15. Ryan
15
Ryan
The media circus has come and gone in the last week, and now, Maple Springs has slipped back to the sleepy town it always was. When I returned here, now nearly a month ago, I saw that as a bad thing. Not so much anymore. Instead, I’ve discovered new people, reconnected with old friends, and come to appreciate that this small town is more like a family.
A family with a few loose screws, but every family has at least one, right?
Nor did I expect the support Emma and I have gotten from everyone, even if I do feel a little guilty that we’re lying to their faces. But then, of late, this fake relationship hasn’t really felt so fake, which should be worrying.
Leaving the mansion to shrink in my rearview mirror, I head across town to pick Emma up. With the help of her magic hands, I’m back behind the wheel, and the Audi purrs sweetly as it glides along the ground beneath.
It’s amazing the things you miss when you can’t do them and take for granted when you can. And I really missed driving. It’s one of those things that lets me unwind. A dark night, a clear open road, a speedometer that climbs past ninety.
Did I mention I have a bad boy reputation?
In truth, I haven’t let go for a while, and I certainly won’t be doing it with Emma in the car. I value her safety too much. In fact, lately, I’ve discovered that there are lots of things I value about her.
Once she slides into the passenger seat, throwing me a smile and a greeting, I head back the way I came. Back into the town.
“I can’t believe we’ve actually managed to pull this off,” she says with a grin.
“I know.” I smile back. “Let’s hope it works.”
“I think it will,” she says confidently.
We’ve been so busy with interviews and playing the doting couple that Emma said something the other day that hit home. She said she felt bad because she feels like she’s been neglecting her friends. After she said it, I agreed with her. It did bother me, but only after she’d mentioned it. That’s the kind of person Emma is, and when this is all over, the kind of person I aspire to be.
So, we came up with a fun plan. We’ve spoken to each of our friends and individually invited them to the bar for a drink. All on the same night.
“I can’t wait to see their faces when they see each other,” she giggles.
It was a genius idea, and of course, it was hers. It’s funny; the more I learn about her, the more I want to be in her company. And I don’t mean as her pretend husband-to-be.
The good thing about tonight is that everyone who we’ve invited knows our relationship is fake, which means we get to enjoy a night where we can relax a little. Sure, we’re in a bar, but we’ll be among friends. Close and good friends.
Once inside, we move across the bar and find a large table. We’ve told everyone to arrive at the same time, so, unless anyone’s late, this should be even bigger fun. With drinks delivered, we sit and wait for the magic to happen.
It’s no shock—to me anyway—when John arrives first. I watch his frown dance when he sees Emma, but showing perfectly white teeth contrasting his dark skin, he grins when he sees us.
“Well, this is a surprise,” he says. “Hey, Emma.”
“Hi, John,” Emma replies, standing and hugging him.
“Hang on,” I say in mock shock. “Do you guys know each other?”
John lets out a belly laugh while I wave over to the bar for his drink.
He’s only just sat down, when Steve, Sharon, and Debs arrive. All of them look completely confused to see each other, and then John.
“What is going on?” Debs says, frowning deeply. And then her eyes widen. “Oh, wow. You guys planned this.”
I get called a few names by Steve while the ladies gush at the idea.
“This is so cool,” Debs says once everyone is seated. “We’re all together.”
“This is the truth club,” I whisper conspiratorially with a wink.
“Yay,” Sharon says. “We have our own club.”
The drinks flow as easily as the conversation, and in the relaxed atmosphere, we have a great time. Obviously, I’ve met Emma’s friends before, but it doesn’t escape my notice how alive she looks in their presence and how close the three of them are.
We’re in the middle of listening to an embarrassing story that Steve is relaying about me when the bartender arrives at the table.
“Hey, Ryan,” Clint says, catching my eye. “There’s a woman at the bar who wants to speak to you.”
“Not another reporter,” Emma moans.
But as I look past Clint, my heart nearly stops in my chest, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“Is that—”
“Yes,” I cut across John. “It is.”
And then I push myself from the table and walk across to meet her, using all the strength I have to keep my anger in check.
“Hello, Megan,” I say coolly.
Her face is caked with more makeup than a Maybelline counter at Macy’s; she’s done something to her hair to make it look all bouncy, so the black strands hang over her eye in what she must imagine looks sexy. And she’s wearing a body-tight red dress and black heels, making her look ridiculously out of place in this bar.
Megan greets me with her trademark smirk, “Ryan,” she purrs, her voice as smooth as chocolate. “You didn’t think you could run away from me forever, did you?”
