It Ends With Us (8 page)

I ran back down the hallway, but I didn’t go back to my room. I ran straight out the back door and across the backyard. I was so mad at her for being short with me. I
didn’t even want to be in the same house as either of them, and even thought it was dark already, I went over to the house Atlas was staying in and I knocked on the door.

I could hear him moving inside, like he accidentally knocked something over. “It’s me. Lily,” I whispered. A few seconds later the back door opened and he
looked behind me, then to the left and right of me. It wasn’t until he looked at my face that he saw I was crying.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping outside. I used my shirt to wipe away my tears, and noticed he came outside instead of inviting me in. I sat down on the porch step
and he sat down next to me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just mad. Sometimes I cry when I get mad.”

He reached over and tucked my hair behind my ear. I liked it when he did that and I suddenly wasn’t nearly as mad anymore. Then he put his arm around me and pulled me to
him so that my head was resting on his shoulder. I don’t know how he calmed me down without even talking, but he did. Some people just have a calming presence about them and he’s one of
those people. Completely opposite of my father.

We sat like that for a while, until I saw my bedroom light turn on.

“You should go,” he whispered. We could both see my mom standing in my bedroom looking for me. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized what a perfect
view he has of my bedroom.

As I walked back home, I tried to think about the entire time Atlas has been in that house. I tried to recall if I’d walked around after dark with the light on at night,
because all I normally wear in my room at night is a T-shirt.

Here’s what’s crazy about that, Ellen: I was kind of hoping I had.

—Lily

I close the journal when the pain pills start to kick in. I’ll read more tomorrow.
Maybe.
Reading about the things my dad used to do to my mom
kind of puts me in a bad mood.

Reading about Atlas kind of puts me in a
sad
mood.

I try to fall asleep and think about Ryle, but the whole situation with him kind of makes me mad
and
sad.

Maybe I’ll just think about Allysa, and how happy I am that she showed up today. I could use a friend—not to mention help—during these next few months. I have a feeling
it’s going to be more stressful than I bargained for.

Ryle was correct. It only took a few days for my ankle to feel good enough that I could walk on it again. I waited a full week before attempting to leave my apartment, though.
The last thing I need is to reinjure it.

Of course the first place I went was to my floral shop. Allysa was there when I arrived today, and to say I was shocked when I walked through the front doors is an understatement. It looked like
a totally different building than the one I bought. There’s still a ton of work that needs to be done, but she and Marshall had gotten rid of all the stuff we marked as trash. Everything else
had been organized into piles. The windows had been washed, the floors had been mopped. She even had the area where I plan to put an office cleaned out.

I helped her for a few hours today, but she wouldn’t let me do much that required walking at first, so I mostly drew out plans for the store. We picked out paint colors and set a goal date
to open the store that’s approximately fifty-four days from now. After she left, I spent the next few hours doing all the stuff she wouldn’t let me do while she was there. It felt good
to be back. But
Jesus Christ
, I’m tired.

Which is why I’m debating on whether or not to get up from the couch and answer the knock at my front door. Lucy is at Alex’s again tonight and I just spoke to my mother five minutes
ago on the phone, so I know it isn’t either of them.

I walk to the door and check the peephole before opening it. I don’t recognize him at first, because his head is down, but then he looks up and to the right and my heart freaks the hell
out!

What is he doing here?

Ryle knocks again, and I try to brush my hair out of my face and smooth it down with my hands, but it’s a lost cause. I worked my ass off today and I look like shit, so unless I have half
an hour to take a shower, put on makeup, and throw on clothes before I open the door, he’ll pretty much have to deal with me as is.

I open the door and his immediate reaction confuses me.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, dropping his head against my door frame. He’s panting like he’s been working out, and that’s when I notice that he doesn’t look to be
any more rested or clean than I am. He’s got a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face—something I’ve never seen on him before—and his hair isn’t styled
like it usually is. It’s a little erratic, like the look in his eye. “Do you have any idea how many doors I’ve knocked on to find you?”

