Page 43 of Perfectly Imperfect Us
Or maybe, for once, I was making good decisions.
Back in my room, I moved the mouse on my computer and brought the screen to life. The mouse hovered over the Publish button while I took a deep breath. With a hope and a prayer I hit the button and watched as the screen changed. My masterpiece of love was now published for anyone in the world to see.
The whole thing was a love letter to Ava. Pictures of us, of her, of our brief time together falling in love. I’d written about all the things that made her uniquely and wonderfully her. I confessed to making mistakes, though I kept the details vague to protect the not-so-innocent Kyly. Mostly, I apologized profusely and told her how our love was perfectly imperfect and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Not all love stories are linear and ours wouldn’t be either, but it could be a long love story if she’d only give me a chance to make things right.
My phone screen lit up not ten minutes later with a text message from my agent. Apparently, he’d already fielded a phone call from the press about my blog. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. This was exactly what I wanted. I was scared, but I was doing it anyway.
Now to wait and give Ava time to see my blog. Then I’d go next door to plead my case.
* * *
Not to be dramatic about it all, but I think I died a thousand deaths yesterday fielding social media comments regarding my new blog. My agent had taken more press calls than I anticipated, all of them asking the same thing: what in the world was Ryder Steele up to now and how could they be the first to get the official scoop?
Most of the fans on social media bypassed the whole part about my potential photography career and latched on to the love story aspect. Everybody loved celebrity drama, so the fact that I’d put my heart on the line for all to watch was mesmerizing. The few comments that were derogatory mostly hated on me for being so lame as to apologize publicly to a woman who wasn’t even a celebrity. Apparently in their minds, I’d made a huge error by dumping the famous Kyly Stone. I ignored those idiots and worried about the female population who had to deal with such shallow misogynists.
A thousand times I picked up my phone to call Ava. And each time I told myself it was too soon. The grievous mistake I’d made would require patience on my part and a healthy dose of luck on the part of fate to soften Ava’s heart enough to give me a second chance. I couldn’t act hastily. I needed to think things through, so this whole apology plan didn’t blow up in my face.
By eight o’clock I couldn’t handle it any longer. I’d nearly worn a path along the carpet in my bedroom as I paced back and forth. It was still too early for an acceptable social call, but I figured love didn’t follow etiquette guidelines. I jogged through the house, ignoring Mom in the kitchen making her breakfast. Nothing mattered but seeing Ava.
I hopped the porch railing and hit her doorbell before I could talk myself into waiting longer. This was it. My big chance to explain things and beg for forgiveness. The door swung open and Mr. Mendez stood there in a plain white T-shirt and a frown.
I tried on a smile. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your striped shirt.”
He didn’t even blink. “I burned it. What do you want?”
Wow. Okay, I guess Ava had shared with them all the details of the last ten days. Time to make nice with her parents, the gatekeepers. I should have anticipated this. Ava and her parents were close.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mendez. I know I’ve messed up. Badly. I just want a chance to apologize to Ava face-to-face. She deserves an explanation and an apology. For closure if nothing else.” It killed me to say that, but the truth was, if she wanted nothing to do with me because of my actions, I’d have to accept it.
I put my hands in my back pockets and rocked on my heels, trying for nonchalance when my entire focus was on his reply. He stared at me for a full minute, his bushy eyebrows hanging low over his narrowed eyes. I considered myself lucky he didn’t own a shotgun.
“Fine. I’ll ask her, but if you think you can treat my daughter like some second-rate side piece I will mess up that pretty face of yours. I don’t care if you live off your good looks. A man who treats a lady like that doesn’t deserve your level of cheekbone structure.”
He stepped back an inch, and even as I swallowed a chuckle, I knew he meant what he said. Back in the day, Mr. Mendez had been a little rough around the edges from what my mother said. I took a step through the doorway, not taking my eyes off Mr. Mendez and his frown. His puffed-up chest bumped me as I stepped into the house, an intentional intimidation factor I could appreciate. I’d act the same way if it was my daughter.
“Ava!” Mr. Mendez shouted right in my ear, making me jump.
I inched away from him and tried to rehearse in my head what I wanted to say to Ava. A door opening down the hallway had my head turning, the sight that greeted my eyes blanking out my brain. Ava walked down the hallway like a model on a catwalk, all sleek legs and wind-tossed hair wrapped up in a pretty package and tied with a ribbon of sass. My heart seized. Her face was fresh, a layer of mascara and winged eyeliner the only makeup she wore. She was both the whip-smart girl I’d first encountered when I moved back to town and the sweet girl I’d fallen in love with all rolled into one.
“Ava,” I breathed.
She stopped in front of me, her eyes darting around my person like she was cataloguing every detail about me. Hope bubbled up, thinking she was as eager to see me as I was to see her. All too quickly, her gaze focused on my face and she frowned, dashing hope as quickly as it had come.
“What happened to your hair?” Ava looked more angry about my hair than about me darkening her door.
“He ditches you for some model tramp and that’s the first thing you ask?” Mr. Mendez butted in, his broad chest knocking me back a step.
Ava darted a glance at him, her hand coming up to block him out. “How about some privacy, Dad?” She didn’t wait for a response, simply grabbed my arm and tugged me toward their back door. She hit the screen door and I rushed to step through before it swung back and slapped me.
She seemed pretty angry, but I couldn’t help but rejoice over her touching me. The huge tree in her backyard that grew halfway over our backyard and annoyed the daylights out of my mom provided some shade. The summer sun wasn’t playing around, even at eight o’clock in the morning.
She dropped her hand the second we stepped into the shade, spinning to face me, arms crossed over her chest. One perfectly sculpted dark eyebrow rose and her stunning hazel eyes snapped. I could practically hear the tick-tock of an invisible timer telling me my audience with her was limited.
“Ava,” I started, desperately trying to remember my rehearsed speech, but it was all jumbled in my head. “I, uh, had a whole thing memorized and now I can’t remember one coherent word.” A nervous chuckle escaped, and when she didn’t join in, I hurried to continue. “I know you have every right to hate me right now, but I’m hoping you’ll let me explain what happened.”
“You dumped me for a supermodel without even a breakup text after you confessed you loved me and then let her post my most secret photos for all the world to gawk and stare. Did I get that about right?”
I rubbed a hand over my sternum. Damn. This girl had a way with words, using them to inflict the kind of pain I’d doled out to her with my careless actions.
