Page 38 of Second Shot

“I see.” Hopefully my face doesn’t give me away.

He winces. “I was so fucking angry and scared all the time.”

“Of what?” I feel breathless waiting for his response.

He flicks his eyes up to mine. “Of everything. My dad. People at school.”

I don’t say anything. I only want him to tell me his secrets if that’s something he really wants to do.

He sighs. “I… I knew I liked guysandgirls. I was so scared this guy I hung out with would figure it out. If he’d known, I’d have been bullied. Ostracized.” He swallows hard. “So instead, I was a chicken-shit and I put the bullseye on other kids.”

I’m still guilty listening to him, but it’s also fascinating. I’m getting a glimpse into the mind of the boy who fuckingtorturedme. I’m a mixture of sorry for him, and pissed off that he didn’t figure out another way to handle his anger and fear.

He lets out a shaky breath, glancing at me nervously. “Do I disgust you?”

“No.” I meet his gaze and brush a lock of blond hair off his forehead. He shivers when my fingers touch his skin. Shame glitters in his pretty green eyes and I feel compelled to comfort him. “It’s okay, Ryan.”

“It’s not though.” His voice is quiet.

“You can’t change the past. You need to let it go.” I hesitate. “I’m sure the kids you bullied have moved on.” That’s probably not completely true. I’m lucky enough to hear Ryan confess how bad he feels, those other kids won’t get the closure I’m getting.

Over on the stove there’s a hissing noise as the pasta pot bubbles over. I rush over to turn the flame off, and move the pot off the burner. Ryan watches me, his eyes haunted. He looks miserable now, which makes me feel twice as guilty.

“We’ll feel better after we eat,” I say brightly.

He grimaces, appearing unconvinced, but says nothing.

I’d love to learn more about his father and what he did to Ryan, but now is not the time. I need to feed Ryan and cheer him up. I don’t like seeing the pain in his eyes. I never should have brought up the subject of bullying. I only did that because Ryan commented on what a perfect childhood I must have had, and that annoyed me. Especially coming from him: my actual childhood bully.

I have Ryan sit at the table and I carry the food over. At first the silence is awkward as I scoop the carbonara onto our plates. But then Ryan’s stomach growls loudly and we both laugh, and the mood lightens.

“Not hungry, huh?” I tease. “You’re stomach disagrees.”

“It smells so good.” He leans in, inhaling the fragrant food. “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in ages. Even back in Chicago, I almost never ate at home.”

“Then eat until you explode.” I grin.

“Maybe I will.”

I mostly made the meal for Ryan, but as I dig in, I realize just how hungry I am. The creamy sauce perfectly coats the thick strands of pasta. There’s crispy bacon scattered throughout, fresh black pepper and parmesan on top. The meal is rich and comforting in a way that fast food can never be.

“This is incredible,” he says between bites, already more than halfway through the generous portion I gave him. “Where’d you learn to make this?”

“My mom taught me to cook when I was kid.” I twirl pasta around my fork. “She taught me a bunch of family recipes, and then I branched out and found some others on YouTube.”

“I can cook, but not like this.” He sounds envious as he shoves another big bite into his mouth. Once he’s swallowed, he says, “I don’t think my mother knew how to cook. If she did, she had no interest in teaching me. But we had apersonal chef, so I guess she didn’t need to know how to cook.”

“You had a personal chef?” I hadn’t known much about Ryan’s family back then. I’d seen his father from a distance once at a parent teacher night. He’d looked big and intimidating, but I hadn’t spoken to him.

“Yeah. Lucia was great.” He shrugs. “Mom was hardly around. She had a busy social life. Still does. She loves playing golf and tennis. I spent way more time with Lucia than my mom.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I frown. I was so close to my mom, it was hard to imagine not having that relationship. Would I have turned out half as well as I did without her guiding me?

“It’s fine.” He brightens. “Lucia used to make these huge chocolate chip cookies and I’d eat one every day after school. It was the highlight of my day.”

“Sounds awesome. My mom never let me snack in between meals.” I grimace. “I hadn’t hit my growth spurt in middle school yet, so I was a chubby kid. The bullies loved that.” I regret the words the minute their out because the guilt returns to Ryan’s eyes.

“I’ll bet.” He drops his gaze to his plate, but he seems to have lost his appetite.

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