What. The. Hell?
“If it’s not your mom, who is it?” I strive to keep suspicion out of my tone. My attempts are below par.
My distrust is surfacing faster than I can contain. I truly feel like I am five seconds from losing my cool. I know my anger doesn’t belong on Ryan’s shoulders, but with my mind on the fritz, his eagerness to evade my question isn’t helping matters. Unless he has something to hide, why won’t he answer me? It is a simple question. I’m not asking for a cure for cancer.
“Is it the person responsible for occupying so much of your time today you couldn’t answeranyof my calls or texts?”
I try to shut down my anger. I tell myself on repeat that Ryan isnothinglike my mother, and my distrust is due to the trying day I’ve had, but when Ryan answers my question with a simple, “It’s nothing,” all my hard work comes undone.
“Who is it, Ryan? Why are you hiding them from me?” I ask, fighting to get out of his grip.
He firms his hold before he continues dragging me out his side gate. His wish to remove me from his backyard hurts more than anything. This isourspot. It isourstomping ground. It doesn’t belong to anyone but us!
“Aretheythe reason you’re wearing a towel?”
I can’t say she. I won’t say she.
“Why were you so desperate to stop me, you couldn’t put on a pair of pants?”
My stomach heaves when my eyes lock in on a truth my brain refuses to acknowledge. “Is that lipstick?” I stop talking to settle the bile racing up my throat before continuing, “Oh my god. That’s lipstick, isn’t it?”
Moisture burns my eyes as an incalculable number of horrible thoughts blitzes me. This can’t be happening. This is Ryan—my Ryan. He doesn’t cheat. He doesn’t break promises. He issues them with as much heart as I do. He trusts. He loves. He honors. This isn’t him. This isn’t the man I love.
With my heart determined to prove my brain wrong, I thrust out of Ryan’s hold and charge toward the area the moan/ripple/laugh came from.
I’ve barely stepped foot on the back patio of Ryan’s family home when Ryan curls his arm around my waist and yanks me back. His sudden movements stir up the weird fragrance I smelled on him earlier. It isn’t fresh like someone who just showered. It is sticky and sweet, like a man who has done a lot of sweating.
Oh god.
“Let me go, Ryan. Let me go! I want to see who it is,” I scream, my words as raw as my heart feels.
I couldn’t handle this on my best day, let alone my worst.
“I don’t want you to see that, Savannah,” Ryan mutters into my ear, breaking my heart even more. “It’s not something Ieverwant you to see.”
The honesty in his tone devastates me. He knows the image I’m desperately trying to see will shatter my heart beyond repair. He also knows there is only one visual that could do that: him with another woman.
“You promised you’d never hurt me, Ryan. You promised.” My last two words are barely audible.
When he continues his silent stance, I yank out of his grasp for the second time. I have no intention of tracking down the person responsible for the pain tearing my heart in two, I just need some distance between us. I can’t have him close to me and work through my anguish. It is impossible to be angry when all you’re feeling is familiarity.
While swiping at the tears cascading down my face, I beg for my mouth not to fail me.Now is not the time for stupidity.
My pleas fall on deaf ears when I blubber, “Are you. . . Did you. . .”
The expression crossing Ryan’s face hurts me more than his betrayal. All I want to do is shelter him from the pain, even when he is the one causing it.
“The distance became too much, Savannah. I got sick of waiting for you to come home,” he mutters, his voice tormented.
I take a step back, shocked. “It’s just your new job playing with your emotions, Ryan. It will settle down soon. If it doesn’t, I’ll request a transfer. I’ll take a gap year. We’ll make it work.”
I sound desperate, and rightfully so. I am desperate—desperate to save him from the distress stealing the life from his eyes. I’ve only worked through half the damage his parents’ volatile relationship caused, and I’m not willing to pass the baton to someone else. I was born for this job. I was born to protect him as devotedly as he has protected me most of our life. I was born to love him.
It feels like a knife is stabbed into my chest when Ryan shakes his head. “It’s too late for that. I’ve found someone else.”
“What?” I ask, certain I heard him wrong. My pulse is thudding in my ears, so I’m confident my hearing is affected. “You’re not like him, Ryan. You wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn’t do this tous.”
I know you. You didn’t do this. Please tell me you didn’t destroy us.