I shake my head, because I don’t. But now that he mentions it—
how in the hell does he know where I live?

“Twenty-nine,” he says. Then he holds up his hands and repeats the numbers with his fingers while he whispers,
“Two . . . nine.”

I let my gaze drop down to his clothes. He’s in scrubs, and I absolutely
hate
that he’s in scrubs right now.
Holy hell
.
So
much better than the onesie and
way
better than the Burberry.

“Why did you knock on twenty-nine doors?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“You never told me which apartment was yours,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You said you lived in this building, but I couldn’t remember if you even said which floor. And
for the record, I almost started with the third floor. I would have been here an hour ago if I went with my gut instinct.”

“Why
are
you here?”

He runs his hands down his face and then points over my shoulder. “Can I come in?”

I glance over my shoulder and then open the door farther. “I guess. If you tell me what you want.”

He walks inside and I close the door behind us. He glances around, wearing his stupid hot scrubs, and puts his hands on his hips as he faces me. He looks a little disappointed, but I’m not
sure if it’s in me or himself.

“There’s a really big naked truth coming, okay?” he says. “Brace yourself.”

I fold my arms over my chest and watch as he inhales a breath, preparing to speak.

“These next couple of months are the most important months in my entire career. I have to be focused. I’m closing in on the end of my residency, and then I’ll have to sit for
my exams.” He’s pacing my living room, talking frantically with his hands. “But for the past week, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I don’t know why. At
work, at home. All I can think about is how crazy it feels when I’m near you, and I need you to make it stop, Lily.” He stops pacing and faces me. “
Please
make it stop. Just once—that’s all it’ll take. I swear.”

My fingers are digging into the skin of my arms as I watch him. He’s still panting a little, and his eyes are still frantic, but he’s looking at me pleadingly.

“When is the last time you’ve had sleep?” I ask him.

He rolls his eyes like he’s frustrated that I’m not getting it. “I just got off a forty-eight-hour shift,” he says dismissively. “
Focus
,
Lily.”

I nod and replay his words in my head. If I didn’t know better . . . I’d almost think he was . . .

I inhale a calming breath. “Ryle,” I say carefully. “Did you seriously just knock on twenty-nine doors so you could tell me that the thought of me is making your life hell and
I should have sex with you so that you’ll never have to think of me again? Are you
kidding
me right now?”

He folds his lips together and, after about five seconds of thought, he slowly nods his head. “Well . . . yeah, but . . . it sounds way worse when you say it.”

I release an exasperated laugh. “That’s because it’s ridiculous, Ryle.”

He bites his bottom lip and looks around the room, like he suddenly wants to escape. I open the door and motion for him to walk out. He doesn’t. His eyes fall to my foot. “Your ankle
looks good,” he says. “How does it feel?”

I roll my eyes. “Better. I was able to help Allysa at the store for the first time today.”

He nods and then makes like he’s walking toward the door to leave. But as soon as he reaches me, he spins toward me and slaps his palms against the door on either side of my head. I gasp
at both his proximity and his persistence. “Please?” he says.

I shake my head, even though my body is starting to trade sides and beg my mind to cave to him.

“I’m really good at it, Lily,” he says with a grin. “You’ll barely even have to do any work.”

I try not to laugh, but his determination is as endearing as it is annoying. “Goodnight, Ryle.”

His head drops between his shoulders and he shakes it back and forth. He pushes off the door and stands up straight. He half-turns, heading for the hallway, but then suddenly drops to his knees
in front of me. He wraps his arms around my waist. “Please, Lily,” he says through self-deprecating laughter. “
Please
have sex with me.” He’s
looking up at me with puppy dog eyes and a pathetic, hopeful grin. “I want you so, so bad and I swear, once you have sex with me you’ll never hear from me again. I promise.”

There’s something about a neurosurgeon
literally
on his knees begging for sex that does me in.
That’s pretty pathetic.

