“I’m perfect,” I say just as there’s a knock on the door.
“Ugh, fuck,” Ryot says while he tries to get up.
“You have a massive erection. Let me get it.” Laughing, I get up, grab my robe from a chair, and wrap it around my body.
I go to the door, where I find an employee with a cart on the other side. “Breakfast courtesy of Mr. JP Cane.”
“Oh, thank you.” I step aside and allow the man to wheel it in. “Smells amazing.”
“Eggs, bacon, fresh croissants, fruit, coffee, and tea, as well as crispy breakfast potatoes with an assortment of spreads. Enjoy.”
“Thank you. Here, let me grab you a tip.”
He waves his hand. “No, no. Mr. Cane has already generously provided that. You just enjoy and call us when you want the cart removed.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I see the man out and then shut the door behind him. When I return to the cart, I notice a letter. “Ooo, from the bride and groom. Shouldn’t we be sending them things on their wedding day, not the other way around?” I ask as I pluck the card from the table.
Ryot sits up and scrubs his hand over his face. “You’d think so. What does it say?”
I lift the envelope flap and pull out the card. “‘Ryot and Myla. Just wanted to say congrats again on the huge ESPN news.’” I pause . . . oh yeah. I sort of forgot about that. “‘Wish we could do more, but here is breakfast on us.’” I look up at Ryot, who has a panicked look in his eyes. When I set the card down, I casually say, “Well, that was nice of them.”
I move the covers off the plates and release the built-up steam as I try to wrap my head around what happened last night.
Too much wine.
Lots of appreciation for Ryot.
When Ryot started thinking about The Jock Report.
Banner’s news . . .
“Myla,” Ryot says, and immediately, that elephant in the room has reappeared, and there’s uncomfortable tension. “I . . . I don’t know . . . I mean, I had nothing to do with that. The ESPN stuff.”
“Why are you freaking out?” I ask, remaining as casual as I can while I put some eggs, fruit, and bacon on a plate for him. “It’s a big opportunity for you.”
“It is,” he says, a crease forming on his brow. “But I’m not worried about that right now. I’m worried about you and me.” He moves off the bed and puts on a pair of athletic shorts, his erection nowhere to be found now. “Tonight, well . . . tonight is the last night before we return to reality. And it’s still unclear what’s going on between us.”
“Yes, so, instead of worrying, how about we just focus on enjoying the rest of our time here?” I hand him the plate I just piled food on. He takes it but sets it down.
“Myla, maybe we should talk.”
“I don’t want to,” I say. “I want to just enjoy today. We can talk tomorrow. Okay?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and there’s indecision heavy in his pupils. He wets his lips and then finally turns away. “Yeah, we can talk tomorrow.”
And just like that, the easy, flirty bubble we’ve lived in is popped by a fresh dose of reality.
Our marriage is uncertain.
Our future is hard to predict. I’m floating between loving this man to the end of time and fearful that the moment I take him back and ask for a second chance at love, he’ll retreat into himself again. Leaving me very much alone.
This new opportunity is a direct example of that. It would solidify our time in California because I’m sure he’d have to be close to a studio. There’d be no chance we’d return to Chicago. I wouldn’t be near Nichole, and I would still probably be miserable.
I’m not sure I could suffer through that again.
But when he looks at me, when he holds me, when he’s so deep inside me I feel like he’s touching my soul, I know there’s no way I’ll ever be able to let him go because I love him more than anything. And I’m not sure anything will change that.
I pick up a croissant, spread some jam on it, and instead of sitting next to him on the bed, I opt for a chair across the room. I pull my legs up into my chest and munch on my croissant.
And we both sit in silence, him eating his breakfast while I munch on mine.
Myla: Nichole, I don’t know what to do.
Nichole: What’s going on?
Myla: Today is the wedding, and it feels like this impending bomb is about to explode. Like I need to decide by the stroke of midnight, and I . . . I don’t know what’s going on in my head, or in my heart. It’s all so confusing. And then Ryot got some news yesterday that has really put a damper on things.
Nichole: What kind of news?
Myla: He got a segment on ESPN titled The Jock Report, where he brings in stories from the app. It’s a pretty huge deal because it puts them in the mainstream media.
Nichole: Wow, that’s huge. He must be thrilled.
Myla: That’s the thing, he’s not. He’s worried about me. He’s apologized about the news, told me he didn’t know. Have I made him that paranoid?
Nichole: From what I know of him and the situation, I’d say he’s probably worried that you’re thinking . . . “wow, another thing The Jock Report will take.” And this is all happening when he’s trying to figure things out with you. It probably scared him more than anything.
Myla: I guess I didn’t look at it that way. That makes me sad because he should be happy about this. Despite everything that’s gone down, this is a big accomplishment.
Nichole: Have you told him that?
Myla: No. I brushed him off until tomorrow because I wanted to enjoy this last day. But it’s ruined anyway. I’m down by the pool, and he’s across the patio talking to Banner. They’ve been there all morning.
Nichole: Ignoring it is making it worse. Seems like you need to at least tell him that you’re proud of him because, if anything, you are . . . right? Despite what you went through for him to accomplish this, you’re still proud?
Myla: There’s resentment there, but if I push past that, I am proud of him. He’s one of the hardest workers I know, and even though he forgot about our promises to each other to create something of this magnitude, I am proud.
Nichole: It might help if you say that. I’m not saying you need to go crazy and congratulate him with a celebration, but I think if you two are going to move on—apart or together—you have to at least acknowledge that the smattering of promises wasn’t in vain.
Myla: You’re right. And maybe if I say that, he won’t be so awkward. We had such a good night last night, and I feel like it’s getting muddied by this new thing.
Nichole: Can I ask where your head is at when it comes to him?
Myla: I don’t know. I’m so terrified to let go, but I’m also still upset. Although, I was having drinks with Kelsey and Lottie last night and something crossed my mind. Remember when those Internet trolls attacked me for my body size and how I didn’t deserve someone like Ryot?
Nichole: Yes, don’t get me started on that because I will fume all over again.
Myla: Well, I remember him saying that he wished there was a place where he didn’t have to rely on an algorithm to get his word out, that he could tell the truth through something like . . . a text. That’s where that part of the app was developed. I always thought The Jock Report was started because of the way Ryot retired and how Penn was being slandered by the media, but I think . . . I think it was created after that incident.