♫ Oh, baby, where are you now when I need you most?
I'd give it all just to hold you close
Sorry that I broke your heart, your heart ♪
(The Weeknd—After Hours)
Still on her stool—as luck had it, she'd only imagined herself falling off—Coralie clutched her glass so tight she expected it to explode. For shards to tear through her palms and rip into her veins and unleash the utter mess of emotions swirling inside her.
Ryan is living in New York?
It shouldn't have bothered her. New York was huge, with so many neighborhoods and boroughs and buildings. She wouldn't ram into him often, if ever. The chances of them having to see each other were slim.
And yet... she had seen him, a few days prior, steps away from her office, in front of the coffee shop she loved. So if he was to work in the same district, to live in the same district, would she ever be able to avoid him?
"Cora," he said, his stern but suave voice anchoring her back in reality. "Are you okay?"
Her mouth opened to say yes, and her mind wanted her to say no; but all that came out was a jumbled mix of words that made no sense. A whirlwind of sounds and grunts and sniffles that prompted her to drain half her drink and choke on the bubbles as they washed down her throat.
She'd been so close to figuring herself out, to putting some much-needed order into her life. The job of her dreams had fallen into her lap, and she'd moved across the country to pursue it. She'd rekindled friendships she'd abandoned after her dreary relationship with Jayden and grown closer to Delilah and Bella. And she'd stumbled upon a man with good intentions, one who spoiled her and cared for her despite her past. And though Michael lived far, they'd maintained a rhythm, they talked daily, and let their spark progress into a flame.
But this man? This hunk in a baby-blue suit, with electrifying eyes and a body from the heavens? This inhuman creature that she'd always wanted, fantasized over countless times over twelve years? He was there. Sitting beside her, head cocked in curiosity, lips parted in anticipation for whatever she was about to say.
And he was single. Available. At long last, he was accessible.
But she was not.
"Cora." He looked at his hands clasped atop his thighs. He was fidgeting, flighty, possibly nervous. "Forgive me, but I... I have to ask this." His fingers brushed over hers, and she didn't have a chance to move before he entwined them, locking her in place. "Is it too late for us? Again?"
Her jaw dropped, but before she could belch out a string of curses, before she could slap him for daring to imply there had been an "us", he squeezed her hand.
"Is there any way I can fix how we left things? How I left things?" He tipped his chin up, and though she'd expected to see a playful glow on his cheeks, a flirtatious flicker of his tongue, a glimmer of lust in his eyes, she didn't. His gaze was focused, watery; packed with so many repressed sentiments, she had no idea how to react. He was serious. "I'm in the process of divorcing, arranging visits to London to meet with my daughters... so I'm an absolute mess. It killed me to choose Gemma over you, but then she didn't choose me. You... you are the only thing that's kept me sane these past few months."
"Ryan—"
"—And thinking of you, of the possibility of us being together for real, not as secret lovers but as an actual couple, has sustained me. It's gotten me from spiraling into a depression."
She gulped; something clogged the top of her throat, but her breaths fought through, rash and rapid and destabilizing.
"I... Ryan, how could you... why would you..."
"Because I don't want to lose you." Again his chin lowered, and his grip tightened around her hand as he shifted on his seat. He whispered something to himself, or maybe to her, she wasn't sure; but after a minute he whipped back up, and actual tears welled in his eyes. "I don't want to mess this up, and I know I don't deserve you, but... I love you, Coralie."
Her instinct should have been to rip free from his warm, soothing hands. To shoot up from her stool, smack him until his cheeks turned purple, and stomp out into the cool New York City air. She would have dry heaved into a trash bin, hailed a cab, and abandoned him there to overthink what he'd said, what he'd dared to confess.
He loved her?
Somewhere deep down, this was no surprise to Coralie. He'd admitted it started in their teenage years, but never confirmed it had carried over, that he still felt it today. Sure, he'd implied there were profound feelings and that he cared about her. And he had flown across the world to see her, and flown her to him for some tender, unforgettable moments.
So why did his confession weigh in her stomach like ten thousand bricks? Why did it tie her tongue into knots and send surges of pain to her neurons? Why did it extract the life from her heart and cut circulation from her limbs, her muscles, her brain?
Love—that word she hated, but that she'd wished to say to Michael, someday. That word she'd hoped to understand the meaning of at the conclusion of this meeting. To walk out and finally breathe again, free from Ryan's spell, from the hold he had on her.
Instead, he'd tied his rope tighter around her, digging his claws into her soul, sucking her in deeper, giving her no means to escape.
Because she loved him. She'd never stopped. Though she wanted to detest him, to block him and erase their pictures and pretend like the trip to Paris had never happened... none of it had deserted her mind. She'd deleted their former conversations, written his name on paper and burned it in some sappy, ritualistic attempt to forget him, thrown away the clothes he'd bought her. But he was still there. His image still flashed in her brain, still haunted her. He was a silent specter stalking her, the smallest shadow constantly reminding her she'd love no one else, ever again.
"Why?" That was all she had in response to his thought-out monologue. Her well-rehearsed speech disappeared, her posture faltered, her hardened façade broke. "Why?"
He frowned, pulling backwards as he rolled up his sleeves. "What do you mean, why? Why do I love you?"
No—why are you doing this to me?
She couldn't speak, lost in the heaps of replies she craved to belt out, but that remained wedged in her gut, in her chest.
