to me you’re not sleeping with him, Natalie.” He shrugs in the arrogant manner that makes my stomach churn.
Jesus Christ, he’s drunk. I’ve only seen Eric drunk a few times, but it’s the only time he’s more arrogant than he usually is. He’s not wasted, or I would have smelled it, but he’s certainly not sober.
“I can’t prove it, you know that. I can tell you I haven’t seen him for almost ten years and we just ran into each other at Atkins last week. And, I wouldn’t know, but a week isn’t really enough time to strike up an affair, is it? This is your area of expertise, so, enlighten me.”
Eric and Ryker stare at me with the same look of uneasiness.
“Okay,” Eric continues as he walks toward the living room, “then explain to me why this box has his name on it. I saw it yesterday, Natalie.” He picks up the box of war letters and I nearly black out from anxiety.
“Don’t fucking touch that!” I run toward him and reach for the box, but in a second he has the lid off and has his hands all over them.
The letters. My letters. From Ryker. It’s like watching a fucking car accident in slow motion to see Eric touching them. I know Ryker’s still behind me, but I can’t look away. He probably has no idea I’ve kept them.
Eric picks one out and starts reading it. Aloud. “Dear Nat,” with a chuckle, he pauses, “well, that certainly explains a lot, doesn’t it? Anyway, dear Nat, the last few weeks have been complete torture without you . . .” Eric continues reading with a mocking tone that pinches my eardrums.
“Stop!” Making contact with the letter, I try to pull it away when I hear it. A rip. Eric stares at me dumfounded, fear rising in his eyes as he stands with a piece of the letter. A wail deafens me from the inside before it comes out of my mouth. “Get oooooout!” I’ve never screamed so loud or for so long in my life, and I’m blindly pushing and punching Eric toward the door.
“When’d you start cutting yourself, Nat? Right after this letter? Or the one after that? When did that fucking prick get inside your head and fuck you up?” Eric’s yelling and barely acknowledging that I’m striking him at what feels like thirty times a second.
“You’re a goddamn bastard, Eric, and you always have been,” I’m panting in anger and tears, “get the fuck out of this apartment and my life!”
“Yeah? And you’re a fucking head-case—”
Ryker fills the space beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder and addressing Eric. “All right, you guys, it’s too loud, and I’m sure neither one of you wants the cops to come.” I don’t miss that his hand is shaking slightly against my skin. “I think it’s best for you to go.” The authority in Ryker’s voice wipes the smug grin from Eric’s unshaven face.
He eyes me in disbelief, as if he’s just come upon the scene, then lets out a childish breath. “Fine.” He throws the piece of the letter he’d been holding back into the apartment and marches sloppily down the stairs.
Salty anger fills my eyes as I pick up the shredded pieces of the letter and walk to the kitchen, searching drawers like a crazy person for tape.
“Nat . . .” Ryker closes the door and walks toward me. “Natalie,” he repeats as he molds his hand to my lower back.
Sniffing and sobbing, I find the tape and start piecing it back together with sweaty and trembling hands.
“I fucking loved you, you know . . .” Slamming my hand on the counter, my skin starts to itch. I’ve never wanted to cut more than I do in this very moment.
“I know,” he whispers.
“I fucking loved you, Ryker!” Turning around, all air leaves my lungs as I watch a tear leave the corner of his eye and stroll down his cheek.
“I know you did, Natalie.” As the tear reaches his jaw, he shrugs his shoulder toward his cheek and erases the tear with his shirt.
I can’t hold back anymore. Leaning forward, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and sob uncontrollably into the cotton that smells so much like the Ryker I remember that I almost pass out. He hesitates for a moment before wrapping his solid arms around my shoulders and squeezing me, tight.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into my hair, and I think he starts crying, too.