Chapter 38 – ryan
RYAN
The sun is shining, and despite the freezing cold wind assaulting my eyeballs, the general vibes from the world outside are good.
Pippa woke up without a fever or a desire to puke, which meant she was well enough that I felt like I could run some errands that didn’t involve just taking the elevator up or down a few floors.
The shops and restaurants along the street haven’t torn down their decorations yet, so there’s still a post-holiday sense of cheer.
I only wish I could enjoy it more.
Because at the end of the day, I’m in the same place I was before Pippa caught the death flu.
She’s moving out, and our FWB relationship is officially over.
My phone is still full of missed calls from Dad and Emily, who have definitely read the Toronto Tea article and are demanding answers.
Plus, I skipped the tournament where I planned on salvaging my reputation.
I got to spend a few days in the eye of the storm, taking care of Pippa and pretending things might work out between us. I probably only have a few more hours before she comes to her senses and tells me to get the fuck out of her bedroom.
But until then, I get to live in the land of delusion.
I double check the map on my phone, making sure I’m going the right way. I knew Pippa had some books on hold at that café she and Cat go to, The Copper Cup. I figured I’d pick up her books and some pastries, a little welcome-back-to-the-land-of-the-living gift.
Plop!
Something white flashes in my vision, then lands on the lapel of my coat. Bird shit. The pigeon perpetrator flaps over my head, landing on the edge of a trash can. He flutters his wings, unbothered by the fact that he just took a dump on me for no reason.
“Fucking great,” I mutter.
“Some people say that’s good luck, you know,” someone says. “Getting pooped on by a bird.”
I look up to see a tiny woman holding a cell phone and a mini-microphone. It’s Marina Zhou, an influencer who makes videos about Toronto gossip. She’s known for her savagely funny on-the-street interviews, which I’ve been featured on before.
It’s possible to come off well in an interview with Marina, as long as you deflect her more vicious questions and don’t take yourself too seriously.
The last video I did with her had dozens of women sliding into my DMs, but when I filmed that, I was on a high from winning a tournament and dressed for a night out, looking pretty fucking good.
Now, I’m wearing sweats and a coat covered in bird shit.
Plus, there’s a glint in Marina’s eyes that tells me she’s feeling relentless today.
This doesn’t bode fucking well.
Still, I glue on a smile and keep walking. “Any day I get to see you is a lucky one, Marina.”
“If you’re feeling lucky, then what made you miss the tournament in New York City yesterday? You were registered.” She shoves her little microphone in my face, where it hovers like an annoying little gnat. I wish I could swat it like one.
I shrug. “Something came up, and I had to cancel. Family stuff.”
Her eyes light up, and I know I’ve given her just the in she wanted. “Anything to do with your stepsister?”
Deflect. “Isn’t the Toronto Tea your competitor, Marina? I’m surprised you’re giving their garbage article any air.”
“No one’s my competitor,” she says airily. “And you should be more worried about competition than me. You lost pretty badly at your New Year’s tournament, too. Scared of starting a losing streak?”
I snort. “No way. I’m not scared of things that will never happen.”
“Well, then what are you scared of?”
“Losing her.” The truth comes out before I have the time to filter it. It’s like the words have been lingering on my tongue, just waiting for some influencer to ask for them. I definitely shouldn’t be confessing how I feel to the whole internet before I’ve even had the courage to say it to Pippa.
But now that I have said it…fuck it.
“There’s only one woman I’ve ever loved, and the thought of losing her is fucking terrifying,” I tell a wide-eyed Marina.
“Not having her around to check me when I’m being annoying, or kick my ass in poker, or mess up my Sequel algorithm by watching The Vampire Diaries over and over.
Losing her would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. ”
“Losing who?” Marina asks breathlessly.
I stare directly into the camera on her phone. “She knows who she is. As for the rest of you…well, you can probably figure it out. It’s probably pretty fucking obvious.”
With a wink, I spin and walk away from her. Telling the truth feels good. Amazing, actually. I should have done it ages ago. Maybe spilling to an influencer wasn’t exactly the way to do it, but whatever—I’ll deal with the consequences.
