Page 62 of Untying the Knot
“Do you?” I ask him with a tilt of my head. “Okay, so tell me, what classes have I been taking lately?”
His brow furrows. “Classes?” he asks. “You didn’t tell me about any classes.”
“Yes, I did,” I say. “I told you about them when you took me out to that fancy seafood restaurant in Malibu. Your response was, ‘do what makes you happy, babe,’ and then you turned back to your emails.” Hands still on his chest, I push him away and move toward my bedroom again.
“Myla, wait, I don’t . . . I don’t remember that.”
“That’s because you haven’t been present since you hung up your cleats,” I answer. My throat tightens, and before he can see me cry, I walk into my bedroom and shut the door behind me.
I have no idea where Nichole is. She probably met a guy at a coffee house, so I pull one of Ryot’s Bobbies T-shirts from the basket of clothes I folded for him, slip it over my head, and then bury myself in my pillow where I cry.
I cry in frustration.
I cry in anger.
I cry because even though Ryot is the man I’ve always dreamed of, somewhere along the way, he lost himself and became the man I’ve always dreaded.
Careless.
Absent.
Indifferent.
But the worst part is when I see small glimpses of the man I fell in love with. Little windows into the past Ryot when he calls me babe, when he’s playful with me, and when he’s vulnerable like just now.Those momentsremind me of the man who took his time to woo me into one single date.
But he’s no longer that man.
He’s crude, cunning, and power-hungry. And I don’t like it.
After what feels like an hour of crying into my pillow, I lift as my door opens, praying it’s not Ryot coming to talk. I hold my breath, but thankfully, it’s just Nichole. She’s holding a plate of éclairs with a Post-it note stuck to the top.
I wipe at my eyes. “What’s that?” I ask.
“It was by the door,” she says. “I’m assuming it’s from your roommate upstairs.”
She hands me the plate, and I pluck the Post-it note off the top. In pen, all it says is, “I’m sorry.”
Shaking my head, I toss the note to the ground, place the éclairs on the nightstand, then lie back down on my pillow.
“Care to share what that’s about?”
“Ryot realizing that maybe he’s not as perfect as he likes to think he is.”
“Something happen while I was gone?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” She pauses. “Want to go for a walk? Or a drive? We can go down to the beach for the sunset, have dinner on a blanket, real romantic shit?”
I chuckle. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. You can’t stay in this room when you’re feeling like this. Let’s get some fresh air, get you moving,andget you out of his shirt because I can’t imagine that’s helping the situation.”
Tears well up in my eyes as I say, “I miss him, Nichole. I miss the old Ryot. The one who used to wake me up in the morning by pressing light kisses all over my face until my eyes opened. I miss the guy who would come home wearing a giant smile just because he saw me. I miss the man who would control me in bed, but then treat me like the most precious thing he’d ever held in his hands afterward. He’d scoop me up, take me to the shower, and wash me himself. He was gentle, caring, and loving. He’s just . . . cold now.”
“I know, sweetie.” She lies down on the bed behind me and puts her arm around my waist. “I miss the old Ryot, too.”
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