I shake my head at him; smooth talker.
“Is that why you didn’t come find me when yougot out? You were in a bad place?”
“That’s part of the reason. I didn’t know howI would handle it if you rejected me.”
Ryan’s eyes change and there’s no longer thatlight in them; the light that I love so much.
“What was prison like?”
Ryan’s expression morphs into something dark.Something unrecognizable and I know I just stepped over theline.
“I don’t really think you need to hear aboutit.”
“I think it might be good for you to talkabout it.”
“Not with you,” he looks away and crosses hisarms.
“Why not? You just said I was yourtherapy.”
“Alana, no. I don’t want to go there withyou.”
“I want you to.”
“Why?” he snaps.
Because I’m crazy.
“Because if we’re going to be together, Ineed to know.”
“Are we together?” Ryan immediately firesback.
I stare at him impassively. I saidmaybeI’d try, but that was no declaration.
Am I even ready to full-on commit? It’s sofast, but it feels like we’ve never been apart.
“If that’s what you want,” I say with myheart beating like a bass drum in my chest.
“You know what I want. You’re the only thingI’ve ever wanted,” his eyes are like daggers stabbing into mysoul.
I’ve never been good at vocalizing what I’mfeeling, so I decide to deploy the show-don’t-tell tactic. I get upfrom the table and stand over Ryan. He puts his hands on my hips;his grip so tight it feels almost desperate. I lean over and kisshim; a gentle, affirming kiss that seals our fate. When we part,Ryan pulls me into a hug, his cheek pressed into my abdomen. I holdhim firmly to me; lovingly, supportively, compassionately. BecauseI know Ryan has been to hell and back. I run my hand through hissoft wavy hair, and when he looks up at me I smile. He returns theexpression, confident in that whatever he’s about to tell me won’taffect the way I see him. And that’s exactly the way I want him tofeel.
I sit back down at the table, mentallypreparing myself for a conversation of epic proportions.
“So?”
Ryan huffs and I know he’s completely onedge. But we have to do this. We have to talk.
“So. Prison sucked,” he says, and thenstops.
“Go on,” I encourage him. He shifts in hischair like he can’t get comfortable.
“It was confining and degrading and youfought for your life every day.”
I frown, “How did you survive?”
“I made a reputation for myself.”
“How?”