He looks up at me and I don’t recognize his expression. I’m confused by what’s happening. I don’t know if he just got bad news or . . . Oh, God. Allysa.
“Ryle, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
He holds up my phone and just looks at me like I should know what’s happening. When I shake my head in confusion, he holds up a piece of paper. “Funny thing,” he says, setting my phone on the coffee table in front of him. “I dropped your phone by accident. Cover pops off. I find this number hidden in the back of it.”
Oh, God.
No, no, no.
He crumbles the number in his fist. “I thought, ‘Huh. That’s weird. Lily doesn’t hide things from me.’ ” He stands up and picks up my phone. “So I called it.” He tightens his fist around the phone. “He’s lucky I got his fucking voice mail.” He chunks my phone clear across the room and it crashes against the wall, shattering to the floor.
There’s a three-second pause where I think this could go one of two ways.
He’s going to leave me.
Or he’s going to hurt me.
He runs a hand through his hair and walks straight for the door.
He leaves.
“Ryle!” I yell.
Why did I never throw that number away?!
I open the door and run after him. He’s taking the stairs two at a time, and I finally reach him when he’s at the landing of the second floor. I shove myself in front of him and grab his shirt in my fists. “Ryle, please. Let me explain.”
He grabs my wrists and pushes me away from him.
• • •
“Be still.”
I feel his hands on me. Gentle. Steady.
Tears are flowing and for some reason, they sting.
“Lily, be still. Please.”
His voice is soothing. My head hurts. “Ryle?” I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright. I can feel a sting at the corner of my eye and I wince. I try to sit up, but I feel his hand press down on my shoulder.
“You have to be still until I’m finished, Lily.”
I open my eyes again and look up at the ceiling. It’s our bedroom ceiling. “Finished with what?” My mouth hurts when I speak, so I bring my hand up and cover it.
“You fell down the stairs,” he says. “You’re hurt.”
My eyes meet his. There’s concern in them, but also hurt. Anger. He’s feeling everything right now, and the only thing I feel is confused.
I close my eyes again and try to remember why he’s angry. Why he’s hurt.
My phone.
Atlas’s number.
The stairwell.
I grabbed his shirt.
He pushed me away.
“You fell down the stairs.”
But I didn’t fall.
He pushed me. Again.
That’s twice.
You pushed me, Ryle.
I can feel my whole body start to shake with the sobs. I have no idea how bad I’m hurt, but I don’t even care. No physical pain could even compare to what my heart is feeling in this moment. I start to slap at his hands, wanting him away from me. I feel him lift off the bed as I curl up into a ball.
I wait for him to try and soothe it out like he did the last time he hurt me, but it never comes. I hear him walking around our bedroom. I don’t know what he’s doing. I’m still crying when he kneels down in front of me.
“You might have a concussion,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You have a small cut on your lip. I just bandaged up the cut on your eye. You don’t need stitches.”
His voice is cold.
