It Ends With Us

  I feel his arms go around my waist and he picks me up, carefully stepping through the mess we've made. I can't tell if I'm more disappointed in him or myself. Him for losing his temper in the first place or me for somehow finding comfort in his apology.

  He carries me and kisses me all the way to my bedroom. He's still kissing me when he lowers me to the bed and whispers, "I'm sorry, Lily." He moves his lips to the spot on my eye that hit the cabinet, and he kisses me there. "I'm so sorry."

  His mouth is on mine again, hot and wet, and I don't even know what's happening to me. I'm hurting so much on the inside, yet my body craves his apology in the form of his mouth and hands on me. I want to lash out at him and react like I always wish my mother would have reacted when my father hurt her, but deep down I want to believe that it really was an accident. Ryle isn't like my father. He's nothing like him.

  I need to feel his sorrow. His regret. I get both of these things in the way he kisses me. I spread my legs for him and his sorrow comes in another form. Slow, apologetic thrusts inside of me. Every time he enters me, he whispers another apology. And by some miracle, every time he pulls out of me, my anger leaves with him.

  *

  He's kissing my shoulder. My cheek. My eye. He's still on top of me, touching me gently. I've never been touched like this . . . with such tenderness. I try to forget what happened in the kitchen, but it's everything right now.

  He pushed me away from him.

  Ryle pushed me.

  For fifteen seconds, I saw a side of him that wasn't him. That wasn't me. I laughed at him when I should have been concerned. He shoved me when he should have never touched me. I pushed him away and caused him to cut his hand.

  It was awful. The whole thing, the entire fifteen seconds it lasted, was absolutely awful. I never want to think about it again.

  He still has the rag balled up in his hand and it's soaked with blood. I push against his chest.

  "I'll be right back," I tell him. He kisses me one more time and rolls off of me. I walk to the bathroom and close the door. I look in the mirror and gasp.

  Blood. In my hair, on my cheeks, on my body. It's all his blood. I grab a rag and try to wash some off, and then I look under the sink for the first aid kit. I have no idea how bad his hand is. First he burned it, then he sliced it open. Not even an hour after he was just telling me how important this surgery was to him.

  No more wine. We're never allowed vintage wine again.

  I grab the box from under the sink and open the bedroom door. He's walking back into the bedroom from the kitchen with a small bag of ice. He holds it up, "For your eye," he says.

  I hold up the first aid kit. "For your hand."

  We both smile and then sit back down on the bed. He leans against the headboard while I pull his hand to my lap. The whole time I'm dressing his wound, he's holding the bag of ice against my eye.

  I squeeze some antiseptic cream onto my finger and dab it against the burns on his fingers. They don't look as bad as I thought they might be, so that's a relief. "Can you prevent it from blistering?" I ask him.

  He shakes his head. "Not if it's second-degree."

  I want to ask him if he can still perform the surgery if his fingers have blisters on them come Monday, but I don't bring it up. I'm sure that's on the forefront of his mind right now.

  "Do you want me to put some on your cut?"

  He nods. The bleeding has stopped. I'm sure if he needed stitches, he'd get some, but I think it'll be fine. I pull the ACE bandage out of the first aid kit and begin wrapping his hand.

  "Lily," he whispers. I look up at him. His head is resting against the headboard, and it looks like he wants to cry. "I feel terrible," he says. "If I could take it back . . ."

  "I know," I say, cutting him off. "I know, Ryle. It was terrible. You pushed me. You made me question everything I thought I knew about you. But I know you feel bad about it. We can't take it back. I don't want to bring it up again." I secure the bandage around his hand and then look him in the eye. "But Ryle? If anything like that ever happens again . . . I'll know that this time wasn't just an accident. And I'll leave you without a second thought."

  He stares at me for a long time, his eyebrows drawn apart in regret. He leans forward and presses his lips against mine. "It won't happen again, Lily. I swear. I'm not like him. I know that's what you're thinking, but I swear to you . . ."

  I shake my head, wanting him to stop. I can't take the pain in his voice. "I know you're nothing like my father," I say. "Just . . . please don't ever make me doubt you again. Please."

