“Oh, that’s right.” My eyes roll upward. “I’ve heard all about your savior complex.” I lean over my plate of food. “But guess what? I don’t need to be saved. What happened to the guy from yesterday who let me deal in peace?”
“I was giving you space. The space stopped when you lit a joint.”
Not wanting to argue, I stand, and Ryan does as well. “Sit and eat.” He gestures toward the food and my stomach, of course, rumbles. His one brow goes up, and I sigh, giving in.
“Fine, but no talk about how to cope or deal or whatever.” I grab my fork, pierce a chunk of melon, and point it at him, while hitting him with a hard stare.
“Fine.” He shrugs nonchalantly, not fazed in the slightest by my glare. “Since we both know you’re not doing either.” He pops a potato into his mouth and chews.
“Excuse me?” I fork a piece of omelet and push it into my mouth. It’s fluffy and flavorful. A loud moan escapes, and Ryan laughs.
“Smoking weed is avoiding, not dealing. Not coping. Avoiding.”
“I’m trying.”
“No, you’re not,” he argues. “Yesterday you did nothing all day but ate shit food and cried, now today, you’re waking up and getting high before the sun is even up.” Okay, so apparently, even though he wasn’t talking, he was paying attention.
“Whatever.” I take another bite of my food, and he chuckles.
“What?” I huff.
“Nothing.” He laughs, shaking his head and taking another bite of his food. I try and fail to ignore how strong his jaw is. Like, how can a jaw be strong? But somehow his is… “You’re acting your age,” he adds, snapping me out of my ogling. “I haven’t been around someone your age in a long time, and I’m the youngest in my family.”
Really? He’s like eight years older than me and he’s acting like he’s my dad’s age. I don’t bother responding to his dig, though, not wanting to bury myself deeper.
We eat the rest of our meal in silence. When our plates are empty, he stands and goes to take my dish, but I grab his from his hand instead. “You cooked, I can clean.”
He follows me inside. The kitchen is spotless, so he must’ve cleaned up as he went. I set the dishes next to the sink and pour some soap over them, then grab a sponge and begin washing them. Ryan joins me, leaning against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest.
“How long were you planning to stay here for?”
“I don’t know,” I say, placing the clean dishes into the strainer. “My mom mentioned it might do me some good to get away, and the next thing I knew I was packing a bag and heading here.”
“And they don’t know you’re here?”
“They know I’m safe. I didn’t tell them where I am, but I told them I’m okay and I’ll check in so they don’t worry. I didn’t want them sending anyone over to check on me.”
“I have to report to the base for my tour in a couple weeks.”
“Tour?”
“Afghanistan.”
Oh, yeah. He’s in the military. I knew that. I nod, a lump the size of a golf ball blocking my throat. He’s going overseas to Afghanistan. Putting his life at risk. The same way Ian would’ve been, had he not—I shake my head, trying to block out any thoughts of Ian.
“Hey, I got you.” Ryan pulls me into his arms, and it’s then I realize my cheeks are wet with tears. He picks me up and carries me over to the couch, setting me next to him.
“I’m sorry. You mentioned Afghanistan, and it…”
“Your husband died in training, right?”
I nod. “Fifteen months ago.” I swat at my stupid tears and close my eyes, willing them to stop. “I should be over it… moved on by now. That’s why I’m here.”
“I’ve never lost anyone close to me the way you have,” Ryan says. “But I have lost a few men during deployments, and I considered them family. I’m not sure you ever fully get over it, and there’s no set timetable for when you have to move on.”
I open my eyes and for the first time in a while, I find myself smiling. “Thank you.” When he gives me a confused look, I clarify. “You’re the first person not to tell me it’s time.”
Ryan nods. “You’ll move forward when you’re ready. You’ll never forget, but one day, when you’re ready, you’ll take a step forward and then another one.”
“I want to,” I admit, finding it easy to talk to him for some reason. “It’s just…” I take a deep breath, trying so hard to block the tears. I’m such an emotional wreck. “We had these plans, and now, every time I think about them…” I take another deep breath in and then slowly release it, trying to fight the anxiety attack I feel coming on. It happens every time I think about Ian’s and my future.
Ryan extends his hand and pulls me close to him. His hand rubs up and down my arm, calming me. “Breathe,” he murmurs into my ear. “Just breathe.”
His voice is commanding yet soothing, and I find myself doing what he’s telling me to do. A few minutes later, I glance around and realize, between his touch and his words, I made it through my attack.
“I’m going to take a walk over to the pier. I saw your dad has some poles and chairs in the garage. We could pack a lunch and go fishing. What do you say?”
Without giving it thought, I nod. One step forward. “Yeah, sure. That sounds good.”
While I get dressed in a pair of leggings, a racerback tank top with a sports bra underneath, and a pair of tennis shoes, Ryan packs a cooler lunch and grabs a couple poles and chairs. He’s dressed in a pair of loose khaki cargo shorts and a black T-shirt that stretches across his chest. I take the cooler from him, so he can carry the poles and chairs, and then we set off down the beach. The water is choppy today and I get lost in my thoughts and the sound of the waves crashing. Walking with Ryan is nice. He doesn’t try to make forced conversation. He’s simply content walking together in silence. And it’s not awkward silence either. It’s comfortable, and it makes me feel relaxed.
Once we get to the pier, Ryan buys some bait and then we find a spot that isn’t too busy to set up our chairs. He puts the bait on both our lines and then casts them into the water, making it all look so effortless, while I sit in my chair and watch. He sticks the poles into the holes and has a seat next to me.
“Do you go fishing often?”
“First time,” he says with a laugh. “I looked up how to do all that online.” He shoots me a sexy wink and my insides tighten, the air knocking out of me.
“I’m not usually one to sit around,” he adds. “But your dad told me I should spend some time doing nothing.”
“Wow, my parents are just full of advice.” I laugh humorlessly.
“They mean well.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “So, what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then, all of a sudden, the pole he placed in front of me starts to bow. “Oh! I think something is happening!”
We both hop up from our chairs. Ryan grabs my pole and reels in whatever it is that’s been hooked. When he brings it over the railing, I spot the fish. A real fish. A cute, innocent, silver fish. And it hits me… We’re fishing… for fish! It’s wiggling in fear—its tiny mouth open, practically begging to be saved.