Lake
LAKE
Stacey chooses a place called The Lighthouse. I’m not sure what inspired the name since this place doesn’t seem to have any connection to either lighthouses or the sea, but I guess it’s not really important. It’s a long, wide space on the ground floor of some kind of office building, filled with numerous tables and booths. There’s a jukebox in the corner and dartboards on the back wall.
The place is packed, but since there’s plenty of space, it doesn’t feel too crowded. Music is playing loud enough that you can hear it, but not too loud that it’d be impossible to hold a conversation.
We find a table at the back of the room, and I volunteer to go get the first round of drinks. I didn’t want to come here a moment ago, but now that I’m standing in the crowd with music thumping and people milling around, it’s kind of nice. I haven’t had a night out like this in months—not since we went out with Kelly, Rach, and Sawyer.
I get the drinks and make my way back to the table, where Soren is telling the girls about how he went to the wrong hotel room while on a road trip.
I lean back in my seat and while Soren keeps regaling the group with stories from his time in college and the AHL, I start to slowly relax. And, unexpectedly, I start to enjoy myself. Even more unexpectedly, I realize this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while. At least outside of my home.
Somehow, I’ve gotten into this habit of approaching everything with the attitude of us against the world. It’s Ryk and me on one side and then everybody else on the other. And maybe it shouldn’t be that way.
Paige, Kara, and Stacey are telling us about how they met. Apparently they’ve been friends since they were five and all grew up in the same apartment block. Stacey’s a wedding photographer, and Kara teaches the fourth grade.
I’m not sure how much time has passed since we sat down, but after my second beer of the evening, just as I raise my head, eyes moving over the room, the door opens, and my heart somersaults in my chest.
Ryker steps in, followed by two other guys. Kian I’ve met, of course. The other one is Bjorn Ahlberg. I haven’t met him, but I’ve seen him play plenty of times by now. Before my brain catches up, I’m out of my seat, which makes everybody else turn their heads.
Soren spots Ryker next.
“Yo!” he calls out, so loudly I’m pretty sure every single person in this place hears him.
I get stuck, my feet glued to the floor because now I’m aware . It’s not just the two of us. It’s me and him and the rest of the world, and the rest of the world is right here. And I suddenly don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do, like an actor who’s forgotten his lines at a pivotal moment in the play. How do friends behave when they meet up? I’m trying to remember. I can’t.
Do I hug him? Shake his hand? Slap his back?
What the fuck do people usually do?
Ryk stops next to me.
He smiles, and it’s painfully intimate, and I wonder if anybody realizes just how intimate it is or if I’m just paranoid and overthinking this, and I think it’s most likely the latter, and fuck me, I’m spinning out.
“Hey,” Ryk says, and he sounds so normal, and I really need to stop being a lunatic.
“Hi,” I say.
After that, he aims his genial smile at the rest of the group. There’s a round of introductions, and Ryker’s already beaming smile gets even brighter when he finds out Paige is in my class because yay, my prickly, distrustful husband is obviously making friends !
“I’ll get the next round,” Ryk says, looking around the table. Kian and Bjorn follow him to the bar, and the moment they’re gone, Paige and Kara look at each other.
“Dibs on Mr. tall, dark, and handsome,” Kara says quickly.
“Damnit!” Paige says. “Fine.” They both, then, turn their gazes on me.
“Excuse me,” Kara says while her right eyebrow hikes up to the high heavens. “You know Ryker James? Seriously?”
“I… We’ve… Yes?” I say slowly.
Kara’s eyes light up. “Please tell me he’s single.”
No. Married. Committed. In a relationship. Off the market.
“Totally single,” Soren says unhelpfully before I can say anything.
“Sweet.” Kara grabs her purse, fishes out a compact and reapplies her lipstick before she fluffs her hair.
The determination is both impressive and a bit scary.
I sit back down. What’s done is done and what’s said is said, so I guess Ryk will have to handle her. The fact is people will hit on him. It’s nothing new and it’s nothing that hasn’t happened before. They hit on him when I’m not around, and they hit on him when I’m standing next to him.
I’m used to it as much as you can get used to somebody getting all handsy with your husband, but Ryk’s become pretty good at putting some distance between him and whoever is trying to cop a feel.
It would be easier if he wasn’t so damn hot. He’s waiting at the bar right now in all his long-legged, wide-shouldered glory, already drawing looks. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple white T-shirt, and he’s way too tall and dark-haired and gray-eyed and handsome for his own good.
Some girl has already sidled up to him at the bar, and he laughs at something she says. It’d be more annoying, but it’s just who Ryk is. He’s friendly and nice and good, and I’m well aware that people flirting with him doesn’t mean anything. Still, I look away, because knowing it happens doesn’t mean I want to watch it happen.
Ryk and the guys are back a few minutes later, and by some maneuvering and impressive subtlety, he manages to push Bjorn and Kian to sit between Kara and Paige while he produces an extra chair he puts down next to me.
I hide my smile behind the rim of my beer glass and feel better.
For a moment, at least, because right after Ryker sits down, Kara leans over me, a flirty smile fixed on her lips, and says, “Congrats on the win. It was a good game.”
“Thank you,” my husband says. He has the uncanny ability to be completely sincere in every situation. No false modesty, but also no cockiness. I’d say it’s a gift, but honestly, that’s just how Ryker is—good to the bone.
“You think you’re going to be able to take Florida on Tuesday?” Kara quirks her brow.
Ryk takes a slow, measured sip of his beer, a small smile on his face. “Think we won’t be able to?”
“You struggled with them last season, and this time their roster is even more stacked. Their offensive line is a coach’s wet dream.” She starts ticking off names on her fingers. “Cermak, Sokolov, Fitzpatrick.”
“They’re all excellent players,” Ryk says, still smiling at her.
Kara grins, too, and I’m suddenly realizing how very pretty she is with her long, dark eyelashes and that strawberry blond hair she keeps flipping over her shoulder.
“You don’t seem worried,” she says.
“I’m not supposed to worry. I’m supposed to help my team win.”
Kara sidles closer, but since there’s me between her and Ryk, she ends up leaning over me to get to him.
“A man of confidence,” she says.
Ryk blinks for a moment. I almost snort out a laugh. I’m pretty sure he’s only now clueing in to the fact that Kara is flirting with him. That hunch is confirmed by the quick look in my direction that’s followed by him very subtly moving his chair back an inch and clearing his throat.
“You like hockey?” Ryk asks.
Kara’s smile widens, and she leans closer because while Ryk just realized he’s being flirted with, Kara hasn’t gotten that she’s not being flirted with yet.
“Love it. I’ve been a Blades fan for a long time, but I’ve especially enjoyed this season. And half the last one.”
Ryker sends me another look.
This one screams ‘save me.’
I quirk my brow at him.
The hell do you want me to do?
“ is studying to be a doctor,” Ryker says in an unnaturally loud voice, completely out of the blue. He seems to be a second away from dragging my chair in front of his and hiding behind my back.
I glance toward him and say, “Smooth,” out of the corner of my mouth. I shrug when he sends me a glare, but I take pity on him.
“I am,” I say, straightening up so Kara pulls back a bit. “I was watching a documentary the other day about a coronary artery bypass.” I tell the two of them all about it in excruciating detail. Fun for me, but I’m pretty sure after a while, even Ryker’s eyes start to glaze over. About fifteen minutes in, Kara escapes to the bathroom, which is excellent timing because I’m a first-year med student, so there’s only so much I know about coronary artery bypass, and for the last two minutes I’ve been making up words.
“So that’s the reason I keep you around,” Ryk says.
I send him my most pleasant smile and flip my middle finger up.
“Is that a payment plan for me for services rendered? Because noted,” he says.
I take a quick glance at Paige, the person closest to us, but she’s in the middle of a conversation with Bjorn and Kian, so nobody’s paying any attention to us.
“I’ll ho?—”
My phone starts to vibrate against my ass. I pull it out of my pocket and make a face. Oh, good. Scott. Again. Ever since I texted him to suck it, and that I wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner after all—only with different words and more polite—he’s been hounding me with phone calls I refuse to answer.
Why would I?
I’m twenty-three. I’ve managed almost a quarter of a century without any input from Scott. Why the fuck would I want to start now?
I don’t. I really don’t. I’m fine. I’m not some cliché who needs a father figure because my own was such a disappointment and has left me with a lifetime of issues as a parting gift.
My life is great.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket. When I look up, I find Ryk eyeing me knowingly.
“Scott again?”
I choose not to answer. He knows already, so I’d just be wasting my breath.
“You think he’s gonna stop if you just keep ignoring him?” he asks mildly.
I send him a glare, and he holds his hands up. “I’m just saying. He’s been pretty persistent about this.”
The problem with having a well-adjusted, emotionally mature husband is that his solution to absolutely everything is talking it out and facing your problems head on, while my solutions to dealing with my problems are ignoring them, crossing my fingers that they’ll just disappear, or running away.
Now, I’m not saying one of those approaches is better than the other, but only one of them allows me to avoid a messy confrontation with my own emotions and issues. So really, is there even a question about what I should do here?
I sigh and rub my palm over my eyes.
Ryk is right. Of course, he is.
Realizing it is one thing. Acting accordingly is a whole other, though.
And it’s not like Ryker is going to pressure me to do the mature, logical thing. He never has. Even when he told me he wanted us to become something real, to define our relationship and be a real couple, he never did it in a way where he pressured me to see the light and trust him just because that was the right thing to do and that was what he wanted. He simply told me how he felt and then gave me the opportunity to choose what I wanted to do.
That’s just who Ryker is.
But now this Scott situation is suddenly starting to feel like a test.
Just for once, behave like a normal person.
Don’t avoid.
Don’t hide.
Don’t run just because you’re afraid to get hurt.
Don’t always, always expect the worst.
The more I think about it, the more on edge I start to feel. Like my skin is a size too small and all the bones are going to start poking out soon, tears appearing all over until I’m just raw flesh with no protective layer between me and the world. Like somebody’s prying off the protective casing, even though in actuality, nobody is.
Ryker leans toward me, a frown on his face now. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say. To make it look more real, I even manage a smile. And then, to make up for the fact that he has to put up with me, I suck it up and do the thing I don’t want to do.
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” I say.
Ryker studies me for the longest time before he nods. “Okay. We’ll call him.”
That ‘we’ makes all the difference. I may not trust most people, but I do trust Ryk. Endlessly. If he thinks hearing Scott out is a good idea… well, I guess I’m gonna hear Scott out.