  He brushes hair from my forehead. "You're the most important part of my life, Lily. I want to be what brings you happiness. Not what causes you to hurt." He kisses me and then stands up and leans over me, pressing the ice to my face. "Hold this here for about ten more minutes. It'll prevent it from swelling."

  I replace his hand with mine. "Where are you going?"

  He kisses me on the forehead and says, "To clean up my mess."

  He spends the next twenty minutes cleaning the kitchen. I can hear glass being tossed into the trash can, wine being poured out in the sink. I go to the bathroom and take a quick shower to get his blood off of me and then I change the sheets on my bed. When he finally has the kitchen cleaned up, he comes to the bedroom with a glass. He hands it to me. "It's soda," he says. "The caffeine will help."

  I take a drink of it and feel it fizz down my throat. It's actually the perfect thing. I take another drink and set it on my nightstand. "What's it help with? The hangover?"

  Ryle slides into bed and pulls the covers over us. He shakes his head. "No, I don't think soda actually helps anything. My mom just used to give me a soda after I'd had a bad day and it always made me feel a little better."

  I smile. "Well, it worked."

  He brushes his hand down my cheek and I can see in his eyes and in the way he touches me that he deserves at least one chance at forgiveness. I feel if I don't find a way to forgive him, I'll somewhat be placing blame on him for the resentment I still hold for my father. He's not like my father.

  Ryle loves me. He's never come out and said it before, but I know he does. And I love him. What happened in the kitchen tonight is something I'm confident won't happen again. Not after seeing how upset he is that he hurt me.

  All humans make mistakes. What determines a person's character aren't the mistakes we make. It's how we take those mistakes and turn them into lessons rather than excuses.

  Ryle's eyes somehow grow even more sincere and he leans over and kisses my hand. He settles his head into the pillow and we just lie there, staring at each other, sharing this unspoken energy that fills all the holes the night has left in us.

  After a few minutes, he squeezes my hand. "Lily," he says, brushing his thumb over mine. "I'm in love with you."

  I feel his words in every part of me. And when I whisper, "I love you, too," it's the most naked truth I've ever spoken to him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes late. Right when I was about to close tonight I had a customer come in to order flowers for a funeral. I couldn't turn them away because . . . sadly . . . funerals are the best business for florists.

  Ryle waves me over to the table and I walk straight to them, doing my best not to look around. I don't want to see Atlas. I tried twice to get them to change the restaurant location, but Allysa was hell-bent on eating here after Ryle told her how good it was.

  I slide into the booth and Ryle leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "Hey, girlfriend."

  Allysa groans. "God, you guys are so cute, it's sickening." I smile at her, and her eyes immediately go to the corner of my eye. It doesn't look as bad as I thought it might today, which is probably due to Ryle forcing me to keep ice on it. "Oh my God," Allysa says. "Ryle told me what happened but I didn't think it was that bad."

  I glance at Ryle, wondering what he told her. The truth? He smiles and says, "Olive oil was everywhere. When she slipped
, it was so graceful you'd think she was a ballerina."

  A lie.

  Fair enough. I would have done the same thing.

  "It was pretty pathetic," I say with a laugh.

  Somehow, we get through dinner without a hitch. No sign of Atlas, no thoughts of last night, and Ryle and I both avoid the wine. After we're finished with our food, our waiter approaches the table. "Care for dessert?" he asks.

  I shake my head, but Allysa perks up. "What do you have?"

  Marshall looks just as interested. "We're eating for two, so we'll take anything chocolate," he says.

  The waiter nods, and when he walks away, Allysa looks at Marshall. "This baby is the size of a bedbug right now. You better not encourage bad habits for the next several months."

  The waiter returns with a dessert cart. "The chef gives all expectant mothers dessert on the house," he says. "Congratulations."

  "He does?" Allysa says, perking up.

  "Guess that's why it's called Bib's," Marshall says. "Chef likes the babies."

  We all look at the cart. "Oh, God," I say, looking at the options.

  "This is my new favorite restaurant," Allysa says.

  We pick out three desserts for the table. The four of us spend the time waiting for it to be served discussing baby names.

