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“It was painful,” Ryanne agrees with Dante. “I don’t know what triggered it, but your claws are sharp today.”
“It came out of nowhere.” I relay my visit and hearing it out of my mouth brings the truth to light.
The raw anguish on his beautiful face is all I see as the horror and shame set in. “I’m such a fucking bitch. He wasn’t trying to hold me back.”
“He wouldn’t ever try to do that, Poppy. Why would your mind even go there?” Ryanne asks pointedly.
The answer slams into me, shattering my defense that this was for my independence. Dante reads my mind, expressing what I’m too afraid to vocalize. “Evin is right, you’re trying to prove something. Popsy, don’t let her get to you.”
“It didn’t dawn on me until right now.”
“I fucking hate Natasha Bindel,” Ryanne snipes, clueing in. “Wish she would show her face so I could slap that fake-tittie, Botox-inflated bitch straight back to Africa.”
Even though my heart is in shambles, a giggle bubbles up. “You’re second in line.”
I dig my phone out of my pocket and call him, which goes straight to voicemail. “I love you, Evin Graham, I’m sorry… come back.”
My eyes slice to Dante. “Please go find him.”
“Where?”
“He takes Laurel Avenue to the park and runs the trail. If you can’t find him there, try Ally Plaza.”
“What do you want me to do if I find him? Evin has a ferocious temper when he’s riled. If he wants to be alone, I respect that.”
“You’re a man, figure it out.”
“Good thing I’m wearing my running shoes.”
He takes off and Ryanne steps closer, squeezing my shoulder. “You okay?”
“No, I’m the world’s worst wife.”
“Outside of that, you okay?”
“That doesn’t help.”
“Sorry, Pips, you were harsh and out of line. I sympathize with your frustration and wish there was some way to help. You put too much pressure on yourself, always have. That’s one reason I pushed for Charleston. If you were here, your entire existence would have been consumed with rehab and recovery. Everything in this city and this house is a reminder of your life before Evin, which was centered on performing. In South Carolina, you not only had the support but the distractions to keep you busy.”
“They aren’t distractions, it’s the way of life.”
“Aaggkkk,” her throaty disgust is paired with a full tremor. “I can’t imagine all that icky and gooey. Evin’s enough to handle without all that baggage. Family dinners, babysitting, horseback riding, dealing with teenage girl-boy drama? Your mother-in-law always in your business? No, thank you. Shoot me now.”
“You are such a bitch. Point made.”
“I don’t think it is. Because three months ago, you hit on some dark times and dance was nowhere to get you through it. Sounds like you may have a life without it. Dancing was your passion, Poppy, not your life.”
A single tear falls and I throw my arms around her, the crutches clattering to the floor. “Now your point is really made. Thank you.”
“Like Evin, if I could trade places with you, I would, just to see that radiance one more time.”
“Warning, babe. I’m teetering on the edge of hysterics.”
“Noted. I can keep going until your thick, stubborn, self-righteous ass knows how fucking lucky you are.”
“I know, and if Dante can bring my husband back, I swear I’ll apologize a million times.”
My phone buzzes with a text, and we pull apart, reading it together.
Dante—I found him. We’re at the park. He’s not only running, he’s doing the platinum fitness trail. I’m sticking with him. I hate you.
“The platinum fitness trail? Isn’t that the...”
“It’s the black diamond of trails,” I finish her sentence.
“Shit, Dante trained this morning.”
“I have a lot of making up to do with the two men in my life.”
“Well, Dante got off the hook pretty easy about the ‘hiding Tasha is back’ news.”
“True.”
Her phone rings in her bedroom and her eyes flash with an excited glow.
“Is that Andrew?”
“Most likely.”
“Then answer it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry about me. Invite him over next week while you’re visiting.”
“Already done!” She sprints down the hall, and I hear her excited greeting before her door shuts. To no one’s surprise, Andrew Rhodes and Ryanne hit it off when she was in Charleston. They were cautious of the distance. But lately, Ryanne has changed her tune. She can pretend her planned trip to Charleston over Thanksgiving is to be with me and visit her parents, but I know the truth. The glint in her eye tells all.
“Come on, Poppy, let’s start our night of apologies.” Since no one is around, I leave the crutches and go to the kitchen, immediately realizing the difference. Nothing hurts, but the pressure bearing down slows my movements.
An hour later, my nerves are frazzled. Dinner is prepped, all texts are responded to with the best vibe I can give, and even Marco has an update.
