23 MADDY
MADDY
Not yet
We’ve been walking in silence for about ten minutes, the quiet settling comfortably between us as our footsteps echo softly along the empty street.
Ryan nudges a small stone with the tip of his sneaker as we walk, sending it skittering ahead of us.
The night air is warm in that soft spring way that only happens after a long, hot day, where the pavement still holds a little heat and everything smells faintly of salt and blooming flowers.
I glance over at him. The dim light from the streetlamps catches the angles of his face, sharpening the line of his jaw and the bridge of his nose.
Then I notice something I’ve somehow never seen before; a tiny scar just above his eyebrow.
It’s small, half hidden where one of his curls usually falls.
I wonder briefly how it got there. Something from when he was younger, maybe.
“Can I ask you something?” I say quietly.
Ryan glances over at me. “Yeah?”
I hesitate for a second longer. “…About your dad.”
He just looks at me, surprise flickering across his face like he hadn’t seen that coming at all. For half a second I think he might shut the conversation down, but then he exhales slowly through his nose.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Go ahead.”
“I mean,” I begin carefully, choosing my words, “I always knew things weren’t great… but we never really talked about it.”
Ryan walks a few steps before answering.
“He drank a lot,” he says finally. “Yelled. Broke stuff.” His gaze stays fixed ahead. “Mostly at my mom.”
My chest tightens, but I don’t interrupt.
“When I was little, I didn’t really understand what was going on,” he continues. “And my mom always told me not to get involved. So I didn’t.”
A short pause passes between us.
“Until I did.”
I glance over at him.
“I tried to step in once,” he says, his voice flattening slightly. “My mom was crying so hard and I just couldn’t stay out of it.”
He lets out a tiny, awkward laugh.
“…didn’t go so well.”
As the words leave his mouth, his hand comes up unconsciously and scratches lightly at the small scar I just noticed. My stomach twists.
“After that,” he goes on, lowering his hand again, “I mostly focused on keeping Bailey out of it. Whenever something happened, I’d tell her I fell or screwed up at practice. Or did something clumsy.”
A quiet, humourless breath leaves him. “She was little so she believed it.”
My chest actually aches hearing him say it.
“But then one night,” he says, his voice roughening just a little, “it started the same way it always did. Yelling downstairs.”
His gaze drops briefly. “I went to Bailey’s room to check on her…” He swallows. “But she wasn’t there.”
My stomach sinks.
“I heard her scream from downstairs,” he continues. “That’s when I knew I couldn’t just wait it out again. So I called the cops.”
He called the cops? Holy shit.
A small breath escapes him, almost like a laugh. “I still remember the dispatcher. Anne. She sounded really kind.” His gaze flicks briefly toward the ground. “I was shaking like hell, but her voice helped.”
I can picture it too clearly—sixteen-year-old Ryan standing there with a phone pressed to his ear.
“Anne told me to stay upstairs,” he continues. “But when I heard my mom screaming at Norman to let Bailey go, I went down anyway.”
My stomach drops even further.
“He had Bailey under his arm,” Ryan says quietly. “He was furious. Like shaking angry. And I remember thinking…” His breath catches just slightly. “…this is bad.”
I think about all the times I’ve seen Bailey. She always has this fierce, energetic energy. Just imagining her in that situation is heartbreaking. And the fact that Ryan had to see that? No one deserves that.
“The cops got there fast,” he continues. “Pulled him off before it got worse. But Bailey saw everything. Him getting dragged out. Yelling. Swearing at me.”
My throat tightens.
“I’m so sorry, Ry,” I say softly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his face.
He shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the movement. “Sometimes I still feel bad about how it all went down.”
Before I can overthink it, my hand brushes lightly against his.
“You did the right thing,” I say quietly.
Ryan goes still for a moment and turns to me, like the words catch him slightly off guard. He nods, still looking at me. “Thank you.”
After a moment, I add gently, “You were always so normal at our place. I never would’ve guessed it was that bad.”
A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Your house was like home,” he says. “Luke and Hazel were always welcoming. Noah was like a brother.” His eyes flick toward me. “You were annoying. But in a good way.”
