My text tone has become one of those sound triggers.
Namely, Ridge’s text tone. It’s very distinct, a snippet from the demo of our song “Maybe Someday.” I assigned it to him after I heard the song for the first time. I’d like to say that sound trigger is a negative one, but I’m not so sure it is. The kiss I experienced with him during the song certainly led to negative feelings of guilt, but the kiss itself still turns my heart into a hot mess just thinking about it. And I think about it a lot. Way more than I should.
In fact, I’m thinking about it right now as the snippet of our song pours from the speakers of my cell phone, indicating that I’m receiving a text.
From Ridge.
I honestly never expected to hear this sound again.
I roll over on my bed and stretch my arm to the nightstand, my now-trembling fingers grasping at my phone. Knowing that I’ve received a text from him has once again wreaked havoc with my organs, and they’ve forgotten how to function properly. I pull the phone to my chest and close my eyes, too nervous to read his words.
Beat, beat, pause.
Contract, expand.
Inhale, exhale.
I slowly open my eyes and hold up the phone, then unlock the screen.
Ridge: Are you home?
Am I home?
Why would he care if I were home? He doesn’t even know where I live. Besides, he made it pretty clear where his heart’s loyalty resided when he told me to move out three weeks ago.
But I am home, and despite my better judgment, I want him to know I’m home. I’m tempted to respond with my address and tell him to come find out for himself whether or not I’m home.
Instead, I go with something safer. Something less telling.
Me: Yes.
I pull the covers off and sit up on the edge of the bed, watching my phone, too afraid even to blink.
Ridge: You’re not answering the door. Am I at the wrong apartment?
Oh, God.
I hope he’s at the wrong apartment. Or maybe I hope he’s at the right apartment. I can’t really tell, because I’m happy he’s here, but I’m pissed off that he’s here.
These conflicting feelings are exhausting.
I stand and run out of my bedroom, straight to my front door. I peer through the peephole, and sure enough, he’s at my front door.
Me: You’re outside my door, so yeah. Right apartment.
I look out the peephole again after hitting send, and he’s standing with his palm flat against the door, staring at his phone. Seeing the pained expression on his face and knowing it derives from the battle his heart is going through makes me want to swing open the door and throw my arms around him. I close my eyes and press my forehead to the door in order to give myself time to think before making any rash decisions. My heart is being pulled toward him, and I can’t think of anything I want more right now than to open this door.
However, I also know that opening the door won’t do either of us any good. He just broke up with Maggie a matter of weeks ago, so if he’s here for me, he can turn right around and leave. There’s no way anything could work between us when I know he’s still heartbroken over someone else. I deserve more than what he can give me right now. I’ve been through too much this year to let someone screw with my heart like this.
He shouldn’t be here.
Ridge: Can I come in?
I turn until my back is pressed against the door. I clutch the phone to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to read his words. I don’t want to see his face. Everything about him makes me lose sight of what’s important, what’s best for me. He isn’t what’s best for my life right now, especially considering what he’s gone through in his own life, and I should walk away from this door and not let him in.
But everything in me wants to let him in.
“Please, Sydney.”
The words are almost an inaudible whisper through the other side of the door, but I definitely heard them. Every single part of me heard them. The desperation in his voice, combined with the simple fact that he spoke, completely slays me. I allow my heart to make my decision for me this time as I slowly face the door. I turn the lock and slide the latch loose, then open the door.
I can’t describe what it feels like to see him standing in front of me again without using the term terrifying.
Everything about the way he makes me feel is absolutely terrifying. The way my heart wants to be held by him is terrifying. The way my knees seem to forget how to hold me up is terrifying. The way my mouth wants to be claimed by his is terrifying.
I do my best to hide what his presence does to me by turning away from him and walking toward the living room.
I don’t know why I’m trying to hide my reaction from him, but isn’t that what people do? We try so hard to hide everything we’re really feeling from those who probably need to know our true feelings the most. People try to bottle up their emotions, as if it’s somehow wrong to have natural reactions to life.
My natural reaction in this moment is to turn and hug him, regardless of the reason he’s here. My arms want to be around him, my face wants to be pressed against his chest, my back wants to be cradled by him—yet I’m standing here trying to pretend that’s the last thing I need from him.
Why?
I inhale a calming breath, then turn around when I hear him close the front door behind him. I lift my eyes to meet his, and he’s standing several feet in front of me, watching me. I can tell by the tightness in his expression that he’s doing exactly what I’m doing. He’s holding back everything he’s feeling for the sake of . . . what?
Pride?
Fear?
