Wild Love

4

“You look tired.”

Ryan stumbles from our bedroom and gives me a dopey smile. I wait for the swirl of butterflies to crash around in my stomach, but they don’t come.

“I am,” he says, immediately heading for the coffeepot.

I’m not sure where he was last night. I came back to an empty apartment after a session of late-night stewing around the office while I finished up some work. HR really was gone for the day–—I know because I went past their offices multiple times, which just added to my anxiety.

When I got home, I cracked open a bottle of wine and stared out over the city. Under the pitch-black cloud-covered sky and the endless West Coast drizzle, cars weaved through the wet downtown streets of Vancouver with a gentle whooshing sound that was almost soothing. After that, I’d eaten a bowl of popcorn for dinner and contemplated my life.

Most girls would have been worried about their boyfriend’s whereabouts. They’d probably blow up their phones and demand to know where they were and who they were with. But I was struck by no such inclination.

I like Ryan. I’ve always liked Ryan. Since the first day he flopped down next to me and flashed me that signature lopsided, boyish grin in the first finance course of my master’s program. Everything about our relationship after that was easy. Friends and study buddies, roommates, and from there… more.

Then I just never left.

Sometimes I wonder if it was all just a little too easy. We grew from roommates to partners in a way that seemed simple and obvious. Now, we’re feeling like roommates again, and I wonder what changed and how I never noticed it happening. I wonder if sweet, lovable Ryan has noticed or if I’m the problem.

I wonder… do you feel yourself fall out of love? Or do you just wake up and realize it one day?

“What’d you get up to?” I ask. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He pulls out the second seat at the island in our sleek two-bedroom apartment. “Yeah. Didn’t get back until like three and you were out cold. Some bigwigs from the head office took the guys and me out for beers after work, and one thing led to another.”

He chuckles good-naturedly and ruffles my hair. Some days that might feel sweet. But after what happened to me yesterday, it feels… condescending.

I give him a brittle smile and smooth my hair. Ryan is a good guy. I remind myself of this all the time, over little things. I feel guilty those little things are irritating me, and I feel guiltier for what that irritation might mean.

He’s like a golden retriever. Happy and chill and unbothered all the time. And sometimes when he accidentally drools on me or gets hair on my black shirt, like some sort of big, happy i***t, I want to snap at him. But he’s so well-meaning that I don’t.

I ignore it because our lives are too damn busy for me to worry about that right now. Ryan is everything I should want and I don’t want to throw away a multi-year relationship with a nice guy, all because I’m overworked and on edge.

That seems rash. It could be a phase. I could regret it. I’ve always been the responsible child in my family. I don’t make thoughtless moves.

“Fun,” I add without feeling. Because a bunch of oil industry guys going out on the town doesn’t sound any better than a bunch of construction industry guys doing the exact same thing.

They both sound like prime ass-grabbing situations.

My cheeks heat as I recall the feeling of Stan’s hand over the curve of my body. I’ve always thought I’d be able to brush something like that off. When I ride the SkyTrain, people bump into me all the time. But with him it’s the intention— the path his touch took.

It felt wrong. And I stayed awake for a long time thinking about it. Realizing I had heard the sharp, ragged intake of his breath behind me as his fingers dug in.

That little gasp is what spurred me into motion.

That little gasp plays on repeat in my ears. It makes my skin crawl. It makes me not want to show my face at work. It seems like it shouldn’t bother me this much, and yet it does. I’m not sure who I trust enough to tell. I could tell West, but I know how he’d react, and I don’t want him to go to jail.

So, I opt for Ryan. Sweet, lovable, reliable Ryan.

“I have something I was hoping I could get your opinion on.”

He pauses from scrolling on his phone to peek up at me, a reassuring expression on his face. “Yeah, babe. Of course.”

“So yesterday, at the end of that big meeting I’ve been prepping for—you know the one?”

His eyes stay glued on the screen, but he nods. “Yeah, of course. You’ve been walking around muttering that presentation under your breath for at least a week. I bet you nailed it.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s the one. And it went well. But, so…” My fingers twist in my lap, cup of tea forgotten on the counter before me. I have my full attention on Ryan as I try to muster the courage to get this out. But Ryan has his attention on what appears to be a video of a raccoon taking a bubble bath.

