Page 83 of Wilder Puck
Ryan looks like I've just ripped his beating heart from his chest. But he nods, stepping back to let me pass. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. If that's what you need, I... I understand. But Addie?”
I pause, hand on the bedroom door. “What?”
“I love you,” he says simply. Like it's a fact. Like it's the only thing he knows for sure. “I love you and I just wanted to help you because I can't stand the thought of you hurting or struggling. I fucked up the execution, I know I did. But my intentions were pure, Ads. They always have been when it comes to you. I would do just about anything for you.”
The tears spill over, tracking hot and fast down my cheeks. I swipe at them angrily. “I need to go.”
And then I'm moving, practically running through the house, ignoring Ryan's pleas for me to wait, to let him explain. I can't. I can't hear anymore, or I'll shatter into a million jagged pieces.
I'm sobbing openly by the time I reach my car, my hands shaking so badly it takes three tries to get the key in the ignition. Ryan stands silhouetted in the doorway, his shoulders bowed under the weight of my anguish.
“Addison,” he calls, his voice cracking. “I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.”
But I just shake my head, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the driveway. I catch a glimpse of his facein the rearview mirror before I round the corner and then he's gone.
And I'm alone. Again. Like I always seem to end up.
I sit in my parked car, gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline as hot tears stream down my face. The weight of Ryan's confession presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. He's been hiding this from me for months, going behind my back to pay my rent like I'm some kind of charity case.
I know, deep down, that he was just trying to help. That's who Ryan is – a man who would do anything to make the people he loves happy. But damn it, I'm not a child. I'm a grown woman who's been handling her own shit for years. I don't need him to swoop in and save me, no matter how much he might want to.
He called me stubborn, and maybe he was right. But is it so wrong to want to stand on my own two feet? To prove to myself and the world that I can do this on my own without a mother and really barely a father.
A fresh wave of tears blurs my vision and I angrily swipe at them, hating how weak and pathetic I feel. I'm drowning in hurt and confusion, my mind spinning in endless circles as I try to make sense of it all.
If I'm being honest, I'm not just crying over Ryan. I'm crying for the gaping hole in my life where a family should be. For the relationships, I've let wither and die in the name of self-preservation.
I find myself reaching for my phone and dialing a number I haven't called in years. My dad.
We haven't spoken in a very long time, but right now, he's the only person I can think of who might understand the aching void in my chest.
The phone rings once, twice, three times. I hold my breath, suddenly terrified he won't pick up.
But then I hear it – a click and then my father's deep voice. “Addie?”
I pause, trying to stop the tears.
“Hi, Dad.” The words come out strangled, choked with tears.
“Hi. It’s been a while.”
“I don’t know why I’m calling,” I confess, trying to hide the pain in my voice. “I guess I needed you.”
“I need you too, sweet pea.”
His nickname for me sends more tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry.”
The phone is silent on the other end, and then I hear a sniffle. “I’m sorry too.”
“I just…I have this hole, dad, and it’s like no matter what I do, I’m lost in it.” Tears stream down my face as my chest bounces. “I want so badly to get out of it.”
I’m sobbing now, trying to control my breathing before I sink deep into a panic attack. I take a deep breath as the tears roll down my face. The hole in my heart is always present. Losing a loved one is unlike any other life experience. Sometimes, I don’t think I can go on.
“I’m in it too, sweet pea.” I can hear his silent tears over the phone, and my breath starts to stutter from holding back my sobs.
“Does this ever get any easier?” I cry, begging for any words of advice. I carry my mom’s death with me every single day. Time has not healed me. I am still that broken little girl who lost her mom all these years later.
“I don’t think it does, but we have to try. We try for her.” My dad breaks down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you, Addie. I live my life every day wishing I could go back in time and have my family back.”
