Page 19 of Reaching Ryan

Chapter Nine

Ryan

I lied.

I’m interested.

More than interested.

To be honest, Grace Faraday is pretty much all I’ve been able to think about since Henley mentioned she’d be here. She’s the reason I agreed to finally make an appearance at a Gilroy Family Sunday Dinner in the first place.

On the way here, I decided I’d ask her out. Nothing major. Just a casual meet up for coffee or lunch somewhere because I liked talking to her. Because I like the way she looks at me. How I feel when I’m with her.

She makes me feel like me.

The real me.

The me before my injury.

So what do I do?

I open my big fucking mouth and tell her I have brain damage. That I’m not equipped to have a relationship with a woman.

Jesus Christ, I might as well hang a sign around my neck that says: Ask me about my broken dick.

Fuck my life.

I mean, seriously—fuck it. I can’t remember my own goddamned name half the time. I have to rely on people to get me from one place to the next. I can’t live on my own. Every step I take on this fucked up leg of mine feels like someone is hammering railroad spikes into my kneecap.

And to top it all off, my fucking shoe’s untied. I’ve been standing on the porch and staring at it for the last ten minutes because I can’t—

“Hi.”

I look up to find the little girl Grace showed up with standing right in front of me, a can of strawberry soda in her hand. Not just a little girl. Her daughter. Grace’s daughter. I grapple and reach for her name and like a miracle, it falls right into my grasp.

Molly.

Her name is Molly.

“Hey.” I frown down at her, unsure of what to do. I look up and around the yard. “Are you lost? Do you…” It’s after dinner. Grace is nowhere to be found. “Do you need help finding your mom or something?”

The little girl takes a loud slurp from her soda can and shakes her head. “No,” she says around another loud slurp before wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “She’s in the house talking to Aunt Cari about flowers.” She waves her free hand at the house. Last I saw of her, Grace was with Cari and Hen, talking wedding stuff—color schemes and the virtues of an open bar while Mr. Gilroy and her dad watch baseball and Mrs. Gilroy and her mom have a quiet conversation over tea. Since Grace’s dad has been shooting me daggers since I walked in the house and I don’t know the first thing about wedding shit, I wandered outside again as soon as dinner was over.

Con and Patrick are throwing darts at a board Mr. Gilroy’s had mounted to the side of the garage since we were kids. They’re standing close together, talking in low tones while they occasionally take turns at throwing. They’re trying to act casual but they’re doing a shitty job of it because every once in a while, one of them takes a quick glance in my direction. Con looks pissed. Cap’n looks worried.

They’re talking about me.

If I had to guess, Con is telling his cousin what I said to him while I was trying to cave his face in.

You should’ve let me die. You should’ve just let me—

“Your shoe is untied.”

I look back down at my shoe and feel my gut tighten. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers,” I tell her, my face falling into a frown before I can catch it. “It’s dangerous.”

“You’re not a stranger.” She gives me a shrug. “Can I tie it?”

The expression on my face relaxes a little. “What?”

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