The one thing I’ve always admired about my relationship with Ridge is that we’re so honest and real with each other. I’ve always been able to say exactly what I was thinking, and so has he. I don’t like this shift we’ve made.
I try to smile at him, but I’m not sure if my smile is working right now. I speak to him and enunciate clearly so he can read my lips. “Are you here because you need a flaw?”
He laughs and exhales at the same time, relieved that I’m not angry.
I’m not angry. I’ve never been mad at him. The decisions he’s made during the time he’s known me aren’t decisions I can hold against him. The only thing I hold against him is the night he kissed me and ruined me for every other kiss I’ll ever experience.
I take a seat on the couch and look up at him. “Are you okay?” I ask.
He sighs, and I quickly look away. It’s hard enough being in the same room as him right now, but even harder to make eye contact with him. He completes the walk into the living room and sits on the couch next to me.
I debated buying more furniture, but one couch was all I could afford. A love seat at that. I’m not so sure I’m sad about my lack of furniture, though, because his leg is touching my thigh, and the simple contact causes heat to roll through me like a riptide. I look down at our knees when they brush together and realize I’m still wearing the T-shirt I threw on right before I went to bed. I guess I was so shocked by the fact that he said he was at my apartment door that I didn’t concern myself with how I looked. I’m in nothing but an oversized cotton T-shirt that falls to my knees, and my hair is more than likely a wreck.
He’s in jeans and a gray Sounds of Cedar T-shirt. I would say I feel underdressed, but I’m actually dressed appropriately for what I was doing before he showed up, which was going to bed.
Ridge: I don’t know if I’m okay. Are you okay?
I forgot I even asked him a question for a second.
I shrug. I’m sure I will be fine, but I’m not going to lie and tell him I am. I think it’s obvious that neither one of us can really be okay with how everything has turned out. I’m not okay with losing Ridge, and Ridge isn’t okay with losing Maggie.
Me: I’m sorry about Maggie. I feel awful. She’ll come around, though. Five years is a lot to give up for a misunderstanding.
I hit send and finally look up at him. He reads the text, then eyes me. The concentration in his expression makes the breath catch in my lungs.
Ridge: It wasn’t a misunderstanding, Sydney. She understood a little too well.
I read his text several times, wishing he would expand on it. What wasn’t a misunderstanding? The reason they broke up? His feelings for me? Rather than ask him what he means, I cut to the question I want the answer to the most.
Me: Why are you here?
He works his jaw back and forth before responding.
Ridge: Do you want me to leave?
I look at him and slowly shake my head no. Then I pause and shake my head yes. Then I pause again and just shrug. He smiles endearingly, completely understanding my confusion.
Me: I guess whether or not I want you here depends on why you’re here. Are you here because you need me to try to help you win back Maggie? Are you here because you miss me? Are you here because you want to try to work out some sort of friendship?
Ridge: Would I be wrong if I answered none of the above? I don’t know why I’m here. Part of me misses you so much it hurts, while part of me wishes I never even met you to begin with. I guess today is one of the days I was hurting, so I stole Warren’s keys and forced him to give me your address. I didn’t think this through or come up with any kind of speech. I just did what my heart needed me to do, which was to see you.
His brutally honest reply melts my heart and pisses me off all at the same time.
Me: What about tomorrow? What if tomorrow is one of the days you wished you never met me? What am I supposed to do then?
The intensity in his stare is unnerving. Maybe he’s trying to gauge if that was an angry response. I’m not sure if it was or not. I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that he doesn’t even know why he’s here.
He doesn’t respond to my text, and it proves one thing: he’s having the same internal conflict with himself that I’ve been having.
He wants to be with me, but he doesn’t.
He wants to love me, but he doesn’t know if he should.
He wants to see me, but he knows he shouldn’t.
He wants to kiss me, but it would hurt just as much as it did the first time he kissed me and had to walk away. I suddenly feel uncomfortable staring at him. We’re way too close together on this couch, yet my body is making it very clear to me that it doesn’t think we’re close enough at all. What it’s wishing would happen right now are all the things that aren’t.
Ridge looks away and slowly scans my apartment for a few moments, then returns his attention to his phone.
Ridge: I like your place. Good neighborhood. Seems safe.
I almost laugh at his text and the casual conversation he’s trying to make, because I know we’re no longer in a place for casual conversation. We can’t be friends at this point. We also can’t be together with so much against us. Casual conversation has no place between us right now, yet I can’t bring myself to reply any differently.
Me: I like it here. Thank you for helping me out with the hotel until I could move in.
Ridge: It was the least I could do. Absolutely the least I could do.
Me: I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my first paycheck. I got my job back at the campus library, so it should only be another week.