“Glad to know.” I snort softly, then lower my voice. “Well… I’m happy our family could be that for you.”
His smile shifts into something softer. “You remind me of her, you know,” he says suddenly.
I glance over. “Who?”
“Your mom.”
I blink, a little caught off guard.
“In a good way,” he adds quickly. “You’ve got her drive.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going. “And her inability to sit still.”
“Hey,” I protest weakly. “I can sit still.”
Ryan snorts, giving me a look that clearly says no you can’t.
“Some people find it annoying,” I say, chuckling. “Jacob used to say he was going to glue me to a chair one day.”
I kick lightly at the pavement, letting out a soft laugh. “Guess he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore.”
Ryan lets out a quiet sigh beside me, shaking his head, like I said something ridiculous.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No,” I say. “Say it.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s debating whether it’s worth it. “I just don’t get why you care so much about what he thinks.”
“What?” I blink. “I don’t.”
Ryan gives me a look with his eyebrows raised.
“Well,” I add, a little more defensive than I meant to sound, “why do you care?”
“I just never liked him,” he says.
I glance over, surprised. “You didn’t?”
Ryan shrugs slightly as we turn onto my street again, the familiar row of houses appearing ahead. “He was lazy. Never helped around the house. Never seemed grateful.” He pauses for a second. “And he never once bought you flowers.”
That makes me stop for half a second. Why was he even paying attention to that?
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I guess you’re right.”
Ryan kicks a pebble along the sidewalk as we reach the path leading up to my porch. “Noah and I used to give him the look whenever he came over.”
“The look?”
“Yeah.” A small smirk tugs at his mouth. “The you-better-treat-her-right-or-you’ll-deal-with-us look.”
I snort. “Maybe he cheated because he was scared of you guys.”
Ryan lets out a low laugh, but it fades quickly. “You never deserved him, Mads,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You shouldn’t care if he’s jealous or whatever he thinks. He’s a pathetic prick.”
I scuff. “You’re taking this whole fake dating thing a little too seriously.”
“I’m serious, Mads.”
I look at him, and something shifts in my chest.
“Well,” I say softly as we reach the porch steps, “that’s easy for you to say.”
“Why?”
“You’ve never been in a relationship.”
Ryan shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t have to be an expert to see he never deserved you.”
We stop near the door and I tilt my head slightly as I look up at him. “So… you’ve never been completely smitten with someone?” I ask.
“I mean I’ve dated girls before,” he says. “Just never anything serious.”
“No middle school soulmate?” I continue. “No dramatic high school crush?”
“Nothing,” he says easily and I study him for a second. “So you’ve never ever been in love?”
“Nope.” Ryan meets my eyes, steady. “Not yet.”
The words hang between us for a moment and I notice he’s looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before.
Without really thinking about it, I take a small step closer.
Ryan doesn’t move away. Instead he shifts slightly, one hand coming to rest against the wall beside the door, next to my face.
And I suddenly become very aware of how tall he is.
And how close we’re standing. And how his gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes. My heart kicks once in my chest.
Neither of us moves and the space between us feels smaller every second. Ryan’s hand shifts slightly, brushing against my waist for the briefest moment, and my stomach flips. But then I snap out of it.
I clear my throat, stepping back before my brain has time to process any of it.
“Well,” I say quickly, trying to sound casual, “you should probably head home before the birds get you and I have to save your ass.”
Ryan huffs out a quiet laugh and leans back again. “Yeah,” he says. “We definitely don’t want that.”
Before I can react, he steps closer one last time and presses a quick, gentle kiss to my forehead. My knees go instantly weak.
Ryan pulls back, already turning toward the steps. “Night, Mads.”
I watch him walk down the path for a second before I call out, “Ryan.”
He turns around.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For tonight.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Anytime.”
Then he turns again and disappears down the sidewalk while I step inside, closing the door quietly behind me.
Did he just kiss my forehead? Why did he kiss my forehead? There was no one around. Or did someone walk by when he did it? I didn’t see anyone. So did he just want to?
This man is seriously messing with my head. Because that kiss did not feel fake at all.
Oh boy, I’m in trouble.