Page 35 of Liberating Bells
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him.
His attention is immediately on me, the car slowing down a fragment. His green eyes trace my outline. How pathetic I must look—my dress has torn, my makeup likely running down my face from the tears, and my wrists are red and bruised. I’m a hot mess.
With a soft voice, he asks, “What couldyoupossibly be sorry for?” He shakes his head. “Bells, this was not your fault.”
I turn my gaze back out the window, knotting my fingers together as tears start to prick at my eyes again. “It kind of was, though. If I had just done what Mark asked, he wouldn’t have been upset in the first place.”
Ryan lets out a frustrated groan. I look back at him, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Trust me, Bells. If anyone’s to blame for this, it’s me.” I look at him, confused, and he lets out a big sigh. “I knew dancing with you tonight would royally piss Mark off. That wasn’t the only reason I did it...but it was part of it.”
I don’t try to hide the hurt that flashes across my face. I decide against saying anything else, looking out the window. Raindrops fall, painting them with abstract designs. All I can see through the water is the streetlights and headlights of other cars zooming by since it’s so dark outside. But right now, I don’t feel like looking at Ryan.
Such a guy thing to do. I mean, really? Ryan knows I’m engaged to Mark, and despite the douchebaggery of this evening, he’s still my future husband. So what game is Ryan playing?
“Where are you taking me?” I ask softly.
“My mom’s house. Mark shouldn’t know where she lives. And if he does, I’m getting a fucking restraining order.”
I fall into silence for the remainder of the drive. Ryan stays quiet as well. When he pulls into his mom’s driveway, he steps around to the passenger door, offering me a hand. I ignore him and struggle out of the car myself. My head is still aching, and I don’t have the energy to fight with him. I opt for the silent treatment.
As I head up to the front door, he follows behind me. I can practically feel him stewing in his thoughts. Once he unlocks the door, I step in and look around. The house is dark and quiet, but mostly the same as when I last saw it all those years ago.
Ryan drops his keys on the entrance table and shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
“Everyone here should be asleep already. Do you need any water or anything?” he asks me awkwardly. I shake my head and tremble. He eyes me warily with those green eyes I love, and then bobs his head toward the hallway. “I’m sorry, Thalia is occupying the extra bedroom these days. You can sleep in my old room, and I’ll take the couch.” He walks past me, barely brushing my shoulder, and moves down the hall toward his childhood bedroom.
I bite my lip and reluctantly follow him. Ryan’s old room. How many nights have I slept in this room? A queen bed fits comfortably with two end tables on either side, a dresser located on the wall across from it. Besides the necessary furnishings, the room is stark. No artwork or anything signifying hinting to his years growing up here.
Ryan steps over to his dresser, and I notice him flip a picture frame down, hiding the contents. I wrap my arms around my middle and wait for his instructions. He rubs the back of his neck and looks at me sheepishly before opening a drawer and pulling out an old gray t-shirt. He holds it out to me.
“You can wear this, probably more comfortable than that dress.”
I take the shirt out of his hands, feeling the smooth fabric. I glance up at him from underneath my eyelashes. “Um, could you unzip me?”
Ryan swallows roughly. “Oh yeah, of course.”
I turn around, exposing my back to him. My eyes close involuntarily when I feel his fingers against the skin of my back. Rain is pattering against the balcony doors, thunder rolling in the distance.
Ryan carefully unzips my dress, trailing his fingers down the length of my spine as he does. My breath hitches as I remember the last time he unzipped my dress for me. At Sage’s wedding in his hotel room, he unwrapped me just for his pleasure. I feel myself burning up where he touches me. The memories and our proximity are too much.
His fingers pull away once the zipper’s down, and I let the dress fall around my feet and step out of it. I hear Ryan groan from the rear view of me only in black lacy panties. Pulling his shirt over my head in a swift movement, I wrap my arms across my chest, feeling bare even though I’m fully covered.
“Here, let me look at your shoulder,” Ryan offers, holding out a hand to me like he’s approaching an animal. His goal is to appear non-threatening, I know, but I hate it. I let him step closer, closing my eyes as he rolls up the sleeve of the shirt, exposing the skin of my shoulder.
Ryan tenderly takes my arm in his hand and moves it around, testing the range of motion. I open my eyes and stare at the floor, unseeing, but I can feel his eyes watching me carefully. I try not to wince when he stresses the joint a certain way and white-hot pain erupts through the tendons and ligaments, but it’s no use.
Ryan immediately lets go of my arm and steps away. His fingers drag down the skin of my arm as he puts distance between us. I look up at him helplessly, unsure of what to say.
His eyebrows pull into the middle of his forehead, and he rubs the back of his neck. “You should probably ice your shoulder. To help keep the inflammation down. I think my mom has one in the freezer downstairs I can get for you.”
I nod and cross my arms, hugging myself. Ryan hesitates for a second, as if he’s afraid to leave me, but he finally steps out of the room. When he returns only a moment later with an ice pack, he gives me a pained look before walking over to his bed and pulling the comforter back from underneath his pillows. He fluffs one, and then motions for me to crawl under. I do, and he bends over, situating the ice pack over my throbbing shoulder. When he’s satisfied with its placement, he pulls the covers over me, carefully sitting on the edge of the mattress once I’m tucked in.
“Will you be okay here tonight?”
I snuggle up under the comforter and nod, already feeling the soothing effects of the ice. I’m so ready to sleep this evening off. My head is still pounding, and my sinuses feel stuffed up from the tears.
Ryan runs his hand over my forehead, brushing away a few stray strands of hair. “Good.” He gives me the most tender look, and I want to cry again.
“Thank you, Ryan. For everything tonight,” I say, my voice coming out weaker than I want it to. “I don’t know?—”
