Chapter Thirteen
Leighton
We finish our lunch in silence.
Pay the bill in silence.
Walk back to the car in silence.
Ryan says nothing when I plug my cell into the aux, boot up my breakup song playlist. It's a modified version of the one I made after things ended with Dave.
Destiny's Child's Survivor fills the car.
Ryan pulls onto the sleepy street. Cuts through the neighborhood to our left.
I watch five-bedroom houses and lush green lawns blur together until the song fades into the outro.
Our breath fills the car. Then the next song kicks in. Drowns every other sound.
He keeps his eyes on the road. His hands on the steering wheel. His attention elsewhere.
I want it back.
I want him back.
But there's no way I'm telling him who Mr. Powers is.
And there's no way I'm getting him back without peeling back the walls around my heart.
It's only fair to hand him the key if I want to unlock him.
Ryan is wrong.
I trust him.
But I've placed my trust in the wrong people way too many times. What if I'm wrong about him too?
It seems impossible.
I'm not a naïve high school girl anymore. I'm not falling for I love you, sweetie, let me show you with my body anymore.
I'm smarter.
Or at least less stupid.
Ryan isn't going to run away if I tell him why I left Rock Bottom.
But it's still a terrifying risk.
He stops at a crosswalk. Watches a young mom walk her twin sons across the street.
"Is this where you grew up?" I ask.
"Close, yeah."
"I've never seen the house."
"You will."
"Oh?"
"Dean's pool party's at my parents' place."
"Really?"
"They're out of town."
"How high school." I play with my seatbelt. "So he doesn't have a pool?"
"It's a shitty apartment complex pool."
"But he still sits out there in his swimsuit, flirting with all the women who walk by."
"Leigh—"
"What?"
"Don't bullshit about this." The family steps onto the sidewalk. Ryan looks left. Then right. He taps the gas, moving the car forward. "I'm not gonna fall apart over you wanting to fuck Dean."
"I know."
"I'm not gonna tell him."
"I know."
His blue eyes find mine. "Why won't you admit it?"
"Why won't you believe me?"
He settles into his seat. Turns back to the road.
Ugh.
Fine.
I guess we won't talk.
He's so…
UGH.
I pick up my cell. Check my emails. My texts. My social media. Sure enough, our post is popular.
What a cute couple!
OMG, girl, your hair looks amazing.
That eyeliner. Muy caliente!
I knew you two were doing it.
Gwen Stefani's breathy vocals fills the car. Ex-girlfriend. The ultimate I should have known better anthem.
Ryan and I are still trading cold shoulders.
Still silent.
Still running from every chance at vulnerability.
Am I going to be playing this song in two months?
Tonight?
This silence is stupid.
He's my favorite person in the entire world.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
I've spent the last half a dozen years running from intimacy.
If I want more of him, I have to let him in.
Ryan turns onto Santa Monica Boulevard. The car zooms over the empty street.
Thoughts bounce around my head as Gwen fades into Kelly Clarkson.
I'm tired of keeping this to myself.
I want to show him my scars. Even if they're ugly. Even if they scare him.
He might think less of me.
But that's a risk I have to take.
My fingers curl into my seatbelt. "I left Rock Bottom because of my mom."
He turns to me. "You've never mentioned her."
"Because I hate her."
"You hate a lot of people."
"I know."
"That shit is bad for your soul."
"You want to hear this or not?"
"Yeah." His voice softens. "Of course."
"I started working at restaurants in high school. For extra cash. And a way to get out of the house. I wasn't a great student. The only class I liked was art, and everybody told me that was a good way to live in a cardboard box."
"That's bullshit."
"I know that now. But then… I wanted my own money. So I wouldn't have to ask my mom."
He nods I get that.
"My dad's never been in the picture. I know I told you. But maybe you forgot."
"I remember everything you tell me."
My stomach twists. This is confusing.
He remembers everything I tell him.
He's jealous of some idea of me and Dean.
But he doesn't want me.
It's just…
He's so…
I take a deep breath. Exhale slowly.
I'm inventing this confusion.
Ryan and I are friends.
Just friends.
Period.
I tug at the soft fabric of my dress. "I started as a host. Eventually became a waitress. Then a bartender. I skipped around bars for a while. Until I settled in at Rock Bottom."
"Dean talked about you all the time."
"Bragged about how he was gonna bang the bartender?"
"Yeah." His nails dig into the steering wheel. "He ever try?"
"Can we not?"
He nods fine.
"I liked it there. It was busy. The time went fast. My tips were great. Lots of hot guys left their numbers."
"You slept with them?"
"Dated some, yes. Is that a problem?"
"No."
"It was a great place to work. But there was something about selling booze all night then going home to…"
He stops at a light. Turns to me. Stares deeply into my eyes.
I don't want to say this.
We're nearly to my place. I can get out of the car, lock myself in the apartment, never admit to this again.
Never let him into my heart.
"I didn't like that I made a living getting people drunk. But I was okay with it. Until one day, I wasn't."
I cross my legs. Smooth my skirt over my thighs. Ignore the intensity of Ryan's stare.
I want to tell him this.
I want to show him my ugly parts.
If he thinks less of me…
That's a risk I have to take.
My shoulders relax as I exhale. "There was this regular who always had the bar in stitches. She was on her third gin and tonic. Laughing. Telling the bar this epic story about how she met some famous actor. How he begged her to go back to his hotel room and she shot him down."
"It was bullshit?"
"Maybe, but that didn't matter. It was an epic story. Entertaining even if it wasn't true."
The light flashes green. Ryan turns to the road. Taps the gas. The car moves forward.
Houses and businesses blur together.
"She had the bar hanging on every word. At least, every time I checked. It was a busy night. I kept fixing her drinks. Didn't pay much attention." My stomach churns. This happened two years ago, but the pain is still fresh. The wound is still there. "Closing rolled around and she was still there. Slumped over the bar. Drunk. But holding her own."