  "No," Allysa says to Marshall. "We're not naming this baby after a state."

  "But I love Nebraska," he whines. "Idaho?"

  Allysa drops her head in her hands. "This is going to be the demise of our marriage."

  "Demise," Marshall says. "That's actually a good name."

  Marshall's murder is thwarted by the arrival of dessert. Our waiter places a piece of chocolate cake in front of Allysa, and steps aside to make room for the waiter behind him who is holding the other two desserts. The waiter motions toward the guy placing our desserts down and says, "The chef would like to extend his congratulations."

  "How was the meal?" the chef asks, looking at Allysa and Marshall.

  By the time his eyes make it to mine, my anxiety is seeping from me. Atlas locks eyes with me, and without thinking, I blurt out, "You're the chef?"

  The waiter leans around Atlas and says. "The chef. The owner. Sometimes waiter, sometimes dishwasher. He gives a new meaning to hands-on."

  The next five seconds go unnoticed by everyone at our table, but they play out in slow motion to me.

  Atlas's eyes fall to the cut on my eye.

  The bandage wrapped around Ryle's hand.

  Back to my eye.

  "We love your restaurant," Allysa says. "You have an incredible place here."

  Atlas doesn't look at her. I see the roll of his throat as he swallows. His jaw hardens and he says nothing as he walks away.

  Shit.

  The waiter tries to cover for Atlas's hasty retreat by smiling and showing way too many teeth. "Enjoy your dessert," he says, scuffling off to the kitchen.

  "Bummer," Allysa says. "We find a new favorite restaurant and the chef is an asshole."

  Ryle laughs. "Yeah, but the assholes are the best ones. Gordon Ramsay?"

  "Good point," Marshall says.

  I put my hand on Ryle's arm. "Bathroom," I tell him.

  He nods as I scoot out of the booth, and Marshall says, "What about Wolfgang Puck? You think he's an asshole?"

  I walk across the restaurant, head down, fast paced. As soon as I get into the familiar hallway, I keep going. I push open the door to the women's restroom and then turn around and lock it.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  The look in his eye. The anger in his jaw.

  I'm relieved he walked away, but I'm half-convinced he's probably going to be waiting outside the restaurant when we leave, ready to kick Ryle's ass.

  I breathe in my nose, out my mouth, wash my hands, repeat the breathing. Once I'm more calm, I dry my hands on a towel.

  I'll just go back out there and tell Ryle I'm not feeling well. We'll leave and we'll never come back. They all think the chef is an asshole, so that can be my excuse.

  I unlock the door, but I don't pull it open. It starts pushing open from the other side, so I step back. Atlas steps inside the bathroom with me and locks the door. His back rests against the door as he stares at me, focused on the cut near my eye.

  "What happened?" he asks.

  I shake my head. "Nothing."

  His eyes are narrow, still ice blue but somehow burning with fire. "You're lying, Lily."

  I muster enough of a smile to get me by. "It was an accident."

  Atlas laughs, but then his face falls flat. "Leave him."

  Leave him?

  Jesus, he thinks this is something else entirely. I take a step forward and shake my head. "He's not like that, Atlas. It wasn't like that. Ryle is a good person."

  He tilts his head and leans it forward a little bit. "Funny. You sound just like your mother."

  His words sting. I immediately try to reach around him for the door, but he grabs my wrist. "Leave him, Lily."

  I yank my hand away. I turn my back to him and inhale a deep breath. I release it slowly as I face him again. "If it's any comparison at all, I'm more scared of you right now than I've ever been of him."

  My words make Atlas pause for a moment. His nod starts out slowly, and then gets more prominent as he steps away from the door. "I certainly didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." He motions toward the door. "Just trying to repay the concern you've always shown me."

  I stare at him for a moment, unsure how to take his words. He's still raging on the inside, I can see it. But on the outside, he's calm--collected. Allowing me to leave. I reach forward and unlock the door, then pull it open.

  I gasp when my eyes meet Ryle's. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see Atlas filing out of the bathroom with me.

  Ryle's eyes fill with confusion as he looks from me to Atlas. "What the fuck, Lily?"

  "Ryle." My voice shakes. God, this looks so much worse than it is.

