Meg nods her agreement.
“You’re all going to gang up on me, so it’s pointless to argue.”
“Pretty much.” Claire lifts the corner of her mouth and shrugs both her shoulders.
“I’ll stop in and talk to Maggie, so she hears about it from one of us instead of the rumour mill,” Logan volunteers, clasping Hannah’s hand in his own.
After working out a few more details, I help Beck get into the truck. We drive back to the yellow house in silence, with the aftermath of everything pressing down on us.
Thirty-Eight
Turning on the tap, I run the water until it’s cold and fill my glass. Bringing it to my lips, I stare out the window into the backyard and take a sip to soothe my dry throat. I can see Ryan’s reflection in the glass, leaning against the island, watching me thoughtfully.
“Do you want a glass?” I ask, keeping my back to him. He pushes away and stands close behind me, his arms circling my waist.
Resting his chin on my shoulder, he says, “I don’t need anything. Are you sure you’re not hungry? I worry you’re not eating enough.”
“I’ll eat later. My stomach isn’t happy right now. Nerves, I guess.” I place my hand over his and inhale deeply. “Help yourself to whatever you want. There’s still stuff in the pantry that I moved over from when you overstocked my cupboards at the Airstream.” My voice hitches at the thought of my poor trailer. Will I ever be able to think about it without being reminded of Braden’s destruction?
“What can I do?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Do you want to take a shower? You never got a chance after your run,” I suggest. I need a moment to myself to think, process, plan…maybe spiral a little.
“I will later. How about we go into the living room? I’ll start a fire, and then we can talk,” he suggests, kissing me on the tender spot behind my ear.
“Talk about what?” I ask as he leads me by my hand out of the room. “Where do you want to begin?”
“You decide. A lot has happened recently. I’m sure you must be feeling overwhelmed.”
I huff out a humourless laugh. “How about how my ex continues to make me, and everyone around me, miserable? Or how he’s crippling me financially to the point I don’t feel like I will ever recover? Destroying my original designs doesn’t just break my heart; it affects my potential to earn. Or we could talk about how he weaponized my already shaky relationship with my parents against me.”
Fire forgotten, he pulls me down onto the couch beside him. “I want to talk about all those things, but let’s start with your parents. Did something else happen?” he asks, his voice laced with concern.
I didn’t plan to talk about any of this right now; I need a minute to myself. But once the floodgates open, everything tumbles out.
“This morning after you left for your run, I couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I broke my social media holiday early. When I turned on my phone, there was an email waiting for me from my father.”
Ryan slips his arm around my shoulder, and I lean into him.
“What did he say?” he asks, playing with the end of my braid.
“Braden reached out to them. Told them I had made false police reports against him.”
“And they blindly believed him without asking you?” His eyebrows knit together as he leans back to look at me. “They didn’t check in to see if you were okay? Unbelievable,” he huffs.
“That’s normal. Braden is ‘a good guy.’” I roll my eyes. “Why would he make things up? According to my dad, making up stories is more on brand for me.” Lifting one shoulder, my fingers play with a loose thread on the blanket. “You should also know that Braden told him I was fucking my therapist. So, there’s that. Sorry,” I mumble. I hate how my clusterfuck of a life affects him too.
“Of course he did,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry about that, though. It’s not true, so there won’t be any blowback on me if that rumour spreads. How long has he been talking to your parents?”
“I’m not sure. It’s mostly my dad. My mother defers to him on most things. I feel like he likes him more than me. When we were together, he was the model of what they would want for a son-in-law. After we split, they could commiserate about what a fuckup I am, I guess,” I say sadly.
“You’re hardly a fuckup,” he says firmly, twisting his body to fully face me. “You’re a talented artist, a wonderful woman, and an amazing best friend. When you have faced adversity in the past, you’ve always fought and come out on top.”
“That’s not what you would have said a couple of months ago,” I mutter, shrugging off his arm and rising to my feet. “You thought I was annoying, difficult, and too much.”
“That’s not true,” he denies with a soft smile.
“Yeah, right,” I snort in disbelief.