“At the end of the meeting, I was showing my boss, Stan, something. And he touched me. Well, he grabbed my ass.”

My throat feels tight as Ryan jerks his head up in my direction. “Oh s**t,” is the first thing he says, but there’s an edge of amusement to it. Like this is somehow funny.

“Yeah. Oh shit.”

Ryan straightens at my terse tone, finally looking concerned. “Do you think he meant to? Like, was it on purpose?”

The bridge of my nose stings at that being the first thing he asks. “Yes, it was very much on purpose.”

“Dang. Are you all right?” He puts the phone down and gives me his full attention, though I’m finding I wish he hadn’t. I thought I wanted his attention, but now I’m squirming under his gaze. Turns out this was easier to talk about without him staring at me.

I nod briskly, assuredly, to cover for the fact I don’t know if I actually am all right. “I told him I’m going to take it to HR, but they were gone already. So now I’m kinda gearing myself up to walk in there and let them know.”

He blows out a loud breath and shifts on his stool, placing a hand on my leg before saying the worst thing he’s ever said to me. “s**t, Rosie. I’m sorry. I know how important this job is to you. Do you think it might be better to pretend like it never happened? These big companies”—his fingers graze my thigh before squeezing it, and I feel myself recoil from his touch—“they stay as far away from scandal as possible. And it’s still a relatively new position for you… I’d hate to see that jeopardized.”

I’m stunned into silence. I blink back at the man I’ve lived with for the past two years, a mixture of fury and devastation twisting inside of me.

My mouth moves and so does my body, but not in conjunction with what I feel inside. “Yeah. For sure. Wouldn’t want to jeopardize anything.”

I nod as I pat his hand, which is still on my leg. But I’m uncertain who’s reassuring who here.

All I know is that Ryan’s reaction isn’t what I wanted from him.

Which is why I take his hand and remove it from my body.

“I’m glad you agree. I think I’d just carry on with my work if I were you.”

If I were you.

“Mm-hmm,” is all I can muster as I pull away from him.

“I know, babe. I know.” He tries to squeeze my shoulder reassuringly and a wave of discomfort washes over me. I don’t want to be touched. “Once you’ve been working in the industry as long as I have, you’ll learn we have to look past some things if we want to be successful.”

In response, I scoff and make an internal note to look past s****l harassment in the future. It’s an especially obnoxious sentiment coming from someone who was out all night getting wined and dined by the bigwigs at his company. I know Ryan thinks what he just said is well-meaning and supportive, but it makes me want to punch him square in the face.

Sweet, professional, MBA-toting Rosie Belmont doesn’t hit people though, so I swallow the urge and mumble, “Thanks,” before walking away.

The disparity between our experiences is a lance through my heart, but not one I necessarily want to take out on Ryan at this moment. I can’t afford to be reckless.

But the fact he doesn’t even seem upset? That smarts.

I didn’t need someone to go in there and beat the s**t out of Stan, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t have liked it. It might have been nice to feel like the man I share my life with has my back. That he’d defend my honor—lame and old-fashioned as that might sound. Even the tiniest spark of ferocity over my safety, the injustice of it all, would have sufficed.

Hell, I’d have settled for a hug.

I get neither.

When I go to leave later that morning, Ryan offers me a thumbs-up and says, “Go get ’em, tiger,” from behind the glass shower door.

I feel sick on the train the entire way to work.

I begin to shake on the elevator ride up to our floor.

I keep my eyes down, knowing that if I can just make it to the privacy of my tiny office, I’ll be able to regain my composure behind a closed door.

But I’m intercepted by Linda from HR. She has an apologetic expression painted all over her face before any words even crest her lips. “Good morning, Rosalie. Once you’re settled, can you come to my office?”

“Yes, of course.” My voice cracks as I nod.

We exchange matching forced smiles, but when I turn away from her, a big, fat tear rolls down my cheek. Because I know exactly what’s coming.