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“I left because I knew in that moment that I’d always be second choice, and the prospect of my child being second choice…” I had to stop because of the lump crawling up my throat, threatening to unleash tears. I’d grown up as an afterthought; I refused to marry someone who considered me one too.
“I, like you, needed some time to process. I didn’t even get a text or call from you for five days, Ryan. Five days you left me alone with the knowledge that a positive pregnancy test sat between us.”
“I just needed some time to wrestle with the fact that things were changing. I didn’t mean anything I said to you, didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…I knew going pro wasn’t in the cards if a baby was coming,” he explained, each word laden with so much raw emotion that it had those tears surfacing again. I knew if I looked into his eyes, his might be misty too.
“We could have done it. You were already getting offers by that point—Seattle had already reached out. Why wouldn’t it have worked?” I felt my face furrow as confusion set in. If that was why he’d needed to take time, why even bother? He absolutely could have had us and his career; it was me who’d had the hang-up.
“Because I had already signed the contract with Seattle…I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you, but you surprised me instead. How on earth could I tell you I was signed and that the idea of becoming a father felt more like a shackle than something to celebrate? The only thing I wanted was to play…and for that reason, it wouldn’t have worked for me to. I’d get caught up in the cameras, the life, the training…it would be too stressful, worrying about you, becoming a dad. There was no way I could do both things well. One of them I’d fuck up, and I’d rather do that with my career than a kid.”
I didn’t know what to say to him. Would I have tried to make it work? Yes, but his initial response was the answer I needed. He’d already made his choice. He didn’t need time to wrestle with it; that first responsewashis response. Unfortunately, he would have resented me eventually. Sometimes in life we only get a few seconds to tell our truth, and no matter how much we want to change it, we can’t erase it from other people’s lives.
“I needed a few days, but you didn’t respond to my calls or anything after I reached out.” I could feel Ryan’s gaze dip down to my lowered head, to my fingers that pulled at a loose thread on the swing cushion.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I went to the doctor and knew for sure,” I answered, remembering how lonely that appointment felt, how shallow and hollow it felt to have this tiny possibility flicker like a candle, only to go out within a second. I had assumed the pain in my abdomen was a side effect of the stress; my stomach had been in knots since finding out and telling Ryan. I couldn’t tell the difference, and when I spotted and read that it was normal, I didn’t think anything of it; I went into that office with hope and left with grief.
“You went alone—how do you think that makes me feel?” Ryan’s voice tipped with emotion, betraying the fact that tears were on the brink of breaking through whatever defense he had set up.
My heart decided to pick up the words he chose to use—‘makes me feel’—tossing them around like a word scramble.It wasn’t past tense…he used present.
“That voicemail ripped me open, Bex. Hearing that we didn’t have a baby while you were God knows where, upset, hurting—it destroyed me. I was supposed to hold you…you were supposed to hold me. I started hoping…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “It made no sense because I wanted football so badly, but when I thought of having a kid with you, something like hope began to grow inside me.”
“I hoped too,” I whispered, hating the grating against my heart his confession created. I hated how much hurt swirled between us, how much I’d caused. If I had just stayed and been brave, we would have faced that moment together.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry for leaving like that. I’m sorry for telling you over voicemail. It was shitty of me…I hated myself after. I hated myself so much for months and months…” I cried, swiping at my face. I couldn’t hold them in any longer. It felt like a betrayal to our tiny possibility to even consider holding them back.
Those tears belonged with our small hope, lost in the tiny plastic screen of that pregnancy test. Maybe it hadn’t ever really been there, but I had taken three tests over the span of two weeks and all of them said I was pregnant. Then I just suddenly wasn’t.
“You must not have hated yourself too long if you moved on that easily. Cole is almost eight, right?” Ryan’s cold tone smothered whatever fire was being rekindled between us, or maybe that was just in my mind. Maybe there was nothing here and he was just a famous asshole now.
“Don’t judge me, Ryan. You have no idea…” I started, but he turned, causing my legs to fall and my posture to shift.
“I wouldn’t know, would I? Because the girl I’m in love with left me, just fucking left. I called you for a year, Bex. I grieved losing you and our baby for an entire year! Every fucking day, I wrote you, I called you, I left you long, pathetic messages. I missed parties. I’d look for you on campus, convinced one day you’d show up…until it was too much and I eventually lost my contract.” He seethed, his anger palpable and alive.
My heart thrashed with horrible hope that I didn’t deserve, and that stupid place in my mind that was analyzing every little thing clung to the fact that he’d said ‘the girl I’m in love with.’ Did that mean he still felt that way? Probably just a slip of the tongue.
“You got what you wanted—you signed with Seattle. I watched your press conference. Don’t put your injury on me.” I was angry that he would put all his baggage on me.
“You know…” He shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “One day you’ll hear the whole story of how I got injured, and you might not agree that it wasn’t your fault. I was consumed by you, Bex. Fucking swallowed whole by your absence, with no end in sight.”
His explanation sobered me. I didn’t know the details. As excited as I’d been for him to get signed, I hadn’t been able to stomach watching him retire due to a career-ending sprain. My heart physically ached for him for weeks after I heard that. He was only down for about a year before there was news of him being cast in the huge HitFlix drama that began trending immediately.
“All I can say is that I’m sorry.” I didn’t want to talk about my own past, but it felt like he deserved to know what had happened with me and why I’d ended up with someone. “Logan was just a friend…he was…”
“Stop,” Ryan demanded breathlessly. “I can’t hear how you met him, or how soon after you left me you started casually fucking him. I can’t sit here and listen to the story of how you started a life with him.” Ryan suddenly stood, choking out his words.
I sat, frozen on the bench, unsure of what to do with that information. His pain was palpable, the tension in his shoulders so thick I wanted to step up behind him and press my hand there to ease it out.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Ryan. I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I loved you, and I still care about you,” I said flatly, my heart racing at the lie. Loved wasn’t accurate—I wasin lovewith this man, waiting for him to come back to me. I’d ruined my relationship with Logan because of my hang-up.
“I think that’s probably enough for one night…” He stepped away from the swing, his fingers tunneling through that head of hair as he let out a heavy sigh. He lowered his foot to the first step on my porch then twisted toward me one last time to say, “Let’s leave things where they’re at, Bex…maybe we weren’t meant to have another shot at this. There’s too much water under the bridge, and I’m not in the mood to drown.”
I stood, crossing my arms over my chest, trying in vain to guard my pathetic heart against his words.
“Okay.”
What was I supposed to do, ask him to stay? I had nothing to offer him. I had no fresh starts or happily ever afters in my future, and this new version of Ryan had them in spades.
He gave me one last look before jogging down the stairs and heading toward the black SUV.
