Page 70 of Wilder Puck
She nods. “We’re closing the tab. I will text you the next time something’s happening.”
“Thanks, Emma,” I say, realizing that I just told her to come buy coffee at my shop in trade of possibly seeing Ryan. That’s one way to sell my soul.
By the time my shift ends, I am trying to keep it together. On most days, I have a positive outlook on life. For example, Ryan was in here earlier, and I was able to keep myself in check. He’s my daily reminder that it doesn’t matter what anyone goes through, you can still be a good human. But then I have moments where everything feels like a heavy weight on my chest and breathing becomes near impossible. Tears could stream down my face for hours upon hours.
This feeling started when I would race into the kitchen as a young girl, looking for my mom and she wasn’t there. Or when I would want my favorite foods, but my dad didn’t know how to cook them. When I’d wake up in the morning, I would expect my mom to be there, rubbing my shoulders, kissing my cheek, and brushing my hair. But day after day after day, it dawned on me that she was gone. Like gone gone and never fucking coming back. Her death was hard on me, but that’s an understatement. It devastated me. I would get panic attacks when I wasn’t even thinking about her. Seeing classmates with their families triggered me so badly that I would beg my dad to homeschool me. I wanted to hide from the world, even during college, it felt like I could never be whole again. Then I met Ryan Wilder. And his presence in my life changed everything for me.
That’s why I’m on my way to his house right now. The moment I’m alone in my car, I’m already crying. I know I have tosimply find another place to rent, but it’s just the stress of having to move on when I felt perfectly comfortable with where I was at.
I have these moments when everything feels heavy, and right now, I need him. It’s not just the eviction. I feel guilty for Emma’s excitement over their interaction, and it makes me feel like shit.
God, why did I suggest we take things slow? Why didn't I just throw myself into his arms the second I was aware of his feelings?
I know why.
Because I'm a coward.
Because the thought of changing our dynamic, of risking what we have on the off chance it could be something more, terrifies me down to my bones.
Because if we tried for more and it fell apart, I don't think I could survive that.
By the time I reach Ryan's front door, my mind is spinning, and my hands are shaking. I fish out my copy of his house key and let myself inside.
The house flicks with the faint glow of the TV. He's sitting on the couch alone when he looks over at me, shooting a smile at my presence.
He sits up straighter. “Baddie?”
I’m already crying as he jumps over the couch.
“Ads, what’s wrong?” His brow furrows as his gaze rakes over my tear-streaked face and trembling hands. “What happened?”
And that's all it takes. The gentle concern in his voice, the tender way he reaches for me. It's the final crack in the dam.
My chest is bouncing against his. It feels like everything I’ve worked hard for is falling apart.
My whole body is shaking from my heaving sobs. I cry for my mom, for the gaping hole her death left in my life. I cry formy apartment, my home, the only place that's ever really been mine. I cry for the future I might never have, the dreams that feel further away than ever.
But most of all, I cry for Ryan. For the way I love him, desperately and completely. For the way I'm so fucking scared to lose him, to lose us. For the way, I don't know how to tell him any of this, or how to make him understand. I feel guilty for suggesting we use each other for sex and the deep emotions I had no idea werethatdeep inside of me.
“Hey, hey.” He's got me in his arms before I can blink, crushing me against the solid wall of his chest. “I've got you.”
I cling to him, my face buried in the crook of his neck as I gulp for air between sobs. He smells like laundry detergent and warm skin, like home and safety and everything I need.
We stay like this until his body helps to regulate mine. After a few minutes, I’m not gasping for air anymore.
“I'm sorry,” I finally choke out, my tears soaking his bare shoulder. “God, I'm so sorry. I didn't–”
I start crying again.
I’m a wreck.
“Don't apologize,” he murmurs, his big hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. “You know you can always come to me, Ads. No matter what.”
I just nod, not trusting my voice. He holds me like that for a long time, letting me cry myself out in the circle of his arms. He doesn't push, doesn't demand answers. He just stands there, strong and steady, absorbing my pain like he always does.
When my sobs finally taper off into hiccupping breaths, he pulls back just enough to cup my face in his hands. His thumbs brush over my wet cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he says softly.