  Atlas steps around me and turns toward the doors to the kitchen, as if Ryle doesn't even exist to him. Ryle's eyes are glued to Atlas's back. Keep walking, Atlas.

  Right when Atlas reaches the kitchen doors, he pauses.

  No, no, no. Keep walking.

  In what becomes one of the most dreadful moments I can imagine, he spins around and strides toward Ryle, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Almost as soon as it happens, Ryle forces Atlas back and slams him against the opposite wall. Atlas lunges for Ryle again, this time shoving his forearm against Ryle's throat, pinning him against the wall.

  "You touch her again and I'll cut your fucking hand off and shove it down your throat, you worthless piece of shit!"

  "Atlas, stop!" I yell.

  Atlas releases Ryle forcefully, taking a huge step back. Ryle is breathing heavily, staring at Atlas long and hard. Then his focus moves directly to me. "Atlas?" He says his name with familiarity.

  Why is Ryle saying Atlas's name like that? Like he's heard me say it before? I've never told him about Atlas.

  Wait.

  I did.

  That first night on the roof. It was one of my naked truths.

  Ryle lets out a disbelieving laugh and points at Atlas, but he's still looking at me. "This is Atlas? The homeless boy you pity-fucked?"

  Oh, God.

  The hallway instantly becomes a blur of fists and elbows and my screams for them to stop. Two waiters push through the door behind me and shove past me, separating them just as quickly as it started.

  They're pushed apart against opposite walls, staring each other down, breathing heavily. I can't even look at either of them.

  I can't look at Atlas. Not after what Ryle just said to him. I also can't look at Ryle because he's probably thinking the absolute worst possible thing right now.

  "Out!" Atlas yells, pointing at the door, but looking at Ryle. "Get the hell out of my restaurant!"

  I meet Ryle's eyes as he begins to walk past me, scared of what I'll see in them. But there isn't any anger the
re.

  Only hurt.

  Lots of hurt.

  He pauses as if he's about to say something to me. But his face just twists into disappointment and he walks back out into the restaurant.

  I finally glance up at Atlas and can see disappointment all across his face. Before I can explain away Ryle's words to him, he turns and walks away, pushing through the kitchen doors.

  I immediately turn and run after Ryle. He grabs his jacket from the booth and walks toward the exit without even looking at Allysa and Marshall.

  Allysa looks up at me and holds her hands up in question. I shake my head, grab my purse and say, "It's a long story. We'll talk tomorrow."

  I follow Ryle outside and he's walking toward the parking lot. I run to catch up to him and he just stops and punches at the air.

  "I didn't bring my fucking car!" he yells, frustrated.

  I pull my keys out of my purse and he walks up to me and snatches them from my hand. Again, I follow him, this time to my car.

  I don't know what to do. I don't know if he even wants to speak to me right now. He just saw me locked in a bathroom with a guy I used to be in love with. Then, out of nowhere, that guy attacks him.

  God, this is so bad.

  When we reach my car, he heads straight for the driver's side door. He points to the passenger side and says, "Get in, Lily."

  He doesn't speak to me the entire time we're driving. I say his name once, but he just shakes his head like he's not ready to hear my explanation yet. When we pull into my parking garage, he gets out of the car as soon as he turns it off, like he can't get away from me fast enough.

  He's pacing the length of the car when I get out. "It wasn't what it looked like, Ryle. I swear."

  He stops pacing, and when he looks at me, my heart doubles over. There's so much pain in his eyes right now, and it's not even necessary. It was all due to a stupid misunderstanding.

  "I didn't want this, Lily," he says. "I didn't want a relationship! I didn't want this stress in my life!"

  As much as he's hurting because of what he thinks he saw, his words still piss me off. "Well, then leave!"

  "What?"

  I throw my hands up. "I don't want to be your burden, Ryle! I'm so sorry my presence in your life is so unbearable!"

  He takes a step forward. "Lily, that's not at all what I'm saying." He throws his hands up in frustration and then walks past me. He leans against my car and folds his arms over his chest. There's a long stretch of silence while I wait for what he has to say. His head is down, but he lifts it slightly, looking up at me.