Keeping my eyes on my sleeping sister, I push open the door. A little walk down the hall will do me some good. I’ve been doing them several times a day, but someone has always been with me. Turns out this time, I’m not alone, either.
As soon as I step into the hallway, Ryder’s blue eyes pierce through me.
He’s sitting on the floor across from my door. Fury, from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, courses through my body, pulsing with the energy that only anger can manifest.
I haven’t asked about him. I haven’t seen him during my previous walks. Someone must’ve been making sure the coast was clear, honoring my request not to see him.
“Should you be up by yourself?” he asks, his voice hoarse, wearing the same clothes from the day of the accident.
Without a word, I turn to go back in my room, not because I want to do what he says, but because I don’t want to get into it all.
“Wait!” he whisper-shouts, getting to his feet. “Stay. I’ll walk with you.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, turning back to him.
He seems stunned by my question, shaking his head like he’s hoping there’s an answer rattling around in there.
“There’s no baby holding you to me now,” I say, holding in my tears. “You’re free.”
“You know better than that.”
“But I don’t,” I say. “And I’m not going to keep making the same mistake over and over again. The pain in my chest won’t let me.”
“The pain in my chest won’t allow me to let you go,” he says. “Never.”
“You won’t let me go, but you won’t let me in, either.”
He steps toward me. “That day when you told me you . . .”
“Stop! I’m better off without you!” I scream, wanting to hurt him. He looks at me, and I see belief in his eyes. “I will be,” I say through tears, trying to convince myself. “I will be better off without you.”
Addison comes rushing out the door, wrapping her arm around me, encouraging me back to bed. Before the door closes, I hear Ryder say the words he said to me after I told him about the pregnancy.
“Your seat will be open. It will always be open.”
*
I’m not at all surprised to see Ryder standing across the garage as I’m wheeled to Addison’s car after being discharged. Now’s not going to be any different—the man is stubborn and doesn’t listen. But while he might have been able to stage a sit-in at the hospital, he won’t be able to do that in front of my sister’s house without attracting more press attention than I already have. And he would never want that for me.
Most people would probably say it’s not healthy, but I gave myself a week to lay in bed, to feel sorry for myself, to grieve without interruption. I felt like if I don’t set a time limit on it, months would pass, fall would turn into winter, the new year will come, and I’d still be in bed. So I gave myself a week before forcing myself to my feet.
My parents stayed for the first several days, sitting vigil with me while I cried. Addison has done the same. I’ve hardly had a minute alone. When I think about it, I wasn’t alone for nineteen weeks. My little boy was with me, but he’s gone now.
My phone was destroyed. If Ryder is calling or texting my family for updates, no one has told me, and honestly, I don’t think even his balls are big enough to attempt that. To my knowledge, he hasn’t shown up here, either, but there have been reporters hanging around most days, so that might be stopping him. Either way, I don’t care. I need to quit Ryder Merrick, and that means going cold turkey.
After a week, I insisted my parents go home. I need time to process, and I can’t do that with all the hovering. I know everyone means well. I know they love me. But pain is meant to be felt, and I have to do that on my own.
Women have survived breakups.
Women have survived miscarriages.
I will survive.
So, on day eight, I force myself out of bed. I shower with my cast wrapped in a trash bag (which isn’t easy), eat sitting upright, and call my parents. They’ve already been thinking ahead, scouting possible jobs for me, teaching positions—all out of state. I think they want me as far away from Ryder as possible, even if that means I’m away from them.
Day nine, I actually walk from my guest cottage to the main house. I didn’t save the planet, but it’s a start. And a huge deal for me. I still cry every time I think about what happened. I cry every time Ryder crosses my mind. I cry a lot. And when I’m not crying, I’m quiet.
I don’t want to talk about what happened with anyone. I never told Addison or my parents the whole story. They knew I was on the phone with him, and that he heard the accident. I assume based on the aftermath they knew we were fighting, but I never got into details.
I try to distract myself, but listening to music isn’t an option. There are always books, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate, and watching television is impossible. Have you ever noticed how many shows are about love? Or sad things? I don’t want to be reminded of any of that. I guess I could watch an action flick, but most of those have hot guys in them, and that would only remind me of the man I’m trying not to think about.
My heart got broken twice.
My soul weeps for my baby. All the things that will never happen. I won’t know what color his eyes were, what his little hands and feet look like. I will never know his little laugh or whether he got Ryder’s smile. There will be no first steps, words, days of school. I don’t know what to do with all that—what do you do with hopes and dreams that will never happen? Where do you put them? How do you let go?
There is no grave to visit—no headstone to place flowers on. There is nothing. Nothing to prove my baby was here, nothing to show how much I loved him.
The nights are the worst. Sleep eludes me. And when I do manage to fall asleep, the dreams are horrible. I never see the other car coming. It just hits me out of nowhere. I dream it over and over again. Having the nightmare makes me remember Ryder’s nightmare that night. It’s an endless cycle. My relationship with Ryder plays like a movie in my head on repeat. I can’t stop it.
Looks like I won’t be sleeping tonight, either. Slipping on some shoes, I walk out into the night. It’s dark, but the street is well-lit. I see a few cars, but not any reporters. Perhaps it’s too late for them. But one car sticks out like a sore thumb—the same one that took me away from here before.
Geoffrey spots me, too, rolling down his window. “It’s good to see you up and out.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Mr. Merrick assigned me to keep an eye out.”
“Spy on me?”
“No,” he says. “Make sure no reporters bother you. That kind of thing.”
“You give him reports?”
“Not much to report lately,” he says, but we both know he does. He reaches out the window, taking my hand. “I’m real sorry about the baby.”
My tears are immediate. “Thank you.”
“You doing okay, otherwise?” he asks, nodding toward my cast. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Go home,” I say with a smile.
“Can’t do that,” he says then hands me an envelope.