Page 56 of Well, Actually
“I’m okay,” I say, sniffling in a way that confirms I’m a dirty liar.
“You don’t look okay.”
I open my mouth to argue, then shrug. I’m soaking wet and miserable on the train; the facts aren’t on my side here.
There’s a contemplative silence as Harper takes me in, her partner looking between us.
“I almost let Dan here get away,” she says at last, leaning back into the cradle of his arms. “But I chased him down.” She pats his chest a few times, tilting her head up as they share an indulgent smile. “And now we’re here celebrating our second wedding anniversary.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say through a thick throat, more tears chasing down my cheeks as I look at their easy intimacy, a closeness I’m not destined for. “Congratulations.”
The train comes to a stop, my body lurching with the movement.
“Seventh Avenue-Park Slope Station,” the automated voice crackles over the intercom.
Park Slope—Cooper’s stop. My heart folds in on itself, eyes straining as I look out the darkened window like I’m not underground and can magically see his place four blocks away.
I’m trying, Eva.
“Sometimes you have to shove yourself out of the way and take a risk,” Harper says as the two of them stand, leaning on each other as they stumble toward the door. “Happiness might not be the outcome but it’s worth a chance.”
I stare after them, the world slipping into slow motion. Her voice and Cooper’s and my own that I’ve pushed way, way down echo through my skull, the words fuzzy at first but gaining volume as they tell me,Go, you idiot, go!
I bolt up to standing like my seat just electrocuted me, my heart thumping a bruise into my ribs. Time speeds up again,and my step toward the door feels too fast, too giant, but it brings me to the gap between the safety of this train and the unknown of the platform.
I don’t know if seeing Cooper right now will make me happy. In fact, the pessimistic voice that guides most of my choices is telling me it will have the exact opposite effect. I scramble to rationalize what’s happening, but my brain can’t keep up with my feet hustling me off the train, not slowing as I’m almost sliced in half by the closing doors.
I pound up the station steps to the sidewalk, looking frantically around to get my bearings, ignoring the fresh chill of the rain on my already-soaked skin. Clocking a street sign, I dart across the intersection, soliciting a few honks. I give an unhinged wave, continuing my run. I make a left, then a right, wheezing by the time I get to his block.
I slow (more out of cardiovascular necessity than conscious choice) as I get to his place, climbing the steps to his door. I stand there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, put some order to my scribbled thoughts. But all I know is Rylie Cooper is on the other side of that door, and I want to see him.
I lift my fist to knock, but a crack of lightning illuminates the sky, thunder immediately following, the boom pausing my movement.
It’s a threat. A scolding. A warning that I need to leave his doorstep, trudge back to the subway station and actually make it back to my lonely apartment, hole myself up in there until this painful knot in my chest eases and I can think straight again.
I lower my arm, heart pounding with warning and want.I slowly turn, staring at the dark glistening street, trying to get my feet to walk the three steps off his stoop. But his voice ghosts through my mind.
I can’t change the past. Do you have any idea how much I wish I could?
The hungry, desperate creature in me howls, then takes control. I whip around, cocking my fist and banging on his door like I can punch through it.
I can hear his quick footsteps on the other side but I don’t stop pounding until he’s wrenching the door open and I’m swaying toward him like a drunken sailor. Drunk is a good word for what I’m feeling—flushed and frantic and aware of my thoughts but completely out of control of them.
Silence hovers between us, and the weight of it opens my jaw, tugs on my vocal cords, has me whispering “Rylie” in a harsh, broken breath.
He stares at me, glasses slightly askew and hair a mess like he’s been dragging his hands through it for hours. He’s changed out of his wet clothes into a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants showing a rather impressive—
I jerk my eyes back up to his face because I have a single thread of self-control left and if I pay too much attention to how little those sweatpants are leaving to the imagination, I might start blowing him right here and now. And wouldn’tthatbe pathetic.
“What are you doing here?” Rylie’s tone is low, and I lean closer to hear it over the pounding rain.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
He swallows, eyes skimming a quick circuit up and down my body. I watch, mesmerized as pink crawls across his cheeks.He drags his knuckles against his lips, fixing me with a merciless look as his jaw tightens. Another bolt of lightning cracks through the sky.
“I don’t think you should be here,” he whispers in warning. The roughness of his voice slips into me, swirling up my spine, dancing between my ribs, taking up space in my chest.
“IknowI shouldn’t be here.” It’s my final fully formed thought before diving headfirst into the feelings.
