Maybe Someday (37 page)

I bring both hands to my face, completely perplexed by my heart now. Just seconds ago, I was grieving because she forgave him, and now I’m grieving because she
didn’t.

Just three months ago, I was sitting outside on my suitcases in the rain, believing I was experiencing what it felt like to be heartbroken.

God, I was wrong. So
damn wrong.

This is heartbroken.

This.

Right now.

Warren’s arms wrap around me, and he pulls me to him. I know he doesn’t want to see me upset, and I’m really trying my best not to appear that way. Crying about it won’t help, anyway. It hasn’t helped for the past six days I’ve been doing it.

I pull away from Warren and walk to the counter, where I tear off a paper towel. I wad it up and wipe my eyes with it. “I hate feelings,” I say as I sniffle back more tears.

Warren laughs and nods in agreement. “Why do you think I chose to be with a girl who has none?”

The Bridgette diss makes me laugh. I do my best to suck it up and wipe away the rest of my tears, because, as I told myself before, the outcome of Ridge and Maggie doesn’t matter to my situation. No matter how things turn out between them, it still doesn’t mean anything for Ridge and me. Things are entirely too complicated between us, and nothing but space and time can change that.

“I’ll go watch a movie with you,” I say to Warren. “But it better not be a porn.”

Ridge

“Give me my damn keys, Ridge,” Warren signs.

I calmly shake my head for the third time in five minutes. “I’ll give you the keys when you tell me where she lives.”

He glares at me hard, still refusing to budge. I’ve had his keys for most of the day now, and I’ll be damned if I’ll give them back before he gives me the information I need. I know it’s only been three weeks since Maggie broke up with me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how everything I’ve done to Sydney has affected her. I need to know if she’s okay. I’ve gone this long without contacting her simply because I’m not sure what I’ll say when I eventually do
see her. All I know is that I need to see her, or I’ll more than likely never sleep again. It’s been more than three weeks since the last time I had a full night’s sleep, and my mind just needs reassurance.

Warren sits across from me at the table, and I return my attention to the computer in front of me. Despite the fact that I want to blame my entire past few weeks on computers, I know it was all my fault, so I sucked it up and bought a new one. I still have to rely on a computer for income, unfortunately.

Warren reaches across the table and slams my laptop shut, forcing me to look up at him.

“Nothing good will come of it,” he signs. “It’s only been three weeks since you and Maggie ended things. I’m not giving you Sydney’s address, because you don’t need to see her. Now, give me my keys, or I’m taking your car.”

I grin smugly. “Good luck finding my keys. They’re in the same spot I hid yours.”

He shakes his head in frustration. “Why are you being such a dick, Ridge? She’s finally on her own and making a life for herself and doing well, and you want to barge in and confuse her all over again?”

“How do you know she’s doing well? Do you talk to her?” The desperation in my question surprises me, because I didn’t know until this second just how much I need her to be okay.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her a few times. Bridgette and I had lunch with her yesterday.”

I fall back against my chair, slightly annoyed that he didn’t tell me this but relieved to know she’s not holed up in her apartment, devastated.

“Has she asked about me? Does she know about Maggie and me?”

He nods. “She knows. She asked how things went with the two of you, so I told her the truth. She hasn’t brought it up since then.”

Jesus Christ. Knowing that she knows the truth should relieve my worry, but it only intensifies it. I can’t imagine what she must think about my lack of communication with her now that she knows about Maggie. The fact that I haven’t contacted her at all probably has her believing I blame her. I lean forward and look pleadingly to Warren.

“Please, Warren. Tell me where she lives.”

He shakes his head. “Give me my keys.”

I shake my head.

He rolls his eyes at our matched stubbornness and pushes himself away from the table, then storms off to his room.

I open my texts to Sydney, and begin scrolling through them as I do every single day, wishing I had the courage to text her. I’m afraid it will be easier for her to shut me out through a text than it would be if I were to show up at her front door, which is why I haven’t texted her. Despite the fact that I don’t want to agree with Warren, I know that nothing good will come from me contacting her. I know we’re not in a place to start a relationship, and seeing her in person would only exacerbate how much I miss her. However, knowing what I should do and abiding by what I should do are two completely different things.

• • •

My light flicks on. Seconds later, my shoulders are being violently shaken. I smile through the grogginess, knowing by Warren’s presence alone that I’ve got him right where I want him. I turn over and look up at him.

“Something wrong?” I sign.

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“My condoms, Ridge. Where the hell did you hide my condoms?”

I knew that if stealing his keys didn’t work, then stealing his condoms would. I’m just glad he thought to put on shorts before leaving Bridgette in his bed and storming into my room.

“You want your condoms?” I sign. “Tell me where she lives.”

Warren runs his palms over his face, and from the looks of it, I think he’s groaning. “Forget it. I’ll go to the store and buy new ones.”

Before he turns to walk out of my room, I sit up on the bed. “How do you plan on driving to the store? I have your keys, remember?”

He pauses for a second, and then his face relaxes when he’s hit with a new epiphany. “I’ll take Bridgette’s car.”

“Good luck finding
her
keys.”

