Chapter 14
Rain speckles the subway window, turning the city into a gray funhouse mirror as I try to focus on the passing view instead of my clown of a reflection. If there wasn’t a distinct grease smear on the glass, I’d bang my forehead against it in frustration.
Meet me halfway.
Cooper’s voice is a litany in my head that not even the noise of the train can drown out.
Please.
A couple sits across from me on the otherwise empty train.
They’re giggly and punch-drunk, the woman’s head resting on the man’s chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he plays with the ends of her short black hair, the display of affection doing little to ease the fist clenched around my heart, and I choke back a whimper.
“Why are you crying?” the woman asks suddenly in a lightly slurred voice, still nuzzled against her partner.
“Harper,” the man murmurs sweetly, slightly less tipsy than her. He shoots me a kind but apologetic smile.
Harper sits up, eyes wide and fixed on him, her hand resting on his thigh like she can’t stop herself from touching him.
“What?” she whines. “This lovely woman is hurting. I want to make sure she’s okay.
You’re so beautiful, by the way,” she says, turning to me and imparting drunk-girl kindness usually only found in bar bathrooms. “Something about you. You’re too soft to hurt this badly. ”
I flinch, lips falling open in surprise. No one’s ever called me soft before in a way that wasn’t meant to harm me.
Even in a cocktail haze, Harper’s gaze is sharp as she scans my face, a loose smile curling her mouth like my surprise resonates deeply with her. “What’s wrong?” she coaxes.
My eyes flick to her partner, but he’s staring at her with a wonderstruck expression. I take a deep, shaky breath, the bricks in my walls shifting, edges crumbling. I have nothing to lose from pouring my misery out to this stranger.
“It’s this guy…”
“It’s always about love, isn’t it?” Harper says with a knowing giggle, her gaze still on me but body tilting closer to her partner.
“I don’t love him,” I rush out.
“Of course you don’t,” she says with a level of conviction neither of us believe.
“I’m okay,” I say, sniffling in a way that confirms I’m a dirty liar.
“You don’t look okay.”
I open my mouth to argue, then shrug. I’m soaking wet and miserable on the train; the facts aren’t on my side here.
There’s a contemplative silence as Harper takes me in, her partner looking between us.
“I almost let Dan here get away,” she says at last, leaning back into the cradle of his arms. “But I chased him down.” She pats his chest a few times, tilting her head up as they share an indulgent smile. “And now we’re here celebrating our second wedding anniversary.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say through a thick throat, more tears chasing down my cheeks as I look at their easy intimacy, a closeness I’m not destined for. “Congratulations.”
The train comes to a stop, my body lurching with the movement.
“Seventh Avenue-Park Slope Station,” the automated voice crackles over the intercom.
Park Slope—Cooper’s stop. My heart folds in on itself, eyes straining as I look out the darkened window like I’m not underground and can magically see his place four blocks away.
I’m trying, Eva.
“Sometimes you have to shove yourself out of the way and take a risk,” Harper says as the two of them stand, leaning on each other as they stumble toward the door. “Happiness might not be the outcome but it’s worth a chance.”
I stare after them, the world slipping into slow motion. Her voice and Cooper’s and my own that I’ve pushed way, way down echo through my skull, the words fuzzy at first but gaining volume as they tell me, Go, you idiot, go!
I bolt up to standing like my seat just electrocuted me, my heart thumping a bruise into my ribs. Time speeds up again, and my step toward the door feels too fast, too giant, but it brings me to the gap between the safety of this train and the unknown of the platform.
I don’t know if seeing Cooper right now will make me happy.
In fact, the pessimistic voice that guides most of my choices is telling me it will have the exact opposite effect.
I scramble to rationalize what’s happening, but my brain can’t keep up with my feet hustling me off the train, not slowing as I’m almost sliced in half by the closing doors.
I pound up the station steps to the sidewalk, looking frantically around to get my bearings, ignoring the fresh chill of the rain on my already-soaked skin.
Clocking a street sign, I dart across the intersection, soliciting a few honks.
I give an unhinged wave, continuing my run.
I make a left, then a right, wheezing by the time I get to his block.
I slow (more out of cardiovascular necessity than conscious choice) as I get to his place, climbing the steps to his door.
