The One & Only: A Novel (40 page)

“I mean we talked … in a group … that was all.” The more I babbled, the more enraged he became. And, at one point, he grabbed my other arm, our chests inches apart, so I had no choice but to look directly into his face, veins bulging everywhere, his features distorted with rage.

“Yet he got your credit card? Huh. And how, exactly, does that work?”

“I left my card. He got it for me. That was it. Do you really think he’d hand me the card in front of you if something were going on?” I was frantic now, my cheeks on fire.

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “I think he would. I think he absolutely
loved
disrespecting me in front of everyone.”

“Nobody’s disrespecting you,” I said. “Stop being crazy!”

“Crazy?” he said, ratcheting up his grip another notch.

“Ouch,” I said, wincing. “Ryan, that hurts. Let go!”

“I’m not crazy, Shea. You’re the one who got drunk, left your credit card, and let your ex-boyfriend pick it up for you. You’re the one who broke your promise. You’re the one who lied to me. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” I said, sweat trickling down my sides. “Let go!”

“No. Answer me. What am I supposed to think?”

My arm hurt too much to struggle, so I stopped and said, “You’re making a scene.”

“Answer the question. What am I supposed to think?”

I said I didn’t know, my voice coming out in a whimper.

“Okay. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you fucked him. Didn’t you? Admit it, Shea. You fucked him.”

“No.”

“Yes, you did,” he yelled, shaking me.

“No, Ryan,” I said, on the verge of tears. “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Nothing happened.”

At this point, Lucy appeared, taking everything in, her eyes wide, horrified.

“What’s going on here?” she said, as Ryan finally released me from his grip.

“Nothing’s going on here,” he said. “I’m out.”

He turned and stormed off, leaving me with Lucy. “What in the world? …” she said. “What just happened? Is this because Miller walked in?”

I got choked up but managed not to cry as I cobbled the story together, downplaying things.

She looked at the red mark on my arm and winced.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I said, wishing I had kept my jacket on.

“Omigod,” Lucy said.

In some kind of shock, I said, “I can see how bad this looks to him. God, I wish I hadn’t lied.”

“That doesn’t excuse
this
,” she said. “There is no excuse for
this.
”

“I know,” I said, although I could hear the rationalizations forming in my mind:
He has big hands. He doesn’t know his strength.
And the most pathetic:
It’s my fault.

Lucy’s face twisted in anguish. “Shea, honey … I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all … I think maybe Blakeslee was telling the truth about him. On some level.”

Maybe. On some level.
I could see and hear that she was qualifying, too, trying to find a way out for Ryan, not wanting to believe what had just happened. Surely Ryan wasn’t that person. Surely I wasn’t the girl in peril.

“I just want to go home,” I said.

“You can’t drive.”

“I’m okay to drive,” I said. “Honest.”

Lucy nodded reluctantly, then said, “Okay. Call me when you get home. I’m really worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. I promise,” I said. As if that were something I could will to be true.

As I unlocked my apartment door, my cell rang. I expected it to be Lucy, or maybe Ryan, but it was Coach. His voice was filled with joy as he said hello, reminding me of what tonight was supposed to be about: Walker one step closer to the promised land.

“Hey, Coach,” I said, trying to conjure the elation I’d felt only a short time ago.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, how ’bout that game, girl?” he said, laughing, giddy. “How ’bout that
game
?”

“It was great. Awesome. I’m so happy for you. And proud of you,” I said, trying to sound the way I would if I hadn’t just been manhandled.

I must not have done a good job, because he said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, finding my way to the sofa and curling up in a fetal position, the phone pressed to my ear.

“C’mon. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I took a deep breath and said, “I got into an argument with Ryan. At the Third Rail. That’s all.”

“Oh, boy,” Coach said, suddenly somber. “What about?”

“Same old stuff,” I said. “He still thinks I have a thing for Miller. Which I don’t.
Obviously.
”

“And he got jealous?”

“Yeah. And really angry … It was bad.”

“What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

I didn’t really, but I felt that I had to explain, at least in broad strokes. “We were at the Third Rail with Lucy and Neil … celebrating … and …” My voice cracked, but I kept going. “Miller walked in and Ryan got mad and things just turned ugly.”

“Ugly?”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking that word summed it up better than any other. “On Ryan’s end. Miller was his usual happy self.”

“What did Ryan do?”

“You know … he just … lost his temper and acted stupid …”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering the way those people in the bar had looked at me. With voyeuristic pity and concern. The opposite of the way people usually looked at me when I was with Ryan. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

The answer was both yes and no, so I said, “I don’t know …” And then, because I had the feeling that he was just worried about me and
trying to do the right thing, I said, “You don’t have to do that. I really am okay.”

“I know I don’t
have
to. I
want
to see you,” he said, and, for a few seconds, there seemed to be nothing complicated about our situation. He was simply a man who liked a woman. I could hear it in his voice. I was sure of it, and, despite everything that had happened, I felt a little rush that Coach wanted to share such a special night with me.

“I want to see you, too,” I said.

“All right, then,” he said. “I just need to make a few phone calls, and I’ll be over.”

“Okay,” I said again, frozen in the same position, not even moving the warm phone from my face for several seconds after Coach said goodbye and hung up. I calculated that, with his calls and the drive over, I had at least twenty minutes, just enough time to take a quick hot shower and pull myself together. Fighting an overwhelming sense of fatigue, I willed myself to sit up, text Lucy that I was home safe, then walk down the hall, into my bedroom, then my bathroom, where I began undressing. When I took off my jeans, the credit card fell from my back pocket onto the tile floor. I stared down at it but left it there, then pulled my sweater over my head, both arms, especially my left, throbbing. Then I took off my underwear, staring at my naked self in the mirror. From a straight-on view, I couldn’t see the marks on my arms, which somehow made me feel better. I took a few steps to my shower and turned on the water to the hottest setting, wondering if what had happened in the bar had made me a statistic.

Waiting for the water to get hot, I decided that it was too minor to qualify, then told myself not to be so stupid. Of
course
it counted. It didn’t matter, though, because, either way, I was going to end things with Ryan the first chance I got. For a lot of reasons. Because he didn’t trust me—and nothing would ever work without trust. Because I didn’t really love him, and I knew I never would. But mostly because he had crossed a very clear line.

I stepped into the shower, breathing in the steam, letting the water stream down over my back, then my face, thinking of how many reports
and stories I’d read over the years about girls showering after an “incident.” It had always made sense, but now it
really
made sense. I hadn’t been seriously injured, but I still felt violated.

After another few minutes, I turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around my body. I glanced back toward the mirror, but it was too steamed up to show my reflection, and I was grateful for that. I took a few deep breaths, thinking about Coach, then walked back into my bedroom.

And that’s when I saw him, sitting there on the edge of my bed.

I
jumped and made a small gasping sound, the kind I make when I spot a roach in my apartment.

“Your door was unlocked,” Ryan said, holding up his hand as if to calm me. “So I came in.”

“I see that,” I said, turning my back on him to grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from my chest of drawers. I dropped my towel to the floor, dressed as quickly as I could, then faced him again.

“I’m sorry, Shea,” he began, looking docile, distraught. His complete about-face caught me off guard and took the edge off my anger.

“It’s fine,” I said, though it wasn’t. “Let’s just forget it.”

I knew that neither of us could do that. That he couldn’t forget the lie about Miller any more than I could forget what he’d done to me, but I just wanted to get rid of him. Even if Coach weren’t on his way over, I’d had enough of him for one night. I searched for the right combination
of words as he stood and walked calmly toward me. Without thinking, I held my breath and backed up one step, then another.

His face fell. “Shea. Baby. Please tell me you aren’t scared of me. I would never hurt you. C’mon. You know me. You know that.”

He sounded so sweet, so persuasive that I almost believed him. “I’m not scared of you,” I said. “But you
did
hurt me.”

It was a compromise between my head and my gut. I didn’t want to let him off the hook completely, but I also didn’t want to put myself in the full-blown victim category.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

I considered this, deciding that his intent was relevant; maybe he didn’t know his own strength. Then I shook my head, flip-flopping again. “But you
did
,” I said.

He took another step forward, then reached out and gently touched my left arm, exactly where he’d first grabbed me. “Does it … does it really hurt?”

“Yes. It does. And there’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow. I guarantee it. You think that’s okay?” I said, my voice rising as I spoke more quickly. “To put your hands on a girl like that? Like you’re in a damn football game? It’s
not
okay, Ryan. You outweigh me by a hundred pounds. It’s not okay.”

He shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t call me
baby
,” I said, feeling a fresh swell of anger. “I’m not your baby.”

“Shea. I’m sorry … Just like you’re sorry about Miller.”

I threw my hands in the air, then put one on my hip. “Don’t even put those things in the same category,” I said. “What I did and what you did. And I’m not sorry about
Miller.
I didn’t
do
anything with Miller. I’m sorry I
lied
to you about him. But I lied because I was sick of discussing him. He is a nonissue.” I slapped the back of my hand into my palm for emphasis.

“I believe you,” he said.

“Do you, though?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Good. Thank you,” I said, aware that the seconds were ticking down toward Coach’s arrival. Ryan reached out, his long arm encircling my waist, pulling me closer to him as he leaned down to try to kiss me.

I said his name in protest, but he persisted. “C’mon, babe,” he said. “Kiss me. Let’s make up. Can we? Please?”

I turned my head, suddenly repulsed by his natural scent—one I’d felt neutral about before tonight. “Can we please just talk about this tomorrow? I’m really tired.”

Ryan’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Why? Are you planning on company? Is Miller on his way over here to comfort you?”

Something inside me snapped as I shouted, “Dammit, Ryan. Get out! Get out
now
!”

He stared at me calmly, shaking his head. “So it’s like that?”

“Like what?”

“You trying to turn this around. You lie to me like you did. And now this is about me holding your arm a little too hard?” He sneered, then laughed, as if mocking me, and I suddenly hated him.

“Shut up, Ryan. And get the fuck out of my house. This relationship is over.”

“Oh, it’s over?” he said, laughing again. “Because you have a better option?”

“Yes,” I said,
wanting
to hurt him now, with words, my best weapon. “I do, actually.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Go do your thing. Go fuck Miller.”

“Fuck you,” I said, pointing at him, jabbing at his chest with my finger as he’d done to me outside the restroom at the Third Rail. When I got no reaction, I jabbed harder. He blocked me, and I swung. It was as if I wanted him to hit me. To prove Blakeslee’s claim true. To justify my decision to end things with the great Ryan James.

But when I got my wish, and he reached out with his crazy-quick reflexes, easily catching both of my wrists in his hands, then pushing me down onto the bed, I regretted it.

“Get off me!” I said, breathing hard, struggling as he held me down with more force than was necessary. And then, suddenly, I was scared.
Really
scared.