Maybe that was what he wanted me to think?
"Um, maybe? Who are you?" I asked, my timid voice sounding anything but fierce.
"Sorry-I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, taking a step back. "My name is Brick Abrams. I'm a therapist."
Totally confused.
"And you go door to door?" I questioned lamely.
He laughed, and tiny crinkled lines appeared around his worn brown eyes. "No; not usually, anyway. Although lately it seems to have become a habit. I'm here for a friend." It was then that I noticed he had several boxes next to his feet.
"Do you mind if I show you something? You don't have to let me in if you don't want to," he added as he bent down to open one of the boxes. Curiosity got the better of me, and even