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Luke is still at the party, looking as miserable as I feel. I try to come up with an excuse for my behavior, anything I can tell him to earn his forgiveness, but I have nothing. I have nothing to offer him. I have nothing to offer myself.
I watch Ryan make the rounds, laughing and schmoozing and finishing glass after glass. Maybe I should have taken the Ativan. Maybe all I need is a few hours of drug-induced calm to convince me I can handle a life with Ryan.
But that isn't what I want.
I watch Luke take a seat in the corner of the restaurant, sipping another skinny margarita. I want so badly to see his face light up, to do something to wipe away the misery I caused. He should leave. How could all this be worth it for Luke? What does he really get out of the firm? What does he really get out of being around me?
But, still, he's here. He must be here for a reason.
Deep breath. I make my way towards Luke. He tries to look away, but his eyes stay on mine. I can't find the right words to explain all this. I can't find the right words to make this up to him.
So, all I say is, “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” I move closer to him, until I can feel the warmth of his body.
“Alyssa, don't…” he says, but he doesn't stop me from pulling him into a hug. “You made your decision,” he says, pushing me away ever so gently. I guess that's what I deserve.
I take a deep breath. I need to keep my voice steady. To keep my breath steady. I can't cry or scream. I can't show how much this hurts.
And then I feel Ryan's hands on my waist, a tight grip that can only mean she's mine. He takes my left hand as if to show off my engagement ring. His stupid move works, and Luke's eyes dart to my adorned ring finger. Then, his eyes connect with mine. I'm not sure what passes between us. It hurts to have him look at me like that, like I'm the one who did this, like I'm the one who broke his heart. It's not angry or accusatory. It's sad.
“You're bringing down the mood,” Ryan says.
“I asked you not to bring Alyssa.”
“She's my fiancée. I'm not going to leave her at home.”
“I'll leave,” I say. “It's not like I want to be here.”
“You're not leaving.”
“Let her go,” Luke says.
“Why? Because you're both hurt over your fucked up affair?” Ryan asks. I bite my lip. There's no way to respond to that without angering Ryan.
“I don't feel well,” I say.
“You've both done enough to stick a giant middle finger in my face. If you can't handle being around each other, that's your problem,” Ryan says.
“You can't boss me around. We're partners,” Luke says, and he looks at me as if to underscore his implication. Ryan and I may be engaged, but we are absolutely not partners.
“Then go. But do it quietly. This is for the firm,” Ryan says. He turns to me. “Don't pretend like you're tired or stressed or sick. I'm not putting up with any more lies.”
“Please,” I say. “I don't want to be here.”
“Then explain it to me. Tell me why I should let you go home? Tell me it's not because you can't handle being around the asshole you were cheating with.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“Explain it, Alyssa.”
“Ryan, please,” I say. “Just let me go home.”
“Let her go,” Luke says.
“Mind your own business,” Ryan says, and he grabs my arm, trying to pull me away. But the room is packed and there's no way for us to move without making a scene.
“I don't want to be here,” I say.
His hand tightens around my wrist. He moves closer, his hazel eyes boring into me. “I don't care if he hurt you. I don't care if seeing him makes you want to cry and scream and lock yourself in your room. I'm not going to watch you wallow in misery over another man. I'm not going to let you fuck up my life because you can't handle your mistakes. You're not leaving.”