“Get
up
,” I say, pushing his arms away from me. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

He slowly stands up, dragging his hands up the door on either side of me until he has me caged in between his arms. “Is that a yes?” His chest is barely touching mine and I hate how
good it feels to be wanted this much. I should be turned off by it, but I can hardly breathe when I look at him. Especially when he has this suggestive smile on his face.

“I don’t feel sexy right now, Ryle. I worked all day, I’m exhausted, I smell like sweat and probably taste like dust. If you give me a little while to shower first, I might
feel sexy enough to have sex with you.”

He’s nodding feverishly before I’m even finished speaking. “Shower. Take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”

I push him away from me and close the front door. He follows me to the bedroom and I tell him to wait on the bed for me.

Luckily, I cleaned my bedroom last night. Normally I have clothes lying around everywhere, books piled up on my nightstand, shoes and bras that don’t quite make it to my closet. But
tonight it’s clean. My bed is even made up, complete with the ugly, quilted throw pillows my grandmother passed down to every person in our family.

I make a quick glance around the room, just to make sure nothing embarrassing will catch his eye. He takes a seat on my bed and I watch as he scans the room. I stand in the doorway to my
bathroom and try to give him one last out.

“You say this will make it stop, but I’m warning you right now, Ryle. I’m like a drug. If you have sex with me tonight, it’s only going to make things worse for you. But
once is all you’re getting. I refuse to become one of the many girls you use to—how did you word it that night?
Satisfy
your
needs
?”

He leans back on his elbows. “You aren’t that kind of girl, Lily. And I’m not the kind of guy who needs someone more than once. We have nothing to worry about.”

I close the door behind me, wondering how in the hell this guy talked me into this.

It’s the scrubs. The scrubs are my weakness. It has nothing to do with him.

I wonder if there’s a way he could leave them on during the sex?

• • •

I’ve never taken more than half an hour to get ready, but it’s almost an hour before I’m finished in the bathroom. I shaved more parts of me than was probably
necessary, and then spent a good twenty minutes having a freak-out, and had to talk myself out of opening the door and telling him to leave. But now that my hair is dry and I’m cleaner than
I’ve ever been, I think I might be able to do this. I can totally have a one-night stand. I’m twenty-three years old.

I open the door and he’s still there on my bed. I’m a little disappointed to see that his scrub top is on the floor, but I don’t see his pants, so he must still be wearing
them. He’s under the covers, though, so I can’t tell.

I close the door behind me and wait for him to roll over and look at me, but he doesn’t. I take a few steps closer, and that’s when I notice he’s snoring.

Not just a light—
oh I just fell asleep
—snore. It’s a middle of REM sleep kind of snore.

“Ryle?” I whisper. He doesn’t even budge when I shake him.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I drop down onto the bed, not even caring if I wake him. I just spent an entire hour getting ready for him after busting my ass today, and this is how he treats this night?

I can’t be mad at him, though, especially seeing how peaceful he looks. I can’t imagine working a forty-eight-hour shift. Plus, my bed is really comfortable. It’s so
comfortable, it could make a person fall right back to sleep after a full night of rest.
I should have warned him about that.

I check the time on my phone and it’s almost 10:30 p.m. I put the phone on silent and then lie down next to him. His phone is on the pillow next to his head, so I grab it and swipe up the
camera option. I hold his phone above us and make sure my cleavage looks good and pushed together. I snap a picture so he’ll at least see what he missed out on.

I turn off the light and laugh to myself, because I’m falling asleep next to a half-naked man that I’ve never even kissed.

• • •

I can feel his fingers trailing up my arm before I even open my eyes. I force back a tired smile and pretend I’m still sleeping. His fingers trail over my shoulder and
stop at my collarbone, just before they reach my neck. I have a small tattoo there that I got in college. It’s a simple outline of a heart that’s slightly open at the top. I can feel
his fingers circle around the tattoo, and then he leans forward and presses his lips against it. I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter.