Hard As Rock (34 page)

– and saw Ryan.

Physically saw him, standing about twenty feet away, at the corner of the building.

He was staring into my eyes, and the pain on his face was like somebody had stabbed him.

I immediately felt horrible. I wanted to vomit; I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Derek saw my reaction and looked over. He straightened up, though he was cool and collected about it.

“Hey,” he called out to Ryan, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Ryan looked over at him, and the hurt on his face hardened into coldness. Not hatred, not contempt – just cold and frozen, like a statue. He walked up slowly, his shoes gritting on the pavement.

“They need you inside to lay down the vocals,” Ryan said, his voice toneless and unemotional.

“Okay, cool,” Derek said, and reached out for the door. “See you later, Kaitlyn.”

I didn’t look at him. I could only look at Ryan.

I heard the door open and then close.

“That wasn’t what you think it was,” I said quietly, my stomach still roiling inside me.

The pain didn’t return to his face; it just stayed frozen.

“I need to go inside,” he said, in the same robotic voice he’d used on Derek.

I caught his arm as he turned to go. “Ryan – he was hitting on me, but I wasn’t – I’m with
you
, Ryan.”

“I need to go inside,” he said, his voice still a flat monotone.

“Ryan – please – talk to me.”

He dug in his pocket and held out the keys. “I think you should go home. Take the car; I’ll get a ride from somebody.”

“Ryan – ”

“Later,” he interrupted me, forcing the keys into my hand. “Later. Right now, I need to go inside.”

“Ryan, I need to talk to you now.”

For the first time I saw emotion break through: anger. His eyes blazed – and then he reverted to neutral.

“I think you have some things you need to figure out. Go figure them out, and we’ll talk later.”

He turned his back on me and walked away, letting the door slowly close behind him.

I went home and waited, my stomach in knots.

I think you have some things you need to figure out.

Did I?

I guess I did. So I began to take a long look at myself and the two men in my life.

It was undeniable, Derek still had an effect on me. A powerful one.

But was that wrong? Was it my fault?

I thought about it for a long time, and decided that no, it wasn’t.

I would never have admitted it out loud – not to Ryan, and especially not to a certain cheating asshole – but I had loved Derek more than I had thought I could possibly love anyone.

And he had hurt me more than I had ever thought possible.

All of that was only two months in the past.

Right now, in the quiet of Ryan’s home, it seemed like forever ago… but when I was around Derek, it felt like it had all happened yesterday.

I couldn’t change my feelings. But I didn’t have to
act
on them. And I wouldn’t.

Because I couldn’t trust him.

I had known what he was four years ago. I had known when I slept with him the first time. I had hoped – no, let’s be honest, I had
chosen
to believe that he was a different person, that he’d given up the womanizing, that I was enough, that he’d changed.

But he hadn’t. And he’d stabbed me through the heart.

And here he was again, claiming he had changed
once again,
that everything was different, that
he
was different.

Riiiight.

The frog had been stung once by the scorpion. No reason to give him a second opportunity to do it all over again.

I hadn’t kissed him back at the studio. I hadn’t made a pass at him. I hadn’t asked for any of that.

Then why did I feel so awful, so guilty?

Maybe because I knew that I was more physically attracted to Derek than anyone else I had ever been with, and it felt like a betrayal of Ryan.

I cringed to think it. I did. I felt like an awful person.

But it was true. And if I couldn’t bear to face the truth in the quiet of my own mind, there was no way I could even hope to be honest with anyone else.

But Derek was toxic. He was bad for me. He’d hurt me once, and he would do it again.

I loved Ryan – I did.

Did I love him more than I had loved Derek? Before he hurt me, before he cheated on me?

…no.

No, I didn’t.

But I still loved him deeply.

They were both amazing men. Ryan was a brilliant musician who had written every melody the band had ever recorded; Derek was a brilliant showman who had made those melodies come alive.

