17 #2
“I have no patience left for this shit.”
I started to speak, but he lifted one hand.
“You asked me to go, and I’m telling you what going means for me.”
I closed my mouth.
Ryan stood. “I have watched those people get inside your head from hundreds of miles away. I’ve watched you stop eating when the pressure becomes too much.
I’ve watched your whole fucking personality change when their names appear on your phone, and I’ve watched you convince yourself you’re doing something wrong because your father doesn’t approve. ”
My throat tightened.
“I know how easy it is for you to run back toward that cage because at least you understand the rules inside it.”
“That isn’t what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t say you’re doing it tonight.” His voice remained firm. “I’m telling you I won’t help them put you back inside.”
I stared at him.
“I will walk into that house because you’re asking me to.
I’ll be respectful, shake your father’s hand, and be polite to your mother.
I’ll sit at their table and answer whatever reasonable shit they need to ask because I understand they love you and want to know who the fuck their daughter is bringing home. ”
He stepped closer.
“I won’t pretend I don’t know what they said about me.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I won’t apologize for where I came from, and I won’t let them talk down to me so they can feel better about inviting me.”
“They won’t.”
Ryan’s expression hardened. “You can’t promise that.”
I stopped.
“That isn’t your promise to make, Charm.”
He was right, and I hated that he was right.
“How they treat me will dictate how I treat them,” he continued. “If they respect me, I will respect them. If they genuinely try, I will genuinely try.”
His jaw tightened.
“If either of them insults me, I’m done. I won’t back myself into a corner and beg them to understand who I am. If they push hard enough, I’ll show them exactly what they already decided I am.”
“Ryan.”
“I mean it.”
“What does done mean?”
“It means I leave and don’t look back. Adiós. Get the fuck out of my face.”
“And me?”
His expression changed immediately. “You make your own decision.”
The answer hurt in a different way, and he saw it.
“I’m not making you choose whether you walk out with me, mi hada. I’m telling you I won’t sit there and let anyone disrespect me because they believe I’m unworthy of you.”
I nodded slowly. “I know.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I held his gaze. “I know who you are.”
Some of the anger finally left his face.
“I also know them.”
“Good.”
“I think my mother means it.”
“I hope, for your sake, that she does.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said about either of them all night.”
“Don’t push me right now.”
I smiled weakly, but his expression didn’t move. I stepped closer.
“You’ll really come?”
“Sí.”
“I need to hear the whole thing.”
Ryan exhaled and scrubbed both hands over his face. My name came out muffled between them.
“Charm.”
“Please.”
His shoulders dropped. “I will come to Thanksgiving with you.”
Relief finally won. I crossed the remaining space and wrapped my arms around his waist.
Ryan didn’t hug me immediately. For half a second, I thought I had pushed too far. Then his arms came around me, and I buried my face against his chest.
“I’m sorry I lied.”
His hand moved slowly over my back. “I know.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to sound so satisfied.”
“I’m trying to reinforce personal growth.”
I laughed quietly against him, and Ryan kissed the top of my head.
“I’m sorry I said I’d get over you.”
I pulled back enough to see his face. “Would you?”
His eyes held mine. “Eventually.”
“That isn’t romantic.”
“Then don’t make me.”
“I hate honest Ryan.”
“No, you don’t.”
I studied him. “I hated when you said you had lost worse.”
His face changed. “I know.”
“That really hurt.”
“I know that too.”
“Are you sorry?”
Ryan’s thumb moved across my cheek. “I’m sorry I used the worst shit that ever happened to me to make my point hurt badly enough that you couldn’t ignore it.”
That was more of an apology than I expected.
I leaned into his palm. “But you meant it.”
“Yeah, mi hada. Losing you would hurt like fuck, but it wouldn’t kill me. I meant what I said.”
“I knew you did.”
His mouth twitched. “You done fighting with me?”
“For tonight.”
“Good.”
I climbed onto the bed, and Ryan stared at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to bed.”
“You live here now?”
“You gave me a key.”
“That key created a monster.”
I pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. Ryan remained standing beside the bed, looking at me as though he was still deciding whether to be annoyed.
I rolled onto my side and studied him. “Ven aquí.”
“That’s my line.”
“I’m borrowing it.”
Ryan finally climbed into bed and switched off the overhead light, leaving the room dark except for the faint glow from the hallway. I moved closer and ran my fingers over the rough edge of his jaw.
His eyes closed briefly beneath my touch.
“I’m sorry tonight got ruined.”
“It didn’t.”
“We spent half of it fighting.”
“We needed the fight.”
“That sounds suspiciously emotionally mature.”
“Shut up.”
I smiled, and Ryan opened his eyes.
“Come here, mi hada.”
“I am here.”
“Closer.”
I moved toward him until our knees touched, but apparently that wasn’t close enough. Ryan sat up, reached toward his nightstand, and switched on the lamp.
I blinked against the light. “What are you doing?”
He opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of black-framed glasses.
I stared as Ryan put them on.
He looked at me. “What?”
“You wear glasses?”
His expression went flat.
I pushed myself upright. “You wear glasses.”
“Reading glasses.”
“Prescription?”
“No.”
I stared harder as Ryan reached for the battered copy of Wuthering Heights on his nightstand.
“How strong are they?”
“Mi hada, can I please read to you?”
“Are you farsighted?”
“They were five ninety-nine at Walmart.”
I burst out laughing.
Ryan slowly turned his head toward me, which only made it worse.
“Oh my gosh.”
“Keep going.”
“You have Walmart reading glasses.”
“I read a lot.”
“You become an older man every time I’m with you.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“I discovered you secretly listen to country music. Tonight, you put on reading glasses and pulled out Wuthering Heights. By next week, you’re going to ask me to turn down the thermostat and start complaining about property taxes.”
Ryan stared at me over the top of the frames, and I lost it again.
“You done?”
“Absolutely not.”
He started closing the book, and I grabbed his arm.
“No, wait.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I tried to stop laughing. “They’re cute.”
“They’re functional.”
“They make you look like a hot professor.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Careful.”
“Even that looked professor-ish with the glasses.”
Ryan shook his head and opened the book. “If you read as much as I do, your eyes would bug the fuck out too.”
“I read.”
“You skim.”
“I study fashion.”
“You look at pictures.”
“That is offensive.”
“You want me to read to you or not?”
I settled immediately onto my side. “Yes, please.”
His mouth curved.
I moved closer until my head rested against his hip, then adjusted again until Ryan sighed and lifted his arm so I could fit properly against his side. One hand held the book while the other settled against my hair.
His voice changed when he read. The difference was subtle, his tone lowering and slowing into the rhythm of someone who loved the words instead of trying to get through them.
I listened while rain tapped against the window and the anger from earlier gradually dissolved into the warmth of his body beside mine. Every few pages, Ryan’s fingers moved absently through my hair.
Thanksgiving slipped out of my thoughts. So did my mother’s promises, my father’s fear, and every question about what would happen when Ryan walked into the Harlen house and refused to shrink for anyone inside it.
The words began drifting together as exhaustion pulled me under. I barely noticed how close I was to sleep until one line came clearly through the haze.
Ryan turned another page, scanning until his expression changed slightly. Then he read more quietly.
“‘He’s more myself than I am.’”
Something tightened inside my chest.
Ryan glanced down at me over his sexy five-dollar glasses, his fingers brushing through my hair once more before he closed the book around his thumb.
His voice, quieter than the rain, was the last thing I remembered before sleep took me.