taking it to the sink, he quickly washes and dries it. When he turns back around, he sees me combing my hair. “Here, let me do that.” He takes the comb from my hand and runs it through my long strands. When he’s finished, I feel him divide it into two sections.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to French braid your hair. You told me you don’t like to sleep with it down,” he says as he skillfully weaves my hair into a braid down my back.
“You remember that?” I narrow my eyes and scrunch my nose.
“Of course I do,” he says simply as he secures an elastic at the bottom.
“How did you learn?”
“To braid?” he questions as he starts the next side. “A friend taught me when I was a much younger man.”
“Lily?” I ask quietly.
In all the years Ryan has been in my orbit, I have never seen him with a woman, let alone an actual girlfriend. There have never been whispers of an ex-wife or lover. Which, to be honest, is surprising for Emerley. So, having even a vague knowledge of Lily’s existence is intriguing.
He pauses his fingers for a moment before answering. “Yes, she had long hair as a teenager.” Clearing his throat, he secures the end before saying, “I think it’s time for you to get back into bed.”
I have so many more questions, but it’s really none of my business. Sighing, I stand and walk over to my freshly made bed. Yawning, I climb in under the covers.
“I’m going to change into sweats, then I’ll be right back. Do you need anything else?”
“No… Are you staying?” I ask in confusion.
“Of course I am. I told you I would. Be right back.” Grabbing a shopping bag, he carries it into the bathroom and shuts the door.
He’s staying. But why?
As I ponder the question, he returns in grey sweatpants and a sage-green T-shirt. Quickly striding across the room, he fills a water bottle and grabs a box of tissues before turning off the main overhead light and returning to the bed.
Setting everything down on the nightstand, he says, “Scooch over. I’ll take the outside in case you need anything in the night.”
I must look confused because he says, “I’m staying, Beck. I have been worried all night, so there is no way I’m leaving you now. Your couch is way too small, so I’ll sleep with you. It’s no big deal; we’ve had a sleepover before.”
“How could I forget?” I roll my eyes. “You practically mauled me to death in my sleep.”
“Ahh, there’s your sass; you must be feeling better. Now move over.”
We lie together facing one another, neither of us saying anything. Reaching, I take his hand in mine and hold it between us.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper in the dark.
“Me too. I was really worried about you.”
“You were?”
“Yeah, I really was.” He brings our joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of mine before saying, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah.”
“Earlier tonight, I plugged in your phone and noticed several missed calls and text message notifications from Braden. Is there still something going on between the two of you?”
Rearing my head back, I scowl. “God, no.”
“Then why is he so insistent on getting in touch with you?” he asks, running his thumb back and forth on my hand.
It’s a reasonable question, but I’m not ready to answer it with the truth. “I’m not sure. I’ll text him tomorrow.”
There is nothing Braden can say that I haven’t heard one thousand times before, but he’s persistent. He even showed up at the shop earlier in the week. Thankfully, Logan was working and asked him to leave before he had a chance to talk to me.
I’m hoping that if I continue to ignore him, he will eventually leave me alone.
There are four months left on the lease of the house we once shared.
I have already told the landlord that I’m no longer living there and that I will not be renewing.
Braden will either have to renew it without me—which is unlikely—or he will have to find somewhere else to live.
The problem is everything is in my name.
I can’t afford to support two separate households, but if I stop paying, he’ll destroy what’s left of my credit.
He has already run up my credit cards. The minimum payments are killing me.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to trap me financially until I have no choice but to go back.
I will live on ramen and tap water before that happens.
The truck is a little more complicated. He says he needs it for work—how is he supposed to get back on his feet if he doesn’t have a way to get around?
I know it’s not my problem anymore, but he plays on my guilt.
He likes to remind me that none of this would be happening if I hadn’t “invaded his privacy” or “made up stories” about him cheating.
According to him, we’d already be on our trip.
Away from Emerley. But I know what I saw.
He wants me to question it—question myself.
“If he’s bothering you, you can tell me.”
I give what I hope is a reassuring smile and say, “There’s nothing really to tell. We were together off and on for years, and it’s going to take a bit to untangle myself from him.”
“I feel like there’s more to it, but I’ll leave it alone for now. Promise me you will tell someone—tell me—if you need help. You’re not alone.”
“I promise.”