Ryan was the better man, of that I had no doubt. He was kind, and considerate, and loving, and affectionate. He had character. He had morals. Not old-fashioned ‘no sex before marriage’ morals, but the kind where I could count on any promise he made me. It was utterly, completely inconceivable that he would ever cheat on me.

Derek was a supernova. A burning star, blazing hotter and brighter than all the rest. He was charismatic, and unpredictable, and impetuous, and exciting.

He was also self-involved, and selfish, and self-absorbed.

Notice all the repetitions of ‘self’ there.

Or, at least, he
had
been. He claimed he had changed, though I hadn’t seen much to support that, other than his Zen centeredness the first night I saw him. That was probably premeditated and contrived, too, just like when he said he only wanted to ‘sort through stuff and say goodbye to the past.’

Riiiiiight.

Ryan was the better man, by far – so what was wrong with me that I wasn’t drawn to him as powerfully as I was to Derek’s shooting star?

That was what made me miserable. I had always seen myself as a good person, who would recognize that in others and respond to it. Now I had the perfect man… and yet I was still looking over my shoulder at the one who had stabbed me in the back.

Maybe I wasn’t a good person at all, but someone who
deserved
to be stabbed in the back.

My greatest fear of all: maybe this time around Ryan was the frog… and I was the scorpion.

As I made my mental lists, I drank half a bottle of wine, then made myself stop. I didn’t want to be a sodden mess when Ryan got back.

But he didn’t come back.

9, 10, 11PM… no sign of him.

I tried calling and texting him, but there was no answer. Which I sort of expected.

I thought about phoning somebody else to check up on him, then nixed
that
idea. Who was I going to call?

I didn’t know Killian’s number, so… Riley?

Ha.

Miles?

Noooo.

Derek?

Don’t make me laugh.

I ate some leftovers from the fridge and drank the rest of the bottle of wine.

Tired, emotionally weary, and drunk, I stumbled off to bed… just to lie down and rest, fully clothed. Just until Ryan got home.

Within minutes I was out like a light.

I awoke to the sound of slow, sad music… the tinkling of piano keys. A beautiful, haunting melody. Like
Für Elise
or the Moonlight Sonata, but more halting, as though the player couldn’t remember the notes.

I lifted my head. I was still tipsy, but no hangover, so it couldn’t have been morning.

I squinted at the clock.

2:40 AM.

I stumbled out of bed and walked down the hall to the main room of the house.

Ryan sat at the piano, slowly picking out a melody, as though he wasn’t sure what note would come next. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the piano lid.

I stood there behind him, half-entranced by the music… half-afraid to begin the conversation.

During a lull in the notes, I decided someone had to be the adult.

“That’s beautiful… did you write that?”

He glanced backwards slightly, more at the sound of my voice than trying to see me. Then he turned back to the keys. “Writing it now,” he said, a slight slur to his words.

I walked around to the side of the piano so that he had to face me, even if he didn’t look at me. Which he didn’t.

“You ought to record it,” I said. “You might not remember it in the morning.”

“I’m not sure I want to. Remember it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not sure I want to remember anything about today.”

My heart hurt when he said that.

“Ryan,” I whispered.

He looked up at me, and I saw a flash of pain in his eyes. Then they hardened.

“What happened last night?” he asked. “The truth.”

I breathed deeply and took the plunge.

“Derek took me around to all the places we’d been to four years ago. He talked a bunch about how he was trying to let go of the past. But it was all just a plan to soften me up. At the last place, he hit on me.”

Anger blazed in his eyes… and then the pain returned. “Did you…”

“No.”

A tiny bit of relief in his eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him?”

“GOD no.”

“You didn’t… kiss him?”

“No.”

“What about this afternoon?”

“He was trying for part two of last night.”

“He tried to kiss you.”

“And I turned my head.”

But you didn’t slap him, Kaitlyn. You didn’t run. You didn’t shove him away.

Even though it wasn’t enough for the guilty little voices in my head, I hoped that turning my head away would be enough for Ryan.

Apparently it was, because his face washed over with complete relief.

