Page 11 of Ripped

“It’s healthy for you. You get used to it.” Donnie says with a smirk.

I mean, if eating protein pancakes every day gives me a body like Donnie’s, then… yeah, no, I’ll stick with my chonky figure, thanks. I cut another piece of pancake because now that I know what to expect, it’s pretty decent.

“I have to go to work in a bit,” Donnie says, sobering. “Do you have any plans for today?”

What day is it today? It kinda feels like a week’s passed since my life got upended, except that was only yesterday. Which makes today Saturday. “No, not today.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be going anywhere on that ankle anyway.” He adjusts the bag of peas to keep it from sliding off my foot. “Will you be okay staying here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll start looking for a place to stay so I can get out of your hair.”

A look comes over Donnie’s face, a little dark, a little annoyed, almost offended. “You don’t need to do that. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. It’s not like I’m using the space for anything else.”

That’s true. The place is freakishly large for just one person. Except Donnie’s wearing a wedding ring and he’s twirling it around his finger. Has he always worn the ring? I’ve never noticed it before, but then, I’ve never made a point to look.

“Do you… live here by yourself?” It’s the nicest way I can think of to ask. I haven’t seen anyone else in the house and I’ve never heard of Donnie, The Spin Instructor, having a husband, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one.

Donnie slides his hand under his thigh, like he’s forcing himself not to toy with his ring. He looks off to the side before speaking. “Yeah, I do. My husband… died almost four years ago.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Donnie’s smile is tight. “Thank you. It was… a long time ago.”

From the set of his jaw and the way his brows are drawn slightly together, my guess is it doesn’t feel like it was that long ago to Donnie. The sadness coming off him is making my stomach churn and the protein pancakes aren’t sitting so well anymore.

“Anyway...” It’s obvious he’s forcing his smile. His voice is artificially high and bright. “We inherited the house from Roger’s great aunt. It was so dilapidated it was practically condemned. We spent two years remodeling the whole thing. That was ten years ago.”

His gaze shifts back toward me, to my chest, then stomach, then legs. There’s no heat in his eyes and his lips are pressed into a thin, straight line. He’s not checking me out, he’s… the clothes. He’s looking at the clothes I’m wearing.

I glance down. They look like every day t-shirts and sweatpants. Really nice material, way nicer than any of the stuff I own. There’s nothing special about them. Unless—oh, shit.

I pluck at the shirt. “Are these… were they…” Ugh, how do I ask the question without sounding like an ungrateful ass?

Donnie nods. “You’re almost the exact size as Roger was. I… still have some of his old clothes.”

“And the PJs from last night?”

“Those too.”

I swallow around the ball of emotion that’s suddenly in my throat. Maybe I should feel weird about wearing a dead man’s clothing, but it feels more like an honor. Donnie’s clearly still grieving his husband and he’s still wearing his wedding ring. It can’t be easy handing over Roger’s things for a stranger to wear.

“Thank you,” I say, getting all choked up. My situation with Miles and Wyatt doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore, not compared to Donnie losing his husband. And here I was yesterday, bawling all over him when he’s gone through real heartache and real loss. “How long were you together for?”

Donnie takes a deep breath and blinks away the moisture in his eyes. “About eighteen years.”

Miles and I had been together for just over two. What was two years next to eighteen? Nothing, that’s what it was. Absolutely nothing. Donnie and Roger had owned a house together. They were married. Me and Miles? Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure if I even loved him that much or in that way.

I cared about him a lot, enough to move in with him. But enough to marry him? I recoil at the thought. I don’t know if I would’ve married him. Certainly, not where we were in the relationship. And now, I can’t imagine ever wanting to marry him.

“Well, I need to get going.” Donnie stands from the bed and I kinda don’t want him to go.

I feel more out of place in the house now than I did before I knew about Roger. It feels like I’m trespassing on his territory or something, like I’m taking advantage of him somehow. He’s the one who inherited the property, who spent money and time making it into what it is today, but I’m the one walking around and enjoying it. It doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t feel right.

At least with Donnie here, I don’t feel like one of those home invaders who squat in empty houses while the owners are out of town.

Donnie’s by the door, tapping on the doorframe, running through a list he’s made in his mind. “Try not to walk around on your ankle too much, but obviously, I’m not going to force you to stay in bed all day. There’s food in the fridge that’s easy to heat up. Help yourself to anything that’s in there.”

He furrows his brow, like he’s forgetting something. “Oh, and there’s a theater room in the basement if you want to watch movies or whatever. There’s a home gym down there too, but I wouldn’t recommend you use it.”

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