I stand there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, put some order to my scribbled thoughts.
But all I know is Rylie Cooper is on the other side of that door, and I want to see him.
I lift my fist to knock, but a crack of lightning illuminates the sky, thunder immediately following, the boom pausing my movement.
It’s a threat. A scolding. A warning that I need to leave his doorstep, trudge back to the subway station and actually make it back to my lonely apartment, hole myself up in there until this painful knot in my chest eases and I can think straight again.
I lower my arm, heart pounding with warning and want. I slowly turn, staring at the dark glistening street, trying to get my feet to walk the three steps off his stoop. But his voice ghosts through my mind.
I can’t change the past. Do you have any idea how much I wish I could?
The hungry, desperate creature in me howls, then takes control. I whip around, cocking my fist and banging on his door like I can punch through it.
I can hear his quick footsteps on the other side but I don’t stop pounding until he’s wrenching the door open and I’m swaying toward him like a drunken sailor. Drunk is a good word for what I’m feeling—flushed and frantic and aware of my thoughts but completely out of control of them.
Silence hovers between us, and the weight of it opens my jaw, tugs on my vocal cords, has me whispering “ Rylie ” in a harsh, broken breath.
He stares at me, glasses slightly askew and hair a mess like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. He’s changed out of his wet clothes into a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants showing a rather impressive—
I jerk my eyes back up to his face because I have a single thread of self-control left and if I pay too much attention to how little those sweatpants are leaving to the imagination, I might start blowing him right here and now. And wouldn’t that be pathetic.
“What are you doing here?” Rylie’s tone is low, and I lean closer to hear it over the pounding rain.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
He swallows, eyes skimming a quick circuit up and down my body. I watch, mesmerized as pink crawls across his cheeks. He drags his knuckles against his lips, fixing me with a merciless look as his jaw tightens. Another bolt of lightning cracks through the sky.
“I don’t think you should be here,” he whispers in warning. The roughness of his voice slips into me, swirling up my spine, dancing between my ribs, taking up space in my chest.
“I know I shouldn’t be here.” It’s my final fully formed thought before diving headfirst into the feelings.
I close the space between us, throwing my arms around his neck. I feel him suck in a breath right as I seal my mouth to his, kissing him hard.
Everything else dissolves. There’s only the warmth of Rylie’s mouth, the initial surprise and the instantaneous hunger.
One large palm cradling my jaw, coaxing me to open for him, the silky heat of his tongue finding mine.
The growl in the back of his throat as he pushes his body closer to mine.
His free hand slides to my lower back, under my clinging wet shirt, hitching me against him.
I’m feral, fisting my hands in his hair, wrapping my thigh around his hip, threatening to push him down right on his stoop.
Rylie has the audacity to laugh, a smug, delighted sound, and I almost manage to protest his enjoyment, but he’s turning us, pulling me the rest of the way in, kicking his front door closed behind him.
His touch is everywhere—lips at my throat, teeth at my collarbone, palm under my skirt and cupping my ass—and I gasp in a few fractured breaths, head spinning.
“What is this?” he says, more to himself than to me. His expression is dazed, eyes mapping a wild course down my body. He grips the hem of my T-shirt, pulling the soaked fabric up and over my head. “What’s happening?”
“Bed,” I pant against his mouth, only breaking apart to similarly remove his shirt. “Take me to your bed.”
I have the briefest thought that I hope his roommates aren’t home, or are at least sequestered in their rooms, but then Rylie’s bare palms are at my waist, firmly guiding me toward the stairs, and I realize I don’t much care who’s home.
His eyes are fever bright, color high on his cheeks and lips parted as he stares at me like he’s a starving man. Like he wants to devour me.
“What is this?” he asks again, question steadier, but he continues to walk me up the steps, both of us clumsy and desperate, tripping more than progressing.
“One night,” I gasp out as Rylie takes matters into his own hands and lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me up the final steps.
I’m a tall girl, and I’ve often been denied the soft luxury of being made to feel dainty by a partner, but Rylie cradles me against his body like I’m something delicate he’s so glad to hold.
“One night?” he echoes, letting me slide from his arms when we make it to his floor, using his hands to frame my face, kissing me harder.