But then suspicion returned. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“It was wrong. I should have. But…”

I’m still attracted to him, and I don’t want you to know. I don’t want to hurt you.

“…I didn’t want to break up the band, and if you knew, I thought you would walk.”

But I had forgotten that Ryan had me pegged better than any person I had ever met. Like he could read my mind.

He grew somber and looked me directly in the eyes. “Do you still love him?”

“No.” I paused, because the answer was incomplete, and he knew it. “But I… I still have feelings for him. It’s only been a few months.”

He nodded somberly, like he had to concede the point. “It’s only been a few months.”

“But I love
you.
He’s done nothing but hurt me, and… I can never, ever trust him again.”

His eyes flared up, fiery and dark. “I’m not a consolation prize, Kaitlyn.”

“I know that,” I said, offended.

“And I’m not an insurance policy. I’m not something to make you feel nice and safe and that’s the only reason you’re here.”

Now I really
was
angry. “You don’t think it’s possible I could love you because you’re a wonderful person? You think I’m that shallow?”

He suddenly looked tired, and hurt, and heartbroken. “If you love him, then you need to leave me. Pure and simple.”

I started to cry. “I don’t love him – I love
you.
”

He reached out and took my hand. “If you’re afraid of hurting me… don’t be. I want you to be happy. More than I want
me
to be happy. I’ll be alright… eventually. But you should be with him if you really love him.”

My heart broke.

Derek was never this selfless. Derek didn’t care if I was happy. He was going to bulldoze back in and take what he thought was his, to hell with whether it fucked up my life – after he’d
already
fucked it up.

“I love you,” I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks – and it was true. I
did
love him.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me down to him.

I straddled him on the piano bench and we began to kiss. The salt of my tears burned our lips as he slowly moved his mouth over mine. Whiskey and wine both mingled as our tongues caressed, and we went from slow and sensual to feverish and frantic in the space of a few minutes.

I rubbed his cock through his pants, making it go from simply erect to totally rock-hard. He clutched my ass beneath my skirt, and I felt the tips of his fingers ease their way under my panties. I began to get wet, and he took advantage of that by stroking my pussy from ass to clit, slicking me down, teasing my lips, getting me even more turned on.

I fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper and unwrapped his cock as fast as I could. It strained out through the slit in his boxers, upright and swollen in my grasp.

“Let me…” he mumbled into my mouth, but I stopped him from trying to remove his clothes.

“No,” I whispered. “I want it
now.
”

I slipped my underwear to the side, exposing my pussy to his hot, velvety shaft. Then I wrapped my legs around his middle, adjusted his cock at an angle, and slowly sank down on the head. He gasped as he entered me, hot and wet and willing.

I let gravity ease me down his shaft, and moaned as his thickness filled me completely. I began half-bobbing, half-hopping on his lap, trying to get some leverage. Seeing what I was trying to accomplish, he grabbed my ass and supported my weight with his massive, strong hands. I began going up a lot further, and plunging down a lot harder.

“Jesus,” he whispered as I writhed on his lap, grinding my pussy against him, massaging myself deep inside with the swollen head of his cock.

One of his large hands still supported me, but the other fumbled inside my blouse, clutching drunkenly at my boobs. I liked it. I
liked
fucking him drunk. I liked this intense feeling of
Must fuck NOW, can’t wait one SECOND
. I liked his lustful fumbling, his need, his urgency to touch me.

Then his hand left my chest. He licked his thumb and forefinger and placed his fingers beneath the front of my skirt.

And as his cock filled me up, his thumb pulled back my hood, and his finger gently rubbed my clit – that spot where he touched me when we OM’d.

“Oh God,” I cried out as my pussy rammed down on his cock, and his fingers sent me into the stratosphere.

The first contractions were gentle, but they ramped up fast. I could feel my muscles squeezing his girth involuntarily, could feel my thighs fluttering. His finger wasn’t letting up, though, and I barreled through the first orgasm straight into another – deeper, fuller, meatier this time, as the muscles in my belly began to contract.