Pippa can be mad at me all she wants. The only way that this thing between us can get the chance it deserves is if we bring it out in the open. It’s a risk, but since when have I been scared of taking risks?
Love isn’t a weakness. It’s the only gamble worth taking.
It’s probably too late. Pippa’s still leaving for her new apartment, still going on those fucking dates for work. But I’d rather play a bad hand to the end than fold and lose it all.
Marina shouts a few more questions after me, but I ignore them. I gave her more than enough of a soundbite.
It’s only a few more blocks before I arrive at the Copper Cup. I yank open the door, and I immediately almost run into a gigantic blue void. When I skid to a stop, the void recedes a few feet, enough for me to realize that I’m actually staring at a massive abstract painting.
“Excuse me,” a quiet voice says. There’s a tall, pale woman with pin-straight auburn hair staring at me, as I stand directly in the way of her navigating through the door with her large canvas.
“Shit, sorry.” I hold open the door for her to exit. “Unless this is an art heist and you’re stealing this painting.”
“It wouldn’t be a good art heist, since I’m replacing it with a different painting. And since it’s my painting to begin with.”
She starts navigating her way toward a white windowless van.
When she opens the back door, I see a bunch of other paintings of various colors.
She starts moving them around, like she’s rearranging them.
I briefly wonder if I should offer to help, but Pippa would probably tell me you don’t corner a woman by herself by a windowless van.
Absolved, I walk inside and find Brinley standing behind the counter. She scowls when she sees me, for some reason.
“Uh, hey, Brinley.” I fiddle awkwardly with my hair. “Everything good?”
“Not really,” she sneers. Okay, she’s definitely mad at me, but I’m not in the mood to parse through her feelings. Pippa’s back at home, and I don’t want to leave her alone for too long.
“I’m here to pick up some books Pippa put on hold. And if you’ve got some almond croissants I could bring her, that would be great.”
She laughs. “Oh, so now you care about what Pippa wants?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What the hell has you so pissed off?”
“Maybe you manipulating my friend’s feelings?” she snaps. “You insinuating your way into Pippa’s heart and hurting her? You think that maybe would get me mad?”
Ah. Brinley reads the Toronto Tea. Fan-freaking-tastic, and she believes their stupid lovebombing accusations. As if that stupid blog hasn’t done enough to ruin my life, it’s also turned one of Pippa’s best friends against me.
“That’s not what happened,” I say through gritted teeth.
“No?” Brinley’s eyes blaze with fury behind her glasses. “So you didn’t give her an ultimatum about dating other guys?”
I drag my hand through my hair, which must look absolutely fucking insane by now. If Marina didn’t already have me so pissed off, maybe I’d be nicer about this. Instead, I point the truth at Brinley like a fucking fire hose.
“I didn’t want her seeing other guys because I’m fucking in love with Pippa!
” I shout. “I have been, pretty much since I was a teenager. Like the day I met her. So yeah, I told her we couldn’t have a relationship anymore because it would break my fucking heart watching that.
I’m not some blameless, innocent dude—I know that.
Because as soon as Pippa acted like she might have feelings for me too, I acted like I didn’t care.
I was too fucking scared to tell her that I loved her, and I ruined it. The way I ruin everything.”
Some of the anger seeps out of me after that. I’m not the only one—Brinley’s eyes are wide behind her glasses, all the venom gone. The pale woman hovers in the door, holding a large painting in shades of dove gray and olive green, like a literal picture of anger disappearing.
I run my fingers through my hair and stare at the ground.
“I let her think she was the only one who felt something,” I mutter.
“And I probably lost her for that. But I’m going to do everything I can to fix it.
So no offense, Brinley, but you can think whatever you want.
I only care what Pippa wants, and if she decides she wants me, then well, I’m fucking hers. ”
Brinley gapes at me, her jaw practically lying on the counter. I shake my head. There’s no point in me standing here trying to convince her. She’s going to think what she wants, anyway, and none of it will change Pippa’s mind.
“Excuse me,” I tell the painter. She practically jumps to the side, giving me space to walk out the door.
It’s not until I’m walking back into the House of Cards that I remember I never got Pippa’s books.