I force a polite smile, stepping back to keep some distance. “Didn’t realize I was running,” I reply, my voice even. “What brings you to town, Megan? You’ve never graced us with your presence before.”
She tilts her head, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, I just thought it was time I paid a visit. Thought you might need some… help around here.” Her gaze lingers, and then she scans past me to the table where everyone is still sitting.
I have a very solid feeling that this interaction is being closely observed, which causes a twisting in my stomach. No doubt, at this very moment, someone over there is telling Emma who this woman is if she doesn’t already know.
“I hear you’ve been keeping busy. New projects. New people.” Her tone sharpens subtly, a clear jab.
I feel a surge of defensiveness rise because I know she’s talking about Emma. My sweet, quiet, innocent Emma. At the same time, I don’t want to give Megan the satisfaction of knowing that she’s already managed to unsettle me, so I hold my poker face. The one that’s helped me win copious amounts of dollars at the card table.
“I don’t know why you’re here, Megan, but whatever you’re planning, you’re wasting your time.”
“Who says I’m planning anything?” she coos back. “Maybe I just thought I’d come and visit you—you know, seeing as you don’t answer my calls anymore.”
“You haven’t called in months, and besides, we both know the reason I don’t pick up.”
She gives me a mock smile that looks more like a snarl.
“I’m going to go back and join my friends,” I say. “I suggest you enjoy your night here and then go back to wherever you came from in the morning. To say you’re not welcome here would be an understatement.”
But as I turn to leave, her hand flies out and she grabs my arm. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” she hisses.
Yanking my arm away, I snarl back. “Whatever.”
When I get back to the table, there’s an awkward silence. I immediately pin on a smile. “Right. Where were we?”
The conversation takes some time to pick up again, but even an hour later, Emma is still looking a little withdrawn. The night eventually comes to a close, and we all pile outside to say goodnight to each other.
Steve and John pull me to the side, and with a low voice, Steve says, “What the heck was that about?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t trust her.”
“Me neither,” John says.
“Watch your back, Ryan,” Steve adds. “You know that saying about a woman scorned.”
“Yes, well, if I had done her wrong, I would agree with you, but we all know it was the other way around.”
Steve shakes his head. “That’s not how Megan will see it.”
I heave a sigh, the weight of his truth pressing heavily on my shoulders. “Yes, I know.”
On the drive back to Emma’s house, she hardly speaks. Gone is the happy, lively energy she had before Megan arrived on the scene. When I finally pull the Audi to a stop, we both just sit there for a minute. I don’t want her to leave with things unsaid, but at the same time, I don’t know what to tell her.
“So,” Emma says, after what feels like an age, “how long is she staying?”
I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Why is she even here?” Emma asks.
“I don’t know that either.”
Emma flashes me a disbelieving glance.
“Truly, Emma. I don’t know.”
“I do,” she replies.
I look at her then, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s here for you.”
I shake my head firmly. “That boat has well and truly sailed. I told you that the weekend we were away. Megan was the woman who used me as a stepping stone to get fame. She was also great at spending my hard-earned money.”
“I see,” Emma says, her tone revealing some understanding.
“You have to know, Emma, I don’t want her here any more than you do. But it’s a free country, and I can’t run her out of town.”
“No, course not,” she says quietly with a nod. “Okay, well, I’d better get going. Early start in the morning.”
I watch her walk up her path with a heavy feeling in my gut. Something is going to go down, and I don’t like it.
The following morning, I wake with the same ache in my gut that followed me into slumber last night. Megan is here to cause trouble. But why now, after all this time? Surely, it can’t simply be because Emma and I are supposedly getting married. Even if she breaks us up, which isn’t going to happen because it’s all fake anyway, she knows I wouldn’t take her back.
Sometime after ten, my phone beeps with a message. When I check the screen, the text is from John.
Megan is already at it. She’s talking to people in the town, telling stories about you.
I roll my eyes and text back.
There’s nothing they probably don’t already know.
John comes back. Maybe. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.
Thanks, man, I text back.
Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? She always did like to stir trouble. I think back to Emma’s words last night.
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s here for you.”
And maybe Emma is right. Maybe Megan has seen the news and has decided, being the little psycho she is, to try and ruin things so she has another chance. But it’s just not going to happen.
A little later, I grab my coat and car keys. I have an appointment with Emma in a half hour, but I want to hit the diner first. If anyone knows what’s being said, it’ll be Jimmy.