What did he want? For her to let him down gently, tell him he was definitely too late? Or for her to ditch Michael for him, magically forgiving all he'd done to break her? Or for them to have another illicit affair, with her being the adulterer, betraying the boyfriend she cherished and didn't want to hurt?
Her conscience prodded at her with a fourth option—to turn him down and to end things with Michael, to return to her initial vow of celibacy. You aren't ready, it kept repeating. Look at what you've done! You're not ready, Cora.
Caught up in her mixed feelings, she met Ryan's gaze. At the sight of a tear strolling down his left cheek, she couldn't stop salty liquid from pooling in her own eyes. Whether it was from joy or rage or despair, she couldn't tell, and she had no control over the visions popping into her head.
Instead of seeing a thirty-year-old entrepreneur wearing gold watches and loafers that cost almost as much as her entire paycheck, she saw Ryan, the teenager. Ryan, with his goofy smile and his gangly arms and his slowly developing muscles that he showed off while playing basketball. The shy but hilarious Ryan cracking jokes in the back of class, pranking friends in the hallways, singing off-key at house parties while stealing from his parent's booze stash. The confidante, the one who'd urged her to follow her dreams, to be happy, with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he told her he'd always be there for her.
But he hadn't always been there. His young image shifted to that of today; the busy, briefcase carrying man whose smile convinced anyone in a mile radius to bow to his every command. The bedazzling business executive whose way with words allowed him to climb the ladders of society and make a name for himself in the luxury mercantile industry. A man who woke desire in any woman he encountered; who ended up with phone numbers scribbled in lipstick on calling cards and voicemails left by social-scaling butterflies who didn't give a damn he was married.
"Cora?"
His voice unleashed more flashes that flapped about before her; more visions that she'd suppressed, desperate to move forward, to get over him.
Stripping clothes in front of phone screens. Sassy replies in private chats. Yells on sidewalks next to bustling downtown bars. Ravenous stares in dark kitchens. Fiery kisses and turbulent tongues. Bra straps flying, zippers coming undone, bodies bouncing under satin sheets. Bubble baths and candles. Glasses coated with red wine lip-stain. Hot heels left at the foot of a bed that squeaked as two figures rolled around on top of it.
Shivers coursed up her arms as she recalled how it had felt to be held by him. How his smile made her smile, how his laughter woke butterflies in her belly, how his compliments never ceased to give her strength, courage, confidence.
The tremors halted and goosebumps lined her skin as she remembered him telling her they'd never be together. She grimaced, replaying the lies he'd likely told to Gemma, the impulsive decisions, the temperamental nature of his actions, the lack of empathy towards whoever might get hurt.
Her teeth gritted as a flaky, almost stale macaron taste swelled on her tongue. A message in sloppy cursive floated in mid-air, swirling around and around until she was dizzy.
"Cora." His heated hands on her icy cheeks finally yanked her from her stipulations, her projections into the past. "Are you all right?"
She had no clue how long she'd been out of it, disoriented by her myriad of thoughts.
"I'm..." She shook her head, massaged her temples, blew out a heavy breath. "I'm fine. Processing."
"Processing what?" He slipped something into her grasp—something cold that jolted her back to the present more than his touch had; a cup of water filled to the brink with ice cubes. "What I said? The reasons I love you?"
She scrunched her eyebrows, not recalling having heard him speak of that. Had she missed another monologue? Had she blocked out all the wonderful things he had to say about her?
"I zoned out. You... you shocked me, Ryan. I wasn't expecting this." She pressed the rim of the frosty cup to her mouth and sniffed in the odorless liquid.
He crossed his arms. "Then why did you come here tonight?"
Closure. I came for closure, RyRy.
She couldn't get it out. Her speech died as she drank, allowing a few ice cubes to sneak into her mouth.
He took the cup from her and deposited it beside her mojito. "Why did you come here? Why did you indulge me, grace me with your presence?"
The memories from earlier weren't what surfaced this time; this time, she pictured that couple she'd seen in Central Park that day. Their creepy, uncanny resemblance to her and Ryan, down to the shape of their bodies and the colors they wore. Their ease with one another, their obvious happiness, the way they read each other's minds, connected like two kindred souls once lost in a sea of mismatched puzzle pieces.
That was what had convinced her; but what did it mean?
She stood up, snatched her mojito, drained it. A faint trace of rum lingered at the bottom, and as it fluttered down her throat and into her belly, she listened as the voices once screaming in her head extinguished, one by one.
Without batting a lash, she set the cup down and pivoted towards the exit. She took one step, two steps, three; then whirled around, her gaze on Ryan, her shoulders pulled back. She admired him from a few feet away, captured him to memory; his distraught demeanor, his confusion, the astonishment drawing over his features.
He had no notion of what she'd do next, and truthfully... neither did she. She'd sketched a line between them, and though she had one foot out the door... the other refused to budge.
What about Michael?
She teetered on the edge, stuck in a daze, pondering her options. Leave Ryan there, slip out, never see him again? Or...
"Cora?" He squinted at her, setting his feet to the ground, preparing to run after her if she bolted. "Is this it? Is this your answer?"
Her heart skipped a beat, and she almost forgot how to breathe as he perched before her. He was tall and tenebrous, tantalizing as ever, charging her with a turbulent river of emotions she'd attempted to dry out forever.
But she couldn't. She was drowning in that river, and wasn't sure if she wanted anyone to get her out of it.
He's Ryan fucking Bennett.
She extended her hand to him. "Let's go talk about this somewhere more private... because I think we have a lot to discuss."
♥♥♥