Page 29 of When I Come Back
“That you two weren’t really together, or that he’s into men?” she asks plainly.
“Uhh, both? Either?” I answer truthfully.
“Since the Sunday you two walked in here hand-in-hand trying to feed me that lie.”
I laugh at her admission. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” It would have saved me a lot of effort. Ripley doesn’t come with me every time, but he usually tags along every other Sunday, and trying to be convincing in front of my mother has always been a concern.
“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted me to know.”
I reach for her hand and lace my fingers in hers. “Sorry, Mom. I should have told you sooner.”
She shakes her head, placing her other hand on top of mine. “No, baby. Don’t be sorry. I know how broken your heart has been since you and Cary ended. You needed time to heal, and this Godforsaken gossip of a town just wouldn’t give it to you.”
I laugh and give her hand a squeeze. “You aren’t wrong there.” I sigh then continue, “And now he’s back. It’s like the cycle is starting all over.”
“Or maybe, it never ended. Maybe this was just an intermission for you two.” Her words hit me right in the chest. If there’s one person who knew how deep my love truly was for Carrington Grant, it’s my mother.
The rest of our time together is spent outside. I push her through the garden, we say hello to some of her friends, and then I cry like a baby when I have to say goodbye.
I’m dialing Ripley’s number as soon as my phone connects to the car. Luckily, he answers almost immediately, “Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” I say back. I hope he isn’t busy, this is about to be a long conversation.
“What’s up?” he says. I can hear people in the background.
“Oh, just a couple of things. What do you want to hear about first? How my mom knows we aren’t really dating or how Cary finger fucked me last night?” I try to say the last part as nonchalantly as possible.
He gasps so loud on the other end of the phone the people around him ask if he’s okay. He ignores them and starts rapid-firing questions my way. “Fuck off, you know exactly what I want to hear about.”
I laugh at his response, but before I can answer, he’s already talking again. “How? Where? Oh my God, please tell me it wasn’t on your couch. I love that couch. Isleepon that couch. Fuck. Tell me everything,” he says, barely taking a breath between any of his questions.
As I answer his ever-growing list of questions, my anxiety about it all wanes, and a drive that usually feels somber is replaced with a warmth in my chest.
I didn’t lie when I told Cary that Ripley is my person. I couldn’t do life without him. It’s the reason why our fakerelationship has been so believable. No one questions it because we do love each other. I love him so much that it hurts sometimes.
Chapter Fifteen
Carrington
The guilt that washed over me after leaving RED last night slams back into me as soon as I open my eyes Sunday morning. I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, just trying to figure out how I let it go so far yesterday.
I know the feelings between Thea and me were never resolved—hell, I’ve spent the last eight years discussing her in therapy almost on a bi-weekly basis. I just didn’t realize how inevitable everything between us is until her lips touched mine last night. It took me a second to realize what was going on, but then it was as if no time had passed between us. She tasted the same, smelled the same, felt the same—maybe even better than I remember.
I can’t help but worry about how Thea freaked out after her orgasm high ebbed. She was beautifully blissed out one second then panicking and locking herself away in the office the next. Did her thoughts stray to Ripley? Does she regret it? I wish Icould say I do, but the wide array of emotions I feel about what happened does not include an ounce of regret.
And fuck Ripley.
After cleaning up the glass we knocked over in our haste to get at each other, I waited at the bar for another half hour, but she didn’t come out. Knowing she needs space to deal with moments when she feels out of control, I reluctantly left. I locked the door to the restaurant behind me, and hesitated, thinking about her going back to her car alone so late. Even with the crime rate as low as it is in Indigo Hill, I couldn’t help but think of the horror stories I’ve read about women going home late alone in Seattle.
I sat in my car and waited for her to leave about twenty minutes later. Even in the dim lighting of the parking lot, I could tell she had been crying, and it gutted me. I hate being the one to cause her any pain. She got in her car, and I followed her home at a distance to make sure she got there okay. Once I was sure she was inside her house, safe, I drove back to my hotel.
Everything about what happened felt right, until I remembered I have someone waiting for me in Seattle. Someone who has been patient, understanding, and invaluable in keeping my life going there while I’m here picking up the pieces after my parents’ death.
“Fuck,” I say to my empty hotel room and run a hand down my face before standing up and going into the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. I splash my face with some cold water and take a long look at my reflection in the mirror.Who even are you?Avoidance is second nature to me, but it’s usually out of self-preservation. I feel pathetic.
“Goddamn coward,” I say to my reflection.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time. It’s eleven in the morning, eight in Seattle. I know what I have to do. I’ve been putting this off foralmost a week. Though, if I’m being honest, I’ve been dragging my feet for years.
