Chapter 25 #2
"Everyone in town also knows Riley just spent two weeks here being at every single holiday event," Chris pointed out.
"She went to the reunion. The tree lighting.
Christmas with both families. She showed up, Grant.
Until the one time she couldn't. Not everyone works for themselves, man. We’re not all self-employed.
Maybe she thought she could handle both things, and something just went wrong.
She tried to talk to you as soon as she got back. "
"And when she couldn't, you didn't let her explain why," Ryan added.
Grant set down his beer with more force than necessary. "She said her boss kept piling things on. What else is there to explain?"
"I don't know, man. Maybe a lot. Maybe nothing." Mark shrugged. "But you won't know unless you actually let her talk."
"She said she had something important to tell me. About her job. And I cut her off."
"Yeah, you did," Ryan said flatly. "And now you're sitting here sulking instead of finding out what that important thing was."
"What if it doesn't matter?" Grant's voice came out rough. "What if she just had more excuses?"
"Then at least you would have heard her out," Chris said. "At least you would have given her the chance to explain before you decided it was over."
Grant stared into the fire, his chest tight. He'd been so angry. So hurt. He'd wanted Riley to hurt the way he was hurting.
So he'd shut her down. Over and over.
And now he didn't know what she'd been trying to tell him.
"Maybe," Mark allowed. "But you won't know unless you ask. And you can't ask if you're sitting out here with us drinking beer and feeling sorry for yourself."
Grant looked at the fire. At his friends. At the empty beer bottle in his hands.
"What if I already ruined it?" he asked quietly. "What if she doesn't want to talk to me after last night?"
"Then you'll deal with that," Chris said. "But I don't think that's what's going to happen. I think Riley came to your barn last night to tell you something important, and you shut her down. I think she's probably sitting at her parents' house right now feeling just as shitty as you do."
"And I think," Ryan added, "that if you actually love this girl—and we all know you do, fake dating or not—then you owe it to both of you to have an actual conversation.
Not a fight. Not you telling her you need space.
An actual conversation where you both get to talk.
Because you getting space is terrible. For all of us. " Ryan laughed a little.
Grant was quiet for a long moment.
He'd told Riley he needed space. He'd cut her off every time she tried to explain. He'd thrown their relationship back in her face and called it fake when he knew—knew—it hadn't been fake for him in weeks.
Maybe months.
Maybe never.
"I told her it was all fake," Grant said. "I said we both knew it wasn't real and that I was stupid for letting it get carried away."
"Ouch," Mark muttered.
"Yeah." Grant's voice was rough. "I was hurt and angry and I wanted her to hurt too. So I said the thing I knew would hurt the most."
"And how do you feel about that now?" Ryan asked.
"Like an asshole."
"Good. That's step one." Ryan leaned forward. "Step two is figuring out what you're going to say when you actually talk to her."
"I don't know what to say."
"Start with sorry," Chris suggested. "And then move on to 'I should have let you talk.' And then see where it goes from there."
"What if she doesn't forgive me?"
"What if she does?" Mark countered. "You won't know unless you try."
Grant picked at the label on his beer bottle, his mind spinning.
Riley had been trying to tell him something important. About her job. About something she'd done.
And he'd shut her down. Refused to listen. Told her he didn't want to hear it.
What if it had been important? What if she'd been trying to explain something that would have changed everything?
And now she probably thought he didn't care. That he'd meant it when he said it was all fake. That he wanted nothing to do with her.
"I need to talk to her," Grant said.
"Yeah, you do," Ryan agreed. "But not tonight.
Tonight you're wound so tight you might snap.
Give yourself one more night. Drink some beers.
Hang out. Throw shit in the fire. Then… Get some sleep.
Get your head straight. And then tomorrow you go find her and you actually listen to what she has to say. "
Grant wanted to argue. Wanted to leave right now and drive to Riley's parents' house and fix this.
But Ryan was right. He was exhausted and angry and hurt, and he needed to calm down before he had this conversation. He needed to figure out what he actually wanted to say.
He needed to give Riley the space to say what she'd been trying to tell him all along.
"Okay," Grant said finally. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Mark confirmed. "But tonight, you're staying here. Drinking beer. Letting us distract you with stupid stories and terrible jokes."
"I'm not really in the mood—"
"Too bad," Chris interrupted. "You're stuck with us. Besides, you owe us for dealing with your sulking all night. We sound like a bunch of girls."
Despite everything, Grant felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "I haven't been sulking."
All three guys burst out laughing.
"Man, you've been sulking since you got here," Ryan said. "You've perfected the art of miserable silence."
"It's honestly impressive," Mark added. "Like watching a sad, angry statue."
Grant shook his head, but he was almost smiling now. "You guys are the worst."
"We're the best and you know it," Chris said. "Now drink your beer and stop being weird. We've got at least three more hours of bonfire time to get through."
Grant settled back in his chair and tried to let the conversation flow around him. The guys moved on to other topics—Ryan's ongoing battle with his ancient furnace, Ryan and Jenna's wedding plans for the spring, Chris's latest photography project.
Normal things. Easy things. Things that had nothing to do with Grant's complete disaster of a love life.
But his mind kept drifting back to Riley.
To the way she'd looked in the barn last night. Desperate to explain. Trying to tell him something important. And he'd shut her down. Over and over again.
But I need to tell you something. About my job. About what I did—
She'd been trying to tell him something. Something important.
And he'd told her he didn't want to hear it.
God, he was an idiot.
"You're doing it again," Ryan said, tossing a bottle cap at Grant's head.
"Doing what?"
"Spiraling. I can literally see you spiraling from here."
Grant caught the bottle cap and threw it back. "I'm not spiraling."
"You're absolutely spiraling," Mark confirmed. "Your jaw's doing that thing where it gets all tight and you look like you're trying to solve a complex math problem."
"I'm just thinking."
"About Riley," Chris guessed.
"Yeah."
"Well, stop." Ryan leaned forward. "You can't fix anything tonight. You can't undo what happened last night. All you can do is sit here, drink your beer, and trust that tomorrow you'll have the chance to make it right."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll deal with it. But worrying about it now isn't going to change anything." Ryan's voice was firm. "You screwed up. You admit it. That's good. That's progress. Now give yourself permission to just...exist for a few hours without beating yourself up about it."
Grant took a long sip of his beer. "That's surprisingly wise coming from you."
"I have my moments." Ryan grinned. "Plus Jenna's been making me read relationship books. I'm practically a therapist now."
"God help us all," Mark muttered. “I bet the girls aren’t having this deep of a conversation right now.”
The conversation drifted again, and this time Grant tried harder to stay present. To laugh at Ryan's terrible jokes. To give Mark grief about his elaborate proposal plans. To listen to Chris talk about light and composition like it was poetry.
His friends were good people. They'd called him out when he needed it and backed him up when he asked. They'd told him the truth even when it was hard to hear.
And they were right.
He needed to talk to Riley. Needed to apologize. Needed to actually listen to what she had to say.
But tonight, he just needed to be here. With his friends. Letting the fire warm him and the beer dull the sharp edges of his hurt.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Tomorrow he'd find Riley and fix this.
Or at least try.
But tonight, he let himself just breathe and sip on his beer.