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“Yeah…” was the gruff response I received.
Correcting my posture to face front, I continued. “You were there celebrating a win. You were so happy, or it seemed that way at least. Anyway, the guys were all yelling something at you, telling you to do it already. I had no idea what they were talking about until I moved around enough to see the small blonde pushed against you. You bent down and kissed her. Everyone screamed and hollered for you, a few people shouted ‘Finally!’…and I…I knew then that you were happy. You’d moved on, and I needed to as well.”
Shallow breathing met me from behind as I plowed on in my story.
“Anyway, I drove straight to Logan’s house, and that’s how we got together…my heartache and misplaced hurt over you.”
Ryan muttered something behind me, but I couldn’t make it out. His grip intensified on my thighs, holding me in place.
“Go on,” he prompted.
“Logan and I dated for a few months then he was offered a job in Oregon, which meant he was moving, and it was then that I decided to be honest with him and break things off.”
“You didn’t love him?”
“I was fond of him. I may have loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him…then the day before I was going to tell him…” I stalled, not wanting to tell this part for some reason.
“You found out you were pregnant with Cole,” Ryan finished for me.
“Yeah…”
“So, you moved with him.”
“I did, and I went through the motions…becoming a mother, letting him be the dad…but there wasn’t any depth to our relationship. He noticed and decided to propose.”
“You turned him down,” Ryan said, helping fill in the gaps again.
“I couldn’t marry him. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t. He bought my answer of just not being ready, until I got pregnant with Bella…two years later. He tried again with a romantic dinner and a massive ring…” I felt a tear slip free, so I swiped at it quickly. I hated myself for hurting Logan the way I had. “I just…I couldn’t agree to marry him, not when my heart was still with you. Unfortunately, he pressed me, needing to know why. I refused to tell him until he dug through some of my old boxes without my knowledge and found pictures and things you’d written me, gifts you’d bought me…all of our time together shoved into a small brown box in the back of my closet.”
Ryan rubbed my back as I swiped at more tears, hating this confession and all it was proving about my character.
“By then you’d started acting…he knew your face and your name and lost it. Demanded to know if I still loved you.”
I couldn’t keep going, the truth too painful to confess. So, I toyed with the blanket and let the tears fall.
“You told him yes?” Ryan whispered against my ear.
I nodded in response.
Ryan’s hand snuck under my shirt as he continued to stroke my back.
“We started fighting after that…then Bella came, and we were at peace for about a year, enjoying her and busy with both kids…we were too exhausted to fight anymore. But once she turned two, it was like we were back at it with more force than ever. He proposed one more time, almost in spite of me…like he was trying to prove one last time that we were done. When I turned him down again, he lost it. He grabbed my memory box and threw it through the window, shattering it to pieces. He yelled and screamed, punched a hole through the wall…told me I was pathetic. You had just been seen making out with someone on a beach and the tabloids had spilled all the details. Logan would watch your HitFlix movies while he was drunk and pause on the parts where you kissed or had sex with the actress…talking down to me, saying you’d never choose me over them. They were so pretty and perfect, and there was no way you’d ever come back to me after tasting Hollywood.”
I choked on a sob, remembering how that comment had split me open and left me raw for weeks. It was a fear I dealt with on a regular basis, and Logan, the father of my children, had exploited it.
“I didn’t speak to him for two weeks after that. After week one, he disappeared…took a bag and just left. He came back from time to time, but our connection was severed, so I brought up the idea of separation to him. He left again and then one day came back with boxes and his pregnant girlfriend. That was the end of us.”
“Bexley, I’m—” Ryan started, but I couldn’t hear his pity. I was already sick to my stomach from sharing so many details with him. Knowing he would return to Hollywood, to his life, to those actresses with this knowledge made me physically ill.
“I think I’m ready to turn in. I’m exhausted.” I slipped from his lap, and he let me.
Ryan left me alone while I readied myself for bed, getting into my sleep shorts and tank top, washing my face with a disposable wipe and brushing my teeth with a little makeshift sink he had set up. I pulled on some tall socks and snuggled under the blankets. My heart thrummed painfully in my chest, honesty like a venom running rampant through my veins.
Tears clogged my throat as I turned away from the entrance of the tent, facing the thin wall instead. Now he knew. He knew everything, and like a deck of cards, he’d shuffle my truth and tuck it into his back pocket, then he’d leave us.
Hearing the zipper of the tent lift, I held my breath as Ryan got ready for bed. I didn’t want him to hear me cry or see my back move as sobs racked my lungs. I wanted to be invisible.
Five minutes passed while he used the water jug, brushed his teeth, and swapped clothing around. Once he finally shut off the hanging lights, plunging us into total darkness, he pulled the blankets back and crawled inside.
