Going up to my tiptoes to stretch my calves, I took in the grave, withdrawn expression on Ripley’s face as he sat in his chair a few feet away from the one I had been in, and asked, “Rip? Do you want anything? I can get you a soda too if you don’t want coffee.”
He still didn’t take his attention away from the television as he said in a gravelly, tight voice, “No.”
I wasn’t sure if he’d even eaten his lunch. I hadn’t felt like eating mine after everything that had happened with my cousin. “Something to eat?” I asked, battling that helpless feeling for the man in the operation room.
“No.”
I saw his fingers spread where they were on his thighs, watched the way he flicked his gaze up to me as his lips parted a little, this… annoyed expression coming over his face. I knew that expression. I’d seen my parents make the same one enough times over my life.
Specifically when I would try to talk to them and just ended up bothering them instead. It was theirstupid idiot kidface. Like they pitied me for caring. For wanting something that they knew I wouldn’t get, something I should have known they wouldn’t give me, but had been too young to understand.
It was the face they made right before I had a reason to feel regret.
“I don’t fucking want anything, Luna, okay?” he said so calmly it was eerie.
I swallowed. I reminded myself that he might be feeling guilty and angry because someone he had a history with was in the hospital, and he felt bad. Someone who might be his father. Maybe.
So I tried to shrug it off. I tried to forgive him for that face that made my stomach clench harder. I tried to tell myself that sometimes people didn’t know what they needed or wanted when they were suffering. Nobody was rational when they were upset. Not even me. I had asked this man to break someone’s hand for me in retaliation hours ago. Hello, hypocrite.
“Are you sure?” I didn’t drop it, because I knew he needed to eat or at least drink something. “I don’t think you’ve eaten anything and—”
That ugly,uglyexpression didn’t go anywhere, that calm, weird, soft voice sticking around his vocal cords. “I already fucking said I don’t want anything,okay?”he growled.
His dad had a heart attack and you need to be patient with him, I told myself, told my heart as it hurt and my stomach as it got impossibly tighter.
I kept my gaze on his face, and told him patiently, “I’m just asking, Rip. You don’t have to bite my head off. I’m only trying to help. I won’t ask again, okay?”
This man who had slept in my bed rolled his eyes. His hands opened and closed on his thighs, and I tried to prepare myself. Tried to tell myself,kill him with kindness. Choose patience. And that all fell apart and away as this man I knew but didn’t know snarled, “Go back to the shop, Luna. I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit.”
Deal with my shit?
Okay. All right. He was dealing with stuff. I had to remember that.I had to. He didn’t mean what he said. So I kept my voice as friendly and patient as I could muster. “I’m here for Mr. Cooper.” Then I tried to give him a little smile. A patient one, so he would know I was just trying to help. If I didn’t care about him, I wouldn’t give a crap about his calorie or liquid intake. Didn’t he know that? “I’m here for you too, Rip. You shouldn’t be here alone.”
It was his head cocking to the side that put me even more on edge. The tone of his voice didn’t help. Not at all.
“I’m not in the mood, do you get me? I don’t need you to worry about me right now. What I need is for you to give me some space without worrying about hurting your feelings.”
I wanted to flinch, but I didn’t. “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings.”
“I always worry about hurting your fucking feelings, Luna. Give me a break,” he snapped.
It didn’t surprise me that I didn’t reel back at his words. Not even if his statement stung me like a burn under hot water. “Since when?” I asked him, hearing the tension in my voice and not liking how he was making me feel.
This man shook his head. “I’m not in the fucking mood.”
Hewasn’t in the mood?
“I’m not in the mood to have you be mean to me when I’m only trying to be your friend,” I replied, feeling my face go hot and indignation fill my soul at how he was just trying to get rid of me like we were strangers.
He had slept in my bed the night before. He had made me lunch and dinner. Bought me breakfast.
Friends were there for each other, and that’s what I was doing. Trying to watch out for him. Be there for him.
And he was pushing me away, and not in a nice way.
The next few words out of his mouth proved it. “You’re trying to be my friend? Be my friend by giving me some space before I say or do something I’ll end up regretting later. Give me some space so that later on I don’t have to feel bad for making you feel bad.”
Maybe I should have let it go, should have walked away and given him the space he wanted, but it had been a long day and I felt riled. Prickled. Hurt already physically and emotionally. I didn’t feel like letting him steamroll me.
