This Time Around (Maybe #2)(9)

I bite the inside of my cheek before I answer, “Nope. I’m here to stay.”

“Okay,” he says, smiling widely.

I narrow my eyes. “Look, I don’t know what your end game is but…”

He raises his hands up in innocence. “Can’t I visit an old friend without suspicion?”

“Oh, so now I’m an old friend?” I ignore the pang of hurt that his comment incites. This is what I want. I don’t have the right to feel upset.

“Well, even before we got married you were my best friend, so yeah. You will always be that to me, even if you’re nothing else.”

Is he saying that when we get divorced, he still wants to be friends? I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Taiya, I’m heading out,” Isis says as she walks into the room. She has a backpack hitched on one shoulder, and is dressed in jeans and a loose white top.

“Isis this is Ryan,” I introduce.

Isis purses her lips. “Right, the husband. The one you failed to mention.”

I sigh. I can feel a long lecture happening in the near future.

“Nice to meet you, Ryan,” Isis says, now smiling. She tilts her head to look at me. “I’ll be back in a few hours. You want anything?”

I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll message you if I do.”

“All right,” she says, blowing me a kiss before walking out. I hear the door lock behind her, making me realise I’m now officially alone with my soon-to-be ex-husband. He must realise it too, because he starts to chuckle softly.

“Want to go out for dinner?” he suddenly asks, after a few seconds of silence. He studies me, anticipating my answer.

“No, thanks, maybe next time,” I tell him.

Like when hell freezes over.

“It’s just a meal,” he says, raising an eyebrow, almost daring me.

“I know that,” I say slowly, enunciating each word.

“Then why are you looking like I asked you if you wanted to have sex.”

“I’m not,” I say quickly, looking down at my black coated nails.

“What are you going to have for dinner then?” he asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The action tightens his T-shirt along his broad chest, and shows off his biceps. It takes all my will power to look away.

“I’ll fix myself something. Don’t worry about me, Ryan.” Like he hasn’t for the past year or so.

“So you learned to cook over in South Africa then?” he asks, smirking at me.

“I might have,” I say defensively, sitting up straighter.

“So you can make something other than toast and two minute noodles then?” he asks, doubt evident in his voice.

“Of course I can,” I say. I can now fry eggs. So I’m not housewife material, sue me.

“What can you make?” he asks nosily. He’s always had an issue with boundaries.

“Lots of things,” I lie.

“Such as?” he pries, his eyes dancing with amusement. He’s enjoying this, the bastard. He knows I can’t cook for shit.

“I really don’t think I need to prove myself to you,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.

He flashed me a megawatt smile. “Do you want me to make you something?”

“Ryan. I’m fine, really.”

“Don’t be so stubborn, Tay,” he says, shaking his head.

Tay.

He used to call me that.

No other woman will ever compare to you, Tay. You’re all I see.

I instantly stand up, the pillow that was next to me flying on the floor.

“Okay, you need to go,” I say, feeling slightly shaken by the memory.

He stands slowly, but looks confused. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… have some things I need to do. I’ll see you around, okay?” I tell him, glancing towards my room door longingly.

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and puffs out a breath. “Yeah okay. Sure.” He forces a smile, before turning and walking to and then out the door. I lock it behind him, leaning my back against the door and sliding down it, until I’m sitting on the floor.

Only then do I allow the tears to fall.





Chapter Five

Ryan

I rest my head against the door listening to her cry. Each sob rips a hole in my heart, each tear lies on my conscience. Instead of walking away and trying to clear my head, I stand there and punish myself by listening to her, because I know I deserve it. She’s hurting. I’m hurting. This whole thing is f*cked up. We need each other. I just wish she could see it. I could be there for her again, if she’d let me. I want to bang my head against the door, but then she would know I’m still here, standing in front of her door like a f*cking creeper. I lift my hand to knock on the door, to beg her to let me comfort her, to hold her in my arms. I pull back my hand before it connects with the door, and instead pull at the ends of my hair, and squeeze my eyes shut. I put my hand in my pocket, fingering my wedding ring. It’s on me, where I always keep it. I may not wear it, only because it didn’t feel right when I was with other women. I slide the ring back on my finger. When I hear her move away from the door, only then do I do the same.

*****

The next day, I get off my black Harley Fat Boy, and walk into the crowded bar, nodding and smiling along the way at the familiar faces.