Until Now (21 page)

“I broke it. For you.”
And I’d do it all over again
.

“I was just a moment of weakness, huh? Temporary insanity?” His tone was light, but I could tell that I’d hurt him. I was on a roll tonight. When I didn’t respond to his comment, he shrugged and looked away. “Well,” he said. “I guess I can’t fault you for that. We both said, right from the start, that we weren’t looking for a serious relationship. We’re just in this for fun, right?”

I thought about the way his face lit up whenever I walked into a room, or when he caught my eye during Sunday dinner. I thought about the way he put Mason to bed, reading him story after story and answering an endless stream of questions with unwavering patience. I thought about how it felt to be with him, safe and content and comfortable. Like being home.

“Fun,” I said, uttering the word like it was something foreign and perplexing. “Right.” I stood up and glanced around me for my purse, suddenly desperate to get out of there. “You probably want me to go,” I said without looking at him. “So I’ll just…take the bus home or something.”

Ryan stood up next to me and held my forearms, turning me around to look at him. But I couldn’t. Instead, I focused on the prickly hairs on his chin, blinking and blinking until I could make out each separate one. “No,” he said. “Stay here. Please. I’ll drive you home in the morning when Mason wakes up.”

I took a step back. “But…”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, okay?” He let go of me and then crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive stance he hadn’t used around me in a while. “Just stay.”

Reluctantly, I agreed and then headed to his bedroom, leaving him to what was sure to be a restless night’s sleep in the living room. I shut the door and sat on the unmade bed, making no move to get in it. My mind was whirling, trying to sort out what just happened. Did we break up? Were we ever really together in the first place? And what would happen now?

I looked over at the framed pictures of Mason on the dresser. Mason, who would miss me if I stopped coming around. The barricade in my throat grew even wider at the thought of losing
him
too. Blinking back fresh tears, I curled up on the bed, breathing in the scent of Ryan’s soap and remembering the last time I’d lain here, two night ago. After we’d had sex, Ryan had stayed on top of me, his head resting on my chest as I combed my fingers through his hair. After a while, he’d sighed and said, “I want to live right here.” This made me smile, because I wanted him to live right there too.

I
still
wanted it. Wanted him, no matter how many obstacles I had to cross to get there.

“Screw it,” I muttered, and sat up, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. Then, before I had time to change my mind or lose my nerve, I got up and left the bedroom.

Ryan was stretched out on the couch, wide awake, his head propped against the arm rest and his arms still folded over his chest. When I entered the room, his eyes locked on mine, questioning. I searched my brain for something to say, some lame explanation for my presence, but came up with nothing. So I kept my mouth shut and stood there, statue-like in the middle of the room, until he uncrossed his arms and held them open for me. An invitation.

I sprang to life and went to him, slowly lowering myself top of him, fitting my body to his. His arms enveloped me, holding me tight, while I buried my face in his warm neck. And I knew, just from the way we clung together like we wanted to climb under each other’s skin and live there, that what we felt for each other wasn’t just about fun anymore.

“I’ll think about it,” I told the woman in front of me, who was inexplicably wearing a pink nightgown with a picture of a cat on it. At five-thirty p.m. on a Friday. While showing her apartment to potential roommates. This city was filled with interesting people.

“Well, don’t wait too long,” the woman said, reaching under her collar to scratch her chest. She’d been scratching since the moment I walked into this dump, which her online ad had described as “a large, two-bedroom with a great view and convenient laundry facilities.” All false, as it turned out. The place was tiny, the second bedroom was the size of a closet, the view was a line of Dumpsters behind a Chinese restaurant, and the “laundry facilities” consisted of a bank of run-down washers and dryers in a dank room in the basement that I wouldn’t venture into at night if you paid me.

And to top it off, I was pretty sure this woman had either a severe case of eczema or an infestation of bedbugs. My guess was the latter.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know.” I backed away toward the door, my skin crawling.

“You’re pretty,” she said, cocking her head as she studied me. “Why don’t you find some rich guy and shack up with him?”

I gave her a big fake smile and then got the hell out of there. Once outside, I ripped my purse off my shoulder and frantically swiped at the exterior, making sure I hadn’t brought any visitors outside with me. As I did this, my cell chimed with a text, startling me. I stopped thumping at my purse and dug out my phone, checking it as I walked to my car.

Hi good girl. Want to meet up later?

