Page 178 of The Right Move

Rio takes a deep breath as if he were about to tell his celebrity idol to leave, which is exactly what he’s going to do. Gearing himself up, he leaves us alone once again.

“Do you need anything?” I ask. “Water. Food. How are you feeling?”

“I need to go tell Zee he’s going to be a dad.”

“What?” I sit up. “Stevie Renee Shay, are you kidding me? I know before him?!”

She sits up on the bed as well. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Please go tell Zee Daddy Zanders that he’s going to be an actual daddy.”

“His name in my phone is about to take on a whole new meaning, huh?”

“Come on, man. Just let me talk to her. I already let you send me away once this morning.”

I can hear Ryan’s voice from Rio’s guest room where I had myself a little cry before sleeping away the afternoon. I couldn’t tell you what time it is, my phone has been turned off all day. Turns out that trying to come to terms with the idea of not spending your life with the person you love is exhausting.

“Ryan, you know I practically worship the ground you walk on, so telling you not to come into my house or resist asking you to autograph the poster I have of you hanging in my game room is testing my limits to the max. But she’s not ready, and she’s also one of my favorite people, so I’m going to take her side on this one.”

“I know she’s upset, but if I could just talk to her, everything would be okay—”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Ryan pauses. “She said that?”

“Verbatim.” Another awkward silence. “Give her some time. I’m sure she will come to you when she’s ready.”

“Fuck,” Ryan exhales and another stretch of silence lingers as if he were coming to terms and accepting the fact we won’t be speaking tonight. “Will you keep an eye on her for me? Make sure she’s okay?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have food she can eat?” I can only imagine the horror on his face as his eyes roam the messy hockey frat house in front of him. “I’ll have some groceries sent over. She’s a vegetarian. And she likes her coffee over ice, so maybe put some in the fridge in the morning for her. Can you give this to her for me?”

The last thing I hear is the front door closing before my bedroom door opens.

Rio stands in the doorway with a duffel bag in his hand. “I know you’re mad at him but let me make this moment about me. Indy, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Ryan freaking Shay was standing on my front porch asking to come inside and I said no. Stevie should truly step aside because if that doesn’t earn the title of best friend, I don’t know what does.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I made you do that.”

He drops the duffel bag on the bed. “He brought this for you.” Rio turns to leave but stops once again in the doorway of his guest room. “He’s devastated, Ind.”

I nod, understanding that sentiment all too well. “I am too.”

With a sympathetic smile, he leaves me alone for the night.

The harsh reality is that I don’t love Ryan any less than I did this morning but recognizing that only hurts more to know we aren’t on the same page. Just because our futures don’t align doesn’t mean the life-altering love I have for him has gone away.

Opening the bag, I find a pair of pajamas on top. The silky sleep set I wore the night we went camping and shared a bed for the first time. Underneath, there are more clothes, underwear, and socks. My toiletry bag I use to travel for work. He tucked my latest cross-stitch project and my current book in here as well.

And as I pull out each item, more tears fall from my face because I love him, and I love the way he loves me. So attentively. So quietly.

But today, it’s the words that were the problem.

Words that were on the tip of his tongue, wondering if I tried to get pregnant on purpose. I can hardly wrap my head around the idea that he would compare me to someone who caused him the worst pain in his life.

He knows how badly I want that life, and it felt like a slap in the face to be accused of trying to steal it.

Needing an escape from my reality, I open my book and restart where I last left off. But what’s holding my spot is not my usual bookmark, but a scrap of paper, torn and quickly scribbled on.

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