Page 69 of Light in the Dark
He shrugs. "I dunno. Seeing Bear turn his life around. It's had an effect on me. Watching him fall in love with Noelle and putting a real life together with her, I guess it…" he rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head with another shrug. "Suddenly, a different chick every weekend was losing its appeal."
"Every weekend?" I say, laughing. "Every night, more like it."
"Not any more. Not for a long time, actually," he says. "My last few relationships have lasted a few months each. I was with April for almost three months." He points a finger at me. "Not a word—that's a long time for me."
"And what happened with her?" I ask.
"Nyx was asking too, so I'mma hold off on that until we're all together."
"Wait, three months?" I ask. "Really?"
He nods. "We kept it quiet for a while. I…" he swallows. "I liked her. I was hoping…ahhh, fuck. Never mind."
"You were hoping what, Rye? C'mon, bro, I opened up to you."
He sighs. "I was hoping it'd be different. I want something different. I want what Bear has." He grabs the giant wrench that is his shifter and pushes it into the next gear.
I nod. "Yeah, I know what you mean, actually. Seeing the way they are together…"
He clears his throat. “Sex is fuckin' awesome, don't get me wrong, but…what they have that I want is the nonsexual stuff."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
He shrugs. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."
I grab his forearm. "Rye, brother. We like to fuck with each other, but you know I'm on your side. I wouldn't mock you about something you're for real about."
"It's the little stuff. Couple weeks back, April and I met them for drinks at the Cellar. We parked together and walked in, right? Well, Bear and Noelle were ahead of April and me, and they were holding hands." He pauses, sighs. "It's such a stupid little thing, but it's stuck in my fucking head. She was holding his hand with one hand, and she had her other hand around his arm, and she was all up against his side like she couldn't get close enough to him. And every time he was talking to her, she was looking up at him with this look on her face. It's fuckinghauntingme, Fee." His voice drops to a murmur. "She looked at Bear like…fuck, I don't know how to put it."
"I know exactly the look you mean," I say. "Like he's the most important thing there has ever been. Complete and total adoration."
He nods. "Yeah, exactly. Complete and total adoration. No one's ever looked at me like that, man. I mean, look what we came from, huh? The way Mom and Dad treated each other? The fucking divorce? How ugly shit was for years afterward? The shit they both pulled, the shit they put on us?"
I thunk my head against the headrest. "JesusfuckingChrist, Riley. Why the hell'd you have to go and bring up allthatshit?"
"Because it's fucking relevant, Fee. Why do you think we're both so commitment-phobic? Don't tell me you haven't put that shit together."
I stare at him. "The hell are you talking about?"
He rolls his head on his neck in a gesture of disbelief. "Dude, I'm talking about Mom and Dad. Their toxic-as-fuck relationship wasthedefining feature of our lives growing up. Dad getting drunk and slapping Mom around. Mom throwing fuckin’…everythingat him? Plates, mugs, bowls, fuckin' silverware. The screaming matches at three in the morning. Mom cheating on Dad with the literal UPS guy and making sure he caught 'em—"
"If you use the phrase 'balls deep' in reference to our mother, Riley, I swear to fucking god…"
He cackles. "I wasn't going to, as a matter of fact. I was gonna say in flagrante delicious or whatever that fuckin’ phrase is."
I laugh. "I think it's 'delicto' or 'delecto' or something like that. Sure as fuck isn't 'delicious.'"
He waves me off. "Whatever. You know what I mean."
"What does that shit have to do with us being commitment-phobic? Which I amnot, by the way."
We pull into the parking lot of The Borderline—the lot is packed, and the only spot is in the far back. He parks and shuts off the engine, but doesn't get out.
"You are, too, and so am I. We don’t trust people. We don't trust women in particular, Fee, and why do you think that is?"
I think back, and I realize with a nauseated horror that he's right. My distrust is compounded by my distrust of myself because of what went down back in the day, but it goes deeper than that. I've never eventriedto let anyone get close to me—I troll Tinder for easy, no-mess hookups with random chicks on vacation. It's cheap, meaningless, and strings-free. We both know the score, which means it’s risk free. No chance of the girl wanting to get close, wanting to put her hooks into my heart.
Why didn't I want that?
