Chapter 15
Ryan
I’ve been sitting in the car, parked in front of her house, for about forty-five minutes.
A rational person with a brain and an education would never sit here like a dick, breathing in and out of a paper bag, rehearsing conversations in their head, trying to find the right words to say I was a fucking idiot, I’m sorry.
” But I can’t force myself to say the words.
They’re trapped in my mind, trying to find the exit, but they just won’t make it onto my tongue.
I know it shouldn’t be hard, but I can’t do it.
I goes against everything that I am. Against all my logic.
I shouldn’t care what she thinks, that she knows I think she has a huge arse.
And all the other horrible things I said.
I shouldn’t keep causing drama – I mean, what did she do?
She helped my father. Someone she barely knew.
She took care of him, sat with him, contacted us for him.
Okay, that’s enough.
I can do this.
One last breath and I put down the paper bag. I open the driver’s door and place my feet onto the ground. I get up and, with my legs like jelly, I walk towards the front door. I glance at the front window, but the curtains are drawn and I can’t see anything.
I gather up my courage and knock on the door, waiting with my hands in my pockets. I feel on the brink of a panic attack, but I’ve left my paper bag in the car.
When the door opens and her eyes look into mine – I can see now that they’re green, fuck – I understand that I’ve made a huge mistake, I’m standing in front of the wrong door for the wrong person.
“Ryan?”
“Hey, Chris…tine.”
“What are you doing here?”
What am I doing here?
I was a dick. I treated you like shit for no reason. I offended you just because I’m incapable of paying you a compliment. I didn’t thank you for helping my father, and my whole family, because I don’t know how to be nice to people.
“I… er…” I splutter.
Dick.
I hang my head and lean my shoulder against the doorframe, waiting for the words to come out of my mouth, but I’m frozen.
Come on, Ryan. You can do it. What the fuck?!
“I’m sorry, and… thanks.”
There, I said it. Didn’t I?
“I don’t understand…”
She’s not making things easy for me.
Okay, let’s try again.
“I’m sorry for what I said about you this morning.” I shake my head, waiting for her response. “And thanks for helping out with my dad.”
“Your family have already thanked me enough. And about your apology: it’s fine. It was your opinion.”
Jesus, she’s difficult.
“Maybe I exaggerated.”
“So you didn’t want to compare my arse to the boot of your car?”
“I don’t think your arse is anything like the boot of my car.”
She smiles.
“And I don’t think you’re… stupid.”
“But you do hate me.”
“Sometimes, I guess…”
“Well, I can accept that. You don’t have to like me.”
No, I shouldn’t like you, Christine.
“Was there anything else?”
“I think that’s it.”
“Thanks for…”
“Hey, honey, who’s at the door?”
A man walks up to her, a glass of wine in his hand.
“Who’s this?” he asks, looking me up and down.
“Oh, this is… er…” now it’s her turn to splutter.
No. Who’s he, and what the fuck is he doing with her? Why is he holding a glass of wine, as if he’s relaxed, happy – at home?
He wraps his arms around her. His hand slides down her back, as he pulls her towards him. He’s telling me, wordlessly, mate, back off, this is my woman.
“This is Ryan.”
“Mmm,” the bastard comments.
Did I really just call him a bastard?
“Do you want to come in, Ryan?” he asks, innocently.
Innocent my arse. He wants to let me in just to mark his territory.
I look at him, angry. He’s about as tall as me, with broad shoulders, huge hands, long fingers… I don’t even want to think about what he could do with those hands. He has light hair, and dark, menacing eyes. He’s wearing a shirt.
A shirt? Is he a fucking doctor?
For fuck’s sake.
“I’ve actually got somewhere to be.”
I don’t have anywhere to be. Apart from at home, getting drunk off anything I can find in the fridge.
“Maybe another time, then,” he adds.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“So… thanks for stopping by, Ryan.”
Christine goes back inside with him, and they close the door.
And I stay standing outside.
Story of my life.
I quickly get back into the car, locking myself inside and groping around desperately for my paper bag, hoping I won’t throw up in it instead.