Page 31 of Not a Strong Enough Word

“No,” I lie. That warmth from earlier collects between my thighs. If I weren’t already underwater, I’m sure there’d be an obvious wetness there, too.

He hums as if he doesn’t believe me but doesn’t say anything else. The next thing I know, his fingers work their way into my scalp, pressing and massaging with delicious pressure.

“Oh my god,” I moan. “That feels amazing.” Any remaining tension rushes out of my body, and it’s replaced with an aching desire that cuts through my exhaustion and starts my heart racing in my chest.

His fingers leave my head for a moment as he shifts into a more comfortable position, then they return to their work. I crack an eye open to find him looking down at me with such tenderness that my pounding heart skips a beat.

I have to look away. If he continues to look at me like that, I might cry. Because he used to look at me like that. I long for him to keep looking at me like that. But when he’s done here, he’s going to leave. This isn’t permanent. It can’t be.

My gaze trails down his chest. The light blue of his sweater is speckled with dark spots where the water has splashed him. His sleeves are rolled up, and some black ink catches my eye.

“You got a tattoo?”

“Hmm?” he hums as if he had been distracted. “Oh, right. Yeah. Maybe four years ago now?”

“What is it?”

He turns his forearm over so I can see. It’s designed to look like his skin is paper, ripped open to reveal the page of a book. I lean in to get a better look at the words, but he flips his arm and starts massaging my head again.

“It’s pretty badass.” My eyes drift closed as his ministrations have their desired effect. “Did it hurt?”

“Not as much as some things,” he says.

My breath catches in my throat, but I keep my eyes carefully shut. His hands go still as if he’s wishing he could take it back.

“Ryan, I’m sorry—” I peer up at him, then, wishing I could lay it all out for him right then and there, but a sharp shake of his head stops me. Dianne had urged me to tell him exactly what happened five years ago, to make him understand what pressure I was under, exactly what I had lost, and clear the air. Maybe she was right about that, and now feels like as good a time as any. Not that I want to hurt him even more, but if it could just tell him…

“Water under the bridge,” he says before I can work up the courage to continue. He sounds choked up, so I stuff everything back into the box in my heart and close the lid. Lock it shut. Throw away the key. I certainly don’t want to cause more damage than I already have by opening up old wounds. What does it matter now anyway?

This isn’t permanent.

He continues lathering my hair in silence for a few minutes before telling me to rinse. I dunk my head again, and this time it does feel a bit more like a cleansing, if not a full baptism.

“Are you okay to get out by yourself?” he asks, sitting back on his heels and rolling the sleeves of his sweater down.

Unable to speak, I simply nod. He leaves the room. When the door snicks softly shut behind him, the sound reverberates through my brain. It feels final somehow, like he’s shutting the door on us. Like this was some kind of goodbye.

Trina said I was dumb, but right now I don’t know what’s the worse decision: Asking him to stay like I so desperately want to or letting him think I don’t want him to be my editor and watching him walk out of my life. Again. But I do know that having him here feels good, and I’m willing to follow that feeling, even if chasing any kind of true happiness is futile.

But the finality of that shutting door makes me afraid he’s on his way out of my apartment. I scramble out of the tub and throw my robe around my shoulders. I tie it quickly but don’t bother drying off. It sticks uncomfortably to me. Water pools at my feet and drips off the ends of my hair. I step carefully on the wet tile to pull the bathroom door open in a rush.

Ryan is sitting on my couch, one ankle crossed over his knee and his arm spread out over the back of it like he belongs there. And that’s when I realize that I really do want him here. Maybe just tonight, maybe forever. I don’t know. I can cross that bridge when I come to it.

I’m not sure what my face is doing, but it must be something weird because his brow furrows with concern. “You okay?” he asks.

I nod, trying to tamp down the sudden swell of emotion rising in my throat. “I wanted to catch you before you left.”

He tilts his head to the side and smiles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And that’s when I sit down right there, in the middle of my floor, and burst into tears.

Chapter 16

Scarlett

Six Years Ago

“Why don’t you ever wear red?” Ryan is standing in my new bedroom, adjusting his tie in front of the full-length mirror.