“Are you all close now?”
“Yes,” he answers as his fingers play with some strands of my hair. “We get together for the holidays. I love Bright Harbor in the winter, and we keep in touch often. My parents, Nola, and Banner always plan a trip to one of my away games. They rent a house and stay in the city for a few days while attending my games. This year they went to Miami.”
“I’m envious. I don’t have siblings, and everything about my family is broken. I’m not sure we ever went on a family vacation. If we did, it was to a military base. Nothing special.”
“That’s sad,” he says. “Is that why you’ve been to a few places with Nichole? Why you live so carefree? So you can experience life in a different way?”
I pause and tilt my head to the side. “You know, I never really thought about it that way. It makes sense. I’ve been more places with Nichole than I have with my parents, and any extra penny I make, I put to the side to continue those experiences.”
“What’s the favorite place that you’ve visited?”
“We went to Cancun a year or so ago, and it was so relaxing. We decided to make it a beach vacation. I had the best tan of my life, and while I was out and about at night, I’d also lay on a lounger in front of the ocean and just listen to the waves crash on the sand. It was the most peace I’ve felt in a long time. Not to mention, the coconut shrimp won my heart at that resort.”
“I love coconut shrimp.”
“Really? I wouldn’t peg you for a coconut shrimp kind of guy.”
“No?” he asks, brow raised as his fingers move along the back of my neck now. It’s sending a deep, radiating chill down my spine, making me feel more alive than ever. “What kind of guy would you peg me as?”
Smirking, I answer, “The kind who orders chicken tendies at a seafood restaurant and calls them chicken tendies.”
He lets out a laugh while shaking his head. “You got me all wrong, Myla.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, I would order fish sticks.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “With a gallon of tartar sauce, right?”
“What’s a fish stick without tartar sauce?”
“Just like what’s peanut butter without jelly?”
“See, you feel me.” He wraps a piece of my hair around his finger and lightly twirls it, creating this warm sensation over my scalp and down my arms.
It feels so good. Like this is where he’s supposed to be.
This is where I’m supposed to be.
I’m tempted to scoot closer, close enough that I could curl into his side, but if I did, where would that lead? What would he think? I like this guy so much and that freaks me out because I’ve never liked someone the way I like him. I’ve never found myself daydreaming about a guy before, or wishing that he would move in closer, or that he would lean over and press his lips to mine. Sure, I’ve kissed my fair share of guys. I’m not a kissing virgin. But this feels more like a need for him to kiss me. And I’ve never known that. Never wanted that.
And that’s concerning because like I told him before, I don’t think I’m mentally fit to have a relationship. I don’t think I have it in me to be the kind of partner he probably needs.
“What’s going on in that head?” he asks. “You went from smiling to worried.”
I glance up, unaware that I was showing so much expression on my face. Of course he’d notice; he’s a very observant man. “Uhhh, nothing,” I lie.
“I see.” He shifts. “I think you and I both know that’s not the truth. But I could take this conversation two ways. I can either call you out on your bullshit answer and determine what just made your brow furrow, or I can respect your privacy and decide to skip over the momentary lapse in your beautiful smile. I’m good either way, I just need you to let me know what direction you want me to take this.”
Who is this man?
He speaks his truth so effortlessly.
He doesn’t play mind games.
He doesn’t hide from the hard.
He just lays it all out on the table, and in all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. Definitely not from watching my parents’ relationship. The closest person that I’ve seen so effortlessly truthful is Nichole. But even then, she hides things from me from time to time—like when she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months ago. I only found out because she had to list me as a medical emergency contact before her surgery. Her reason for not telling me? She didn’t want to worry me.
So excuse me while I blink a few times, trying to understand where this man comes from.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to process how honest you are. Not sure I’ve ever met someone like you.”
“I’m just trying to be open with you, Myla.” His eyes connect with mine, and his arm draped on the couch falls between us. His fingers tangle with mine until our palms are connected. His hands are rough, calloused, and worn. They look far too old for his young body, but they’re large, thick, and sexy. “You told me you have baggage. I’m attempting to show you that you can trust me with that. I’m not here to play games. I’m not here to coax you into bed for one fucking hot night. I’m here because I like you, I want to get to know you more, and maybe, if you’re ready one day, you’ll let me take you out on a date, but I want to go at your pace. So yeah, I’m giving you the option on how to approach the somber mood you just fell into. I don’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable. I want you to know that when you’re around me, with me, you can rest on my shoulder, on my strength, on my courage, and any burden you might be carrying, I’ll help you carry it as well.”
I wet my lips, biding my time before I respond. My throat has grown tight from his speech because . . . I can see the sincerity in his proposition. I can feel it. It’s so tempting to unload on someone else, to let them carry the nightmares, the worthless feelings I have of myself. But . . . he’s too good. The best, actually, and all I’d do is drag him down. I know this.
On a deep breath, I say, “I appreciate your honesty, Ryot. I really do.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ attached to that sentence?”
“Because there is.” I let go of his hand and turn so my back is against the couch, my eyes filling with tears. I can’t possibly look at him when I say this. “I like you, Ryot, so much that it scares me. I know what I have to offer, and it’s not much. I know the toll my past has taken on me and the negative thoughts I have in my head, the worthless thoughts I carry daily. And I don’t deserve to take any of your strength or your courage because I would take too much. I would become reliant on that.” I finally turn to face him. “You are big, Ryot. You have a life that you’re building on, that you’re creating, a great life that is only just beginning. Your dreams, your ambitions, they don’t align with my trajectory in life. And what’s going to end up happening is that I’ll hurt you. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. And I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you, so . . . I think that it’s best if we just stop talking to each other.”