“My book is the least of my worries,” I say. “Ryan, did you resign because of me? Because of what happened between us?”
“No,” he rushes to say, reaching for me but then thinking better of it, dropping his hands to his sides. “I mean, yes, but—”
“Fuck.I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry I crossed boundaries. I put you in an impossible position.”
“Ana, that’s not…” He swallows. “I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Even more than keeping your job?”
“Yes,” he says faintly.
Butterflies are staging a mutiny in my belly. “You said Woodsworth served your greatest needs.”
“It did. Before. I’ve…reevaluated.”
“Reevaluated how?” I ask.
“I just signed on with Merit. As director of publicity.”
My heartbeat is erratic. That was fast. The kiss photo went out just last Thursday, and he had a new job by Monday morning? “Wait, Merit, the entertainment company? You want to leave publishing altogether?”
He waggles his head. “Not necessarily, but they’re staffed to the gills there, which means that at my level it’s a lot of strategy and oversight but not as much hands-on work. It’ll mean fewer hours spent putting out fires. More time to myself. More opportunities to pursue things I want.”
A single ray of relief peeks through the dark clouds of dread. “Like writing?” I ask, voice so hopeful I could be a wide-eyed Disney princess.
“Yeah. For one thing.” His gaze dips for a moment. “Someone wisely told me I should put my own needs first for once.”
A shaky smile reaches my lips, gratification tugging behind my rib cage. If nothing else, at least our acquaintance has given him this—the impetus to follow his own path.
But I know life isn’t that simple. Prioritizing himself necessarily means letting down the person he cares about most. “What about Celine’s tuition?”
“The pay is good, but it won’t cover the difference entirely.” His shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “So we’ll have a bit more debt. No different than anyone else in this country.”
While that part is certainly bittersweet, my heart swells knowing that, after a lifetime of taking care of everyone else, Ryan is finally taking care of himself. He said that writing is who he is. What could be more important than serving your true self?
“I’m happy for you,” I say. “I didn’t know Merit even had offices in New York.”
He nods, not meeting my eyes. “In Tribeca—that’s where I’m coming from. Met the team for a celebratory drink.” His Adam’s apple works on a swallow. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath. “They also have offices in L.A.”
The air feels thin, the ambient street noise going quiet.Breathe,I tell myself. “L.A.?”
“Good to have options,” he says quietly. Slowly, so slowly, his gaze lifts to mine. “If you’re there, I want to be there.”
Something unfurls in my chest, a rosebud’s petals unsticking in a slow, radiant bloom. Tears rise up my throat, the emotions that Maral’s revelation brought forth making themselves known. I bite my lip to stem them, Ryan watching the movement with concern etched on his face.
His hands fly up in surrender. “I heard you when you said you only want something casual…”
He pauses, and for a fleeting, heart-fluttering moment, I wonder if he’ll offer to keep this going on my terms. Take what he can get—fuck me when I want him and not expect anything more. My heart is beating double-time as I try to figure out if I’d take him up on it. It’d be win-win, right?
So why does it feel like lose-lose?
“I went with it, because…because I just wanted you so fucking bad, I’d take you any way I could get you.” He shakes his head. “But I’m sure you’ve figured out that I’m not exactly a casual type of person, and Idefinitelydon’t feel casual about you. I never have.” His throat works. “So I’m going to honor my needs once and for all and tell you that I want something real with you, Ana.”
That brittle wall in my chest cracks and crumbles away, a sinkhole behind it that grasps and claws to pull him inside. To swallow up his heart, this gift he keeps trying to give me but that I, ingrate that I am, keep refusing to take.
But sinkholes don’t target what they swallow up. They consume indiscriminately. The good along with the bad. A dark, yawning mouth hungry not only for the good that is Ryan, but for the dangers—the utter devastation—inherent in giving my whole self to him. Those fracture lines in my heart, hastily superglued so many years ago against any further pain, won’t be able to withstand the test. This knowledge is fossilized, deep within the cavernous pit.
“Ryan,” I say, my voice cracking, “I can’t be what you need.”
