It Ends With Us (32 page)

I nod. “I need to go in to work for a few hours tomorrow,” I tell him. “There are some things I need to take care of. But if you really don’t mind, I’d like to stay
here for a few more days.”

“I don’t mind, Lily. I’d prefer it.”

I force a smile and then head to the guest bedroom. At least he’s giving me a buffer before I’m forced to confront everything.

As much as his presence in my life confuses me right now, I’ve never been more thankful for him.

My hand is trembling when I reach for the doorknob. I’ve never once been scared to walk into my own business before, but I’ve also never been this on edge.

The building is dark when I enter it, so I flip on the lights, holding my breath. I walk slowly to my office, pushing the door open with caution.

He’s nowhere, yet he’s everywhere.

When I take a seat at my desk, I turn on my phone for the first time since I went to bed last night. I wanted a good night’s sleep without having to worry about whether or not Ryle was
trying to contact me.

When it powers on, I have twenty-nine missed texts from Ryle. It just so happens to be the same number of doors Ryle knocked on to find my apartment last year.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

I spend the rest of the day like this. Glancing over my shoulder, looking up at the door every time it opens. I wonder if he’s ruined me. If the fear of him will ever leave me.

Half a day goes by without a single phone call from him while I catch up on paperwork. Allysa calls me after lunch and I can tell by her voice that she has no idea about the fight Ryle and I
had. I let her talk about the baby for a while before I pretend I have a customer and hang up.

I plan on leaving when Lucy returns from her lunch break. She has half an hour left.

Ryle walks through the front door three minutes later.

I’m the only one here.

As soon as I see him, I turn stone cold. I’m standing behind the counter, my hand on the cash register because it’s close to the stapler. I’m sure a stapler couldn’t do
much harm against the arms of a neurosurgeon, but I’ll use what I have.

He slowly makes his way to the counter. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he was on top of me on our bed the other night. My whole body is immediately taken back to that
moment, and I’m engulfed in the same level of emotions as I was in that moment. Both fear and anger rush through me when he reaches the counter.

He lifts his hand and places a set of keys on the counter in front of me. My eyes fall to the keys.

“I’m leaving for England tonight,” he says. “I’ll be gone for three months. I paid all the bills so you won’t have to worry about it while I’m
gone.”

His voice is composed but I can see the veins in his neck as they prove his composure is taking all the effort he has. “You need time.” He swallows hard. “And I want to give
that to you.” He grimaces and pushes the keys to my apartment toward me. “Go back home, Lily. I won’t be there. I promise.”

He turns and begins walking toward the door. It occurs to me that he didn’t even try to apologize. I’m not angry about it. I understand it. He knows that an apology will never take
back what he did. He knows that the best thing for us right now is separation.

He knows what a huge mistake he made . . . yet I still feel the need to dig that knife in a little deeper.

“Ryle.”

He looks back at me and it’s as if he puts a shield up between us. He doesn’t turn all the way around and he’s stiff as he waits for whatever I’m about to say. He knows
my words are going to hurt him.

“You know what the worst part about this whole thing is?” I ask.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, waiting for my answer.

“All you had to do when you found my journal was ask me for a naked truth. I would have been honest with you. But you didn’t. You chose to not ask for my help and now we’ll
both have to suffer the consequences of your actions for the rest of our lives.”

He grimaces with every word. “Lily,” he says, turning toward me.

I hold up my hand to stop him from saying anything else. “Don’t. You can leave now. Have fun in England.”

I can see the war waging inside of him. He knows he can’t get anywhere with me in this moment, no matter how hard he wants to beg for my forgiveness. He knows the only choice he has is to
turn and walk out that door, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do.

When he finally forces himself out the door, I run and lock it. I slide down to the floor and hug my knees, burying my face against them. I’m shaking so hard, I can feel my teeth
chatter.

I can’t believe part of that man is growing inside me. And I can’t believe I’ll one day have to admit that to him.

After Ryle left me his keys this afternoon; I debated going back to our new apartment. I even had a cab pull up to the building, but I couldn’t force myself out of the
car. I knew if I went back there today, I’d probably see Allysa at some point. I’m not ready to explain the stitches on my forehead to her. I’m not ready to see the kitchen where
Ryle’s harsh words cut through me. I’m not ready to walk into the bedroom where I was completely destroyed.

So instead of returning to my own home, I took the cab back to Atlas’s house. It feels like my only safe zone right now. I don’t have to confront things when I’m hiding out
here.

Atlas has already texted me twice today checking on me, so when I get a text a few minutes before seven o’clock in the evening, I assume it’s from him. It’s not; it’s
from Allysa.

My heart sinks when I read her text. She has no idea what happened between me and Ryle. I wonder if Ryle even told her he left for England today. My thumb types and erases and types some more as
I try to come up with a good excuse as to why I’m not there.

I hate that I lied to her, but it’ll save me from having to explain the cut and also why I’m not home right now.

Okay, so she knows Ryle left for England. That’s good. And she thinks we’re fine. This is good. That means I have at least three months before I have to tell her the truth.

Look at me, sweeping shit under the rug just like my mother.

I lock the screen on my phone and set it on my bed. It’s dark outside now, so I immediately see the scroll of the headlights as someone pulls into the driveway. I instantly know that it
isn’t Atlas, because he uses the driveway to the side of the house and parks in the garage. My heart begins to race as fear rushes through me. Is it Ryle? Did he find out where Atlas
lives?

Moments later, there’s a loud knock at the front door. More like pounding. The doorbell also rings.

I tiptoe to the window and barely move the curtains over far enough to take a look outside. I can’t see who’s at the door, but there’s a truck in the driveway. It doesn’t
belong to Ryle.

Could it be Atlas’s girlfriend? Cassie?

