Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Amber
I didn’t sleep. I lay in a pit of self-loathing for being stupid enough to believe it would be different this time.
In the morning, I had five missed calls from Ryan, two from Fox, and one unknown number. Probably Bear. But I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to listen to the voicemails.
I’m in a haze all day at work, recycling the trauma from the night before. I can’t focus on designing anything. My logo for Mastodon Security is due this afternoon and I’m not exactly excited to get another rejection. I’m creating vector designs when a shadow falls over me.
“Hey, Amber.”
I jump in my chair and twist around. Bear looks like shit—his eyes have deep bags, and they’re so bloodshot my own eyes itch out of sympathy. But any pity I feel quickly dies when I remember his part in this betrayal. He’s one of many reasons I’m questioning my faith in humanity.
“What do you want?”
He pushes his unwashed hair back. There’s a layer of grease on it I’ve never seen before. “Ryan had a panic attack when you left.” There’s a look in his eyes like he’s reliving the night. “Which led to a seizure. And then another. And another.”
My body has a visceral reaction, first everything stops, my breath, my heart, and all thoughts. Then waves of nausea and primal fear ravage my core and spread into my chest. The words don’t form because I don’t want to know the answer. “Is he—?”
Bear tries to give me a comforting smile and shakes his head. “He’s in the hospital, St. Joseph. He’s stable for the moment.”
I wrap my arms around myself and one thought shoots out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Was it my fault?”
“No. Everything about this is his damn fault. He’s been cutting back on his meds. He was the one who lied. He’s the one who let this whole thing get out of hand.”
He’s right—this was Ryan’s fault.
“And you’re telling me this because?”
Bear snaps, “Because I thought you might care if he lived or died.” The words seem to surprise him as he winces and takes a deep breath, and tries again in a quiet voice.
“If you feel up to it, give him a call.” For a moment, he stands there like he’s waiting for instructions—so lost and tired—and then he sighs and walks away.
“So, I’m the asshole if I don’t run to his side?” I yell across the office.
A few heads turn in my direction and our receptionist is already running down the cubicle aisle saying, “Sir, you can’t be here.” Bear throws his hands up, motioning he’s leaving.
I spend the rest of the day avoiding eye contact. I work with these people, but they aren’t friends. My loneliness used to be an armor. The fewer people I let into my life, the fewer who can hurt me. But it also means I don’t have anyone to talk to.
I’ve never called Alana when it wasn’t for professional reasons.
Our conversations might start and end with work-related topics, but the middle is normally a complete derailment with random shit.
She’s all I have. But instead of calling, I send her an email with the header: “Fox = Ryan.” No message.
My phone rings within seconds after I hit send. “I already heard.” Alana has an unfamiliar kindness in her voice. “How are you holding up?”
“He’s in the hospital and I don’t know what I should do.”
She’s silent for a moment. “There’s no wrong answer here. If you want to cut him off, that’s fully within your rights. If you want to reach out, that’s acceptable too.”
“Did you know?”
“That he was in the hospital? Yeah. I assume it was a seizure cluster.”
I draw little circles on a sticky pad. “No, I mean, did you know Fox and Ryan were the same person?”
She exhales and her breath rattles the speaker in my ear. “I knew Fox’s real name was Ryan, and I hoped he wasn’t being a total asshole.”
“How can I ever forgive him? But what if I never see him again—what if he—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. Life and death are inevitable and random at best. If you live your life constantly worried that every conversation will be your last, that’s a tremendous weight to carry.
I vouched for him, and that’s annoying because sometimes nice guys do shitty things, and being a good guy doesn’t absolve you of doing wrong. ”
I confess, “I really liked him.” I liked Fox, his commanding nature, the way he took care of me.
Ryan is everything I want in a partner, a little broken, but good-natured, with a tragic backstory.
Normal, well-adjusted people freak me out.
But with Fox and Ryan, they both made me feel adored and important.
A secret isn’t a lie, and it’s not always meant to be malevolent.
But the truth is rare and fragile, easily ruined, and it takes time to heal.
Alana’s silence stretches. “Again—there’s no wrong answer. Just which one is easier to live with.”
At this point, I don’t know what I should do. Every choice I’ve made has been wrong. Who can I trust if I can’t even trust myself, and there’s so much at stake.