“Such a mystery. As much as we talk, I feel like I don’t really know you.”
Hmmm. Maybe I’ve been slipping for a lot longer than I thought. Uncle always pushed my limits with what he called my social façade. As soon as he was out of the picture, I let a lot of stuff go—fewer social outings, less fake friends, less of my personal information shared. But all of that is what maintained my coach’s costume.
I’m going to have to tell him a bit more, but it’s only going to feed his curiosity, not curb it. Uncle Jasper’s laughing fromhis grave. This is exactly what he wanted. This is what having a spouse means. I’ll always have to peel back the layers enough to keep people satisfied enough to stay away.
Maybe I can use this to my advantage. Having someone explain Ryan would help me with getting Ryan to like me.
“He still likes going to nightclubs,” I invent. “I can’t go with him this weekend, and he’s pissed because I don’t want him to go without me.”
Patrick leans his palms on the back of the chair, chuckling. “You do like this one. You’re jealous. Didn’t peg you as the jealous type, VanCourt.”
I’m more than just the jealous type. If I could, I’d leash Ryan and drag him around with me everywhere—my very own human pet. But society would frown upon that.
“What do I do about it?”
“Unfortunately, I think you just have to let him.”
“Lethim?” My jaw locks. Fuck that. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“If you’re that insecure about your relationship, maybe there’s a deeper issue at play.”
It’s hard not to scoff. People like Patrick can speak in luxuries like that. It’s a fuckingluxuryto feel an ounce of security. People who’ve always had security speak about it as if it’s something normal to have. Not having it is abnormal. Being unable to feel secure is a deep issue. But what if control is all you have? All you’re capable of? I would have given anything to have been raised by the parents who loved me. Would love have made a difference for a brain like mine? Hard to say, but maybe I would have been taught better coping mechanisms.
Instead, I have the ones that Uncle Jasper taught me. They’ve served me well, but even I know they’re fucked up.
Patrick frowns. I’m not doing a good job of hiding the fact that I’d love to strangle him right now. But my animal brainviews him as a threat. Ryan’s not even here, but it’s as if Patrick’s stripped him from me. Because if I can’t control what Ryan does, how can I be sure he stays mine?
“Sorry, I’ve hit a nerve. You trusted me with something personal, and I’ve blown it. I’d see if I could find a compromise. Maybe he goes, but he messages you. Or maybe you can offer to take him another weekend?”
I nod. “Thank you, Patrick.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat unnecessarily. “Well, I’ll head out then. Good luck.”
Great. This is why I don’t share my personal life. Even what’s “safe” to share isn’t relatable. It chips away at my carefully constructed front. Patrick feels awkward now. He’s going to be weird next time I see him. I’ll have to smooth that over.
But I put all that aside, getting up to lock the door this time. If anyone else knocks, I’m pretending no one’s here. Or shooting them.
When I’m back at my desk again, I pull out my phone, anticipating the fury Ryan’s filled it with. He doesn’t disappoint.
Dollface
You don’t get to tell me what to do, VanCourt.
Fuck, is that what you mean by freedom? You tell me where to go and what to do?
No. I can’t do this. It’s off.
Five minutes pass between that message and his next one.
Fuck you’re an asshole.
I hate you.
You’re a psychopath.
If “it’s off,” why is he still messaging me? That’s a mixed signal. I might be forced to ask Patrick about that.
Are you still there?