I grab my phone and make my way down the hallway, toward the living room. The pounding on the door and the chime of the doorbell are still going off simultaneously. Whoever is at the door is
being ridiculously impatient. If it is Cassie, I already find her extremely annoying.

“Atlas!” a guy yells. “Open the damn door!”

Another voice—also male—yells, “My balls are freezing up! They’re raisins, man, open the door!”

Before I open the door and let them know Atlas isn’t home, I text him, hoping he’s about to pull in the driveway and deal with this himself.

I wait through more presses of the doorbell and more pounding, but Atlas doesn’t immediately text me back. I finally walk to the door and leave the chain bolted, but unlock the deadbolt
and open the door a few inches.

One of the guys is tall, about six feet or so. Despite the youthful look to his face, his hair is salt and pepper. Black with a little bit of gray sprinkled in. The other one is shorter by a few
inches, with sandy brown hair and a baby face. They both look to be in their late twenties, maybe early thirties. The tall one’s face twists into confusion. “Who are you?” he
asks, peeking through the door.

“Lily. Who are you?”

The shorter one pushes in front of the taller one. “Is Atlas here?”

I don’t want to tell them no, because then they’ll know I’m here alone. I don’t necessarily hold much trust in the male population this week.

The phone in my hand rings and all three of us jump from the unexpectedness of it. It’s Atlas. I swipe the answer button and bring it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s fine, Lily, they’re just friends of mine. I forgot it was Friday, we always play poker on Fridays. I’ll call them now and tell them to leave.”

I look back at the two of them and they’re just standing there, watching me. I feel bad that Atlas feels like he has to cancel his plans just because I’m crashing at his house. I
shut the door and unlock the deadbolt, then open the door again, motioning them inside.

“It’s fine, Atlas. You don’t have to cancel your plans. I was about to go to bed anyway.”

“No, I’m on my way. I’ll have them leave.”

I still have the phone pressed to my ear when the two men enter the living room.

“See you soon,” I say to Atlas and then end the call. The next few seconds are awkward as the guys assess me and I assess them.

“What are your names?”

“I’m Darin,” the tall one says.

“Brad,” the shorter one says.

“Lily,” I say to them, even though I already told them my name. “Atlas will be here soon.” I move to close the door and they seem to relax a little. Darin heads into the
kitchen and helps himself to Atlas’s refrigerator.

Brad takes off his jacket and hangs it up. “Do you know how to play poker, Lily?”

I shrug. “It’s been a few years, but I used to play with friends in college.”

Both of them walk toward the dining room table.

“What happened to your head?” Darin asks as he takes a seat. He asks it so casually, like it doesn’t even cross his mind that it might be a sensitive subject.

I don’t know why I have an urge to give him the naked truth. Maybe I just want to see how someone will react when they find out my own husband did this to me.

“My husband happened. We got into a fight two nights ago and he head-butted me. Atlas took me to the emergency room. They gave me six stitches and told me I was pregnant. Now I’m
hiding out here until I figure out what to do.”

Poor Darin is frozen, halfway between standing and sitting. He has no idea how to respond to that. Based on the look on his face, I think he’s convinced I’m crazy.

Brad pulls out his chair and takes a seat, pointing at me. “You should get some Rodan and Fields. The amp roller works wonders for scarring.”

I immediately laugh at his random response. Somehow.

“Jesus, Brad!” Darin says, finally sinking into his seat. “You’re worse than your wife with this direct sales shit. You’re like a walking infomercial.”

Brad raises his hands in defense. “What?” he says innocently. “I’m not trying to sell her anything, I’m being honest. The stuff works. You’d know that if
you’d use it on your damn acne.”

“Screw you,” Darin says.

“It’s like you’re trying to be a perpetual teenager,” Brad mutters. “Acne isn’t cool when you’re thirty.”

Brad pulls out the chair next to him while Darin begins shuffling a deck of cards. “Have a seat, Lily. One of our friends decided to be an idiot and get married last week, and now his wife
won’t let him come to poker night anymore. You can be his fill-in until he gets a divorce.”

I had every intention of hiding out in my room tonight, but these two make it hard to walk away. I take a seat next to Brad and reach across the table. “Hand me those,” I say to
Darin. He’s shuffling the cards like a one-armed infant.

He raises an eyebrow and pushes the deck of cards across the table. I don’t know much about card games, but I can shuffle cards like a pro.

I separate the cards into two piles and scoot them together, pressing my thumbs to the ends, watching as they beautifully intertwine. Darin and Brad are staring at the deck of cards, when
there’s another knock on the door. This time the door swings open without pause and a guy walks in dressed in what looks like a very expensive tweed jacket. There’s a scarf wrapped
around his neck, and he begins to unwind it as soon as he slams the door behind him. He nudges his head in my direction as he walks toward the kitchen. “Who are you?”

He’s older than the other two, probably in his mid-forties.

Atlas definitely has an interesting mix of friends.

“This is Lily,” Brad says. “She’s married to an asshole and just found out she’s pregnant with the asshole’s baby. Lily, this is Jimmy. He’s pompous and
arrogant.”

“Pompous and arrogant are the same thing, idiot,” Jimmy says. He pulls out the chair next to Darin and nudges his head at the cards in my hands. “Did Atlas plant you here to
hustle us? What kind of average person knows how to shuffle cards like that?”

I smile and begin to pass cards out to each of them. “I guess we’ll have to play a round to find out.”

• • •

We’re on our third round of bets when Atlas finally walks in. He closes the door behind him and looks around at the four of us. Brad said something funny right before
Atlas opened the door, so I’m in the middle of a fit of laughter when Atlas locks eyes with me. He nods his head toward the kitchen and begins walking in that direction.