Fox sounded that upset, pounding on my door when I didn’t answer the phone. Why does my stupid, traitorous brain keepgoing back to him? It shouldn’t. Ryan is the one telling me the truth, sharing his darkest moment. Fox couldn’t even tell me his name.
Ryan is honest and raw. He’s real and Fox was just a fantasy.
“I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. “She was scheduled for surgery three weeks earlier, but she didn’t want a shaved head to ruin the wedding pictures and pushed it back. It had been three years since her last seizure. She should have been safe.”
His fingers lace with mine and he gives a sad little laugh. “The first time I saw you was after grief counseling. I was running late and we shared an elevator. One of the Alpha bros was hitting on you. You made a comment when he left and it made me laugh for the first time since she died.” He shrugs. “I recognized you during my panic attack. Sorry I didn’t say anything until now.”
I don’t know what to say. My usual emotional walls aren’t prepared for this level of honesty. I’m the first woman he’s been on a date with since his wife died. Followed by I made him laugh, a point of pride for me. And he recognized me when we first met. I don’t know what to do with that.
Thankfully, the waiter comes over to check on our progress and ask if we want dessert. I smile up at him and say, “Why don’t you circle back in a few minutes?”
Ryan gives me a half-hearted smile. “And yes—I do think superhero movies are modern-day mythology that are highly commercialized and test-marketed to reach the masses, but that’s central to their appeal.” He grabs his fork and points it at me. “That was an excellent question.”
I like the tone of his voice, it’s comforting and calming, with hints of a southern accent. And even his half-hearted smile warms my soul. His lips look familiar, but all lips kinda look the same, and chins too.
I push my hair over my shoulder and smirk. “I am very smart.” Then the seriousness of what he confessed earlier hits me. “Thank you for telling me about your wife. That must have been really difficult and I appreciate that you trust me enough with that information.”
“You deserve the truth.” A different waiter walks by with a dessert tray. God, I haven’t seen one of those in years. My eyes linger on the chocolate cake.
“Dessert?”
“I’m not going to turn it down.” He laughs at my response and we spend the next few minutes debating superhero movies and myths. But something nags at the back of my head. “What did you mean when you said your wife was scheduled for surgery?”
The waiter returns with the chocolate cake we ordered during the Spider-Man vs. Superman debate (we fell on opposite sides of that one).
Ryan’s fork dives into the chocolate frosting. “There’s a surgery that reduces the chances of seizures. It has like an eighty percent success rate.”
“Are you a good candidate for it?”
“Actually, I’m the ideal candidate, and it’s covered by my insurance.”
Well look at that, he solved all his problems, like a grown-up. “When are you getting it?”
“I’m not.”
Now I’m confused. “This might sound callous and super insensitive … so I’m giving you the caveat before I even ask the question?—”
But he cuts me off. “Why am I not getting the surgery?” He waves away my concerns. “I have the same fight with my parents and Bear all the time.” I nod as he goes to take a second bite, but my fork beats him to it. “It’s more complicated. Eighty percentisn’t one hundred. There are major risks.” He leans over the table, closer to me. “What if mid-surgery the doctor sneezes, his hand slips, and poof—I can’t do math anymore?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Is that really your concern?”
“Wouldn’t that be yours?”
I shrug. “I guess a little, but if there was a chance for me not to live with that fear looming over every aspect of my life, it might be worth the risk.”
“Nothing in life is guaranteed except death. I know what to expect, and the fear is almost comforting.”
He leaves the last bite for me. Bo always took the last bite, and Fox never gave us a chance to go out to dinner. “I wish you could see that fear is holding you back from a future—and possibly happiness.” My cheeks burn as I say it. Did I go too far?
He shrugs. “I was happy once. I don’t need it again, but it would be nice to have.”
There’s a part of me that wishes I were enough to make him happy. But if he can’t see why he deserves it, then there’s nothing I can do.
I try to smile and stay present, but twice in twenty-four hours, I’ve had the emotional door slammed in my face when I opened myself up. It doesn’t even hurt as much as it did in the past. With each rejection, I’m growing more numb to the pain.