Warren stares at me hard for several seconds, then finally slumps his shoulders and turns toward my dresser. He grabs a pen and paper and writes something down, wads it up, and throws it at me. “Here’s her address, asshole. Now, give me my keys.”

I unfold the paper and double-check to make sure he actually wrote an address down. I reach behind my nightstand, and grab his box of condoms, and toss it to him.

“That should do you for now. I’ll tell you where your keys are after I confirm that this is really her address.”

Warren pulls one of the condoms out of the box and tosses it at me.

“Take this with you when you go, because that’s definitely her address.” He turns and leaves the room, and no sooner is he gone than I’m up and dressed and heading out the front door.

I don’t even know what time it is.

I don’t even care.

23.

Sydney

Sound triggers.

They happen a lot, but mostly when I hear certain songs. Especially songs Hunter and I both loved. If I listen to a song during a particularly depressing period, then hear it later on down the road, it brings back all the old feelings associated with that song. There are songs I used to love that now I absolutely refuse to listen to. They trigger memories and feelings I don’t want to experience again.

My text tone has become one of those sound triggers.

Namely, Ridge’s text tone. It’s very distinct, a snippet from the demo of our song “Maybe Someday.” I assigned it to him after I heard the song for the first time. I’d like to say that sound trigger is a negative one, but I’m not so sure it is. The kiss I experienced with him during the song certainly led to negative feelings of guilt, but the kiss itself still turns my heart into a hot mess just thinking about it. And I think about it a lot. Way more than I should.

In fact, I’m thinking about it right now as the snippet of our song pours from the speakers of my cell phone, indicating that I’m receiving a text.

From Ridge.

I honestly never expected to hear this sound again.

I roll over on my bed and stretch my arm to the nightstand, my now-trembling fingers grasping at my phone. Knowing that I’ve received a text from him has once again wreaked havoc with my organs, and they’ve forgotten how to function properly. I pull the phone to my chest and close my eyes, too nervous to read his words.

Beat, beat, pause.

Contract, expand.

Inhale, exhale.

I slowly open my eyes and hold up the phone, then unlock the screen.

Ridge: Are you home?

Am I home?

Why would he care if I were home? He doesn’t even know where I live. Besides, he made it pretty clear where his heart’s loyalty resided when he told me to move out three weeks ago.

But I
am
home, and despite my better judgment, I want him to know I’m home. I’m tempted to respond with my address and tell him to come find out for himself whether or not I’m home.

Instead, I go with something safer. Something less telling.

Me: Yes.

I pull the covers off and sit up on the edge of the bed, watching my phone, too afraid even to blink.

Ridge: You’re not answering the door. Am I at the wrong apartment?

Oh, God.

I
hope
he’s at the wrong apartment. Or maybe I hope he’s at the
right
apartment. I can’t really tell, because I’m happy he’s here, but I’m pissed off that he’s here.

These conflicting feelings are exhausting.

I stand and run out of my bedroom, straight to my front door. I peer through the peephole, and sure enough, he’s at my front door.

Me: You’re outside my door, so yeah. Right apartment.

I look out the peephole again after hitting send, and he’s standing with his palm flat against the door, staring at his phone. Seeing the pained expression on his face and knowing it derives from the battle his heart is going through makes me want to swing open the door and throw my arms around him. I close my eyes and press my forehead to the door in order to give myself time to think before making any rash decisions. My heart is being pulled toward him, and I can’t think of anything I want more right now than to open this door.

However, I also know that opening the door won’t do either of us any good. He just broke up with Maggie a matter of weeks ago, so if he’s here for me, he can turn right around and leave. There’s no way anything could work between us when I know he’s still heartbroken over someone else. I deserve more than what he can give me right now. I’ve been through too much this year to let someone screw with my heart like this.

He shouldn’t be here.

Ridge: Can I come in?

I turn until my back is pressed against the door. I clutch the phone to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to read his words. I don’t want to see his face. Everything about him makes me lose sight of what’s important, what’s best for me. He isn’t what’s best for my life right now, especially considering what he’s gone through in his own life, and I should walk away from this door and not let him in.

But everything in me wants to let him in.

“Please, Sydney.”

The words are almost an inaudible whisper through the other side of the door, but I definitely heard them. Every single part of me heard them. The desperation in his voice, combined with the simple fact that he spoke, completely slays me. I allow my heart to make my decision for me this time as I slowly face the door. I turn the lock and slide the latch loose, then open the door.

I can’t describe what it feels like to see him standing in front of me again without using the term
terrifying
.

Everything about the way he makes me feel is absolutely terrifying. The way my heart wants to be held by him is terrifying. The way my knees seem to forget how to hold me up is terrifying. The way my mouth wants to be claimed by his is terrifying.

I do my best to hide what his presence does to me by turning away from him and walking toward the living room.

I don’t know why I’m trying to hide my reaction from him, but isn’t that what people do? We try so hard to hide everything we’re really feeling from those who probably need to know our true feelings the most. People try to bottle up their emotions, as if it’s somehow wrong to have natural reactions to life.

My natural reaction in this moment is to turn and hug him, regardless of the reason he’s here. My arms want to be around him, my face wants to be pressed against his chest, my back wants to be cradled by him—yet I’m standing here trying to pretend that’s the last thing I need from him.