I paused on the sidewalk, almost colliding with a jogger coming at me from behind. What the hell? Cody never texted me. I hadn’t heard from him in a month, since the night we’d met at Freeman’s for wings. Annoyed, I fired back a response.
Didn’t Abby tell you? I’m seeing someone.

So what?

I shut off my phone and continued to my car. Of course. Now I understood. When Cody heard I was off limits, his interest was immediately roused. He saw me as an even bigger challenge now, someone to break. Well, he’d have to try a lot harder than that.

When I arrived at Margins twenty minutes later, all set to amuse Ryan with my tale about Pink Nightgown Lady, I found him sitting behind the cash and talking to a pretty blonde. She wore tiny jean shorts and a low-cut tank top, which she was showing off to Ryan as she rested her forearms on the counter. The blonde didn’t even glance back as I entered the store, but Ryan caught my eye and gave me his almost-smile, soothing the jealous burn in my gut. Still, I squared my shoulders and flounced over to the counter, placing myself beside Ryan and in the girl’s line of sight. When she finally noticed me, she stopped blabbering on about whatever book she was searching for and her cheeks turned pink.

“Maybe you should go home and order it online,” I suggested sweetly. Flustered, she straightened up, sent Ryan a small wave, and then wiggled her denim-clad ass out the door. I smiled, pleased with myself. “Were you giving her the hard sell?” I asked Ryan, my eyebrows raised.

He shot me a dark look. “No. And you really can’t treat customers like that.”

“Customers.” I snorted. She’d come in to browse, all right, but not for books. “Does that happen often?”

“What?” He stood up and brushed past me, distracted.

“You know what,” I said, following him into the back room, where he started rummaging through the desk drawers. “Girls dropping in to flirt with the hot bookstore guy.”

He shrugged. “Whatever brings in business.” He continued to fling open drawers, a harried expression on his face. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Kenny had no organizational skills whatsoever. I can never find anything in here.”

I stood in the doorway and watched him, caught off guard by his noticeably bad mood. Is the store in trouble? I wondered. Are
we
? We’d grown closer over the past week, strengthened by whatever had been established between us last Saturday as we lay together on his couch. The whole kids issue hadn’t been resolved, exactly…more like stored away for later, if
later
even existed for us. We’d been keeping things light, skirting around the typical relationship discussions like commitment and expectations for the future, but we’d definitely moved beyond casual and into something deeper. Or so I’d assumed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, finally, as he leaned with his palms against the desk, staring downward with a brooding, faraway look in his eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Ryan,” I said, letting him know with my tone that I didn’t believe that for one second.

Defeated, he pushed the drawers shut and sighed. “Let’s go sit down.”

This is it, I thought as made our way to the olive-green couch. He’s going to tell me he changed his mind about us. He’s decided that he wants a nice, non-bitchy, well-balanced woman who he can settle down and build a family with, someone who will marry him and give him dozens of babies. Someone who—

“Mason’s grandmother called me this morning,” Ryan said once we’d settled on the couch, an entire cushion between us. Seeing my confusion, he clarified. “Chelsea’s mother. She asked if they could come and see Mason tomorrow. They want to take him mini-golfing.”

An illogical bolt of fear ripped through me. They’ll take him, I thought. They’ll buckle him into their car and then disappear. “Do they—have his grandparents ever done that before? Come to see him?”

Hearing the panic in my voice, he frowned. “A couple of times. Not since April, though. Why?”

“Just wondering.” I took a deep breath, willing my heart to stop pounding. “Does Chelsea know they visit him?”

“Of course. She lives with them….or at least she used to. She got her own place a couple of weeks ago, apparently.”

My gaze flew up to meet his.
I haven’t heard a word from Chelsea since we moved back
, he’d told me weeks ago, during our fake-date. “Where did you hear that?”

“From her parents,” he said, and I relaxed. Marginally. “They said she did another six weeks in rehab, joined AA, and got a job. She’s doing really well now, according to them, but I’m not sure how much truth there is to it. They’ve always been blind when it comes to her.”

Part of our conversation reeled back in my head. “You said
they
…
they
want to take him mini-golfing. You meant just his grandparents, right? Without Chelsea?”

He looked away, rubbing a hand over his suddenly flushed neck.
No
, I thought, over and over.
No
. “Her parents asked if it was okay if she came with them,” he said. “To spend some time with Mason.”

Fear tore through me again, but this time it felt more defined. Harsher. “And you refused, right?”

“She’s his
mother
.” He turned back to me, his expression strained. Tortured. “How could I say no?”

“So what if she’s his mother. She’s a—”
Drunk
, I wanted to say. She was a raging drunk who endangered her son’s life and then dropped out of it completely. Who didn’t act like a mother should. “She’s unstable,” I said instead. “Is she even
allowed
to see him?”

“Yes, as long as she’s supervised. Which she will be.”

“By who? Her parents?” A sickening thought hit me then. Something I hadn’t let myself consider before. “Or does it have to be you? Are you going on this fun little mini-golf outing too?”

He turned away again, his jaw tightening. “I can’t just send him off with them alone. He doesn’t even know them.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and saw two tear-stained faces, twenty little fingers clinging to my shirt. “Aren’t you afraid she’s going to take him away?” I asked, my mouth dry.

“Of course I am. I worry every damn day that she’s going to take me to court for joint custody, or maybe even full. I never
stop
being afraid.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said. “You’re the one who’s been raising him for the past year and a half. You’re the reason he’s happy and thriving. She can’t just take him away from you.”

“Sure, she can,” he said tiredly. “Mothers almost always win in court, and she knows it.”

“You think she’d really do that, though? Rip her own son away from everything he knows?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure her parents are in her ear, planting ideas. They still haven’t forgiven me for moving here with Mason last winter. Actually, they still blame me for pretty much every mistake Chelsea’s ever made.”

“Yet you’re planning on hanging out with the three of them tomorrow like nothing ever happened?” I asked, incredulous. Even though I’d said “the three of them,” I really meant her. Chelsea. It killed me to think about them together, laughing at Mason’s golfing technique. Reliving memories. Bonding over this beautiful little person they’d created together. He’d take one look at her and forget about the past and everything she’d done. He’d decide that a solid, two-parent family trumped everything, even mistakes like hers. If it ever came down to it, if the opportunity arose, would he take Chelsea back if it meant being with Mason fulltime?

Yes. Yes, he probably would.

“I have to get along with them,” Ryan said, his voice quiet and resigned. “For Mason’s sake.”

I nodded and bent down to get my purse, setting off a painful throbbing behind my eyes. “Great.” I stood up, keeping my face tilted away from him so he wouldn’t see that I was hurt. “I hope you guys have a wonderful time together. Let me know how it goes.”

“Wait.” He jumped up and slipped in front of me, blocking my escape. “What do you want from me here? She’s my son’s mother. She’s sober and wants to see him for the first time in almost a year. I’m doing this for him, you know, not because…look, I’m not in love with her anymore. I told you that. I’m not. You have nothing to worry about.”

I looked into his eyes, so clear and blue and earnest.
I miss who she used to be
, he’d told me once, and I knew the same went for love. He still loved who she used to be too, before she spiraled out of control and broke both his trust and his heart. So what did that mean now, when she was sober and strong and ready to be a mom again?

It meant I had plenty to worry about.

“Okay,” I said, slinging my purse over my shoulder. “I mean, it’s none of my business anyway, right? He’s not
my
kid.”

Ryan’s face filled with pity, an expression I’d gotten often over the past few months, but never from him. And I hated seeing it on his face, hated that he felt sorry for me.

“Robin…” he said, clearly struggling to find something to say to me that wouldn’t make me feel even more pathetic. But there was nothing he
could
say, and his relief was palpable when a customer entered the store then, interrupting us. “I’ll be right back,” he told me before heading out front to do his job.

I stood there for a moment, listening to him converse with an older woman who’d apparently checked every bookstore in the city for the newest John Grisham novel to no avail. “Let me see if I have it in back,” Ryan told her, then I heard his footsteps heading toward the back room and the boxes of new shipments he’d received this week. When I was sure he was gone, I darted to the front of the store, zipping past the John Grisham fan on my way out the door.

As I strode to my car, I thought about calling Taylor to vent, or simply to hear her calm, rational voice telling me everything would be okay. But I only got as far as taking out my phone. Things between us still felt chilly after my lackluster reaction to her sort-of-engagement news last weekend. Besides, I was pretty sure she’d accuse me of being crazy after running away from the first guy I’d ever truly felt a connection with. Maybe I really
was
crazy. I’d been exposed to it my entire life, after all. Or maybe it was even simpler than that. Maybe I was never meant to be a good, honorable person who stayed on the right path and did the right things.

Maybe I was meant to be bad.

Once again, I froze in the middle of the sidewalk, but this time it was so I could send a text, not read one.

Hey Abby
, I typed.
Feel like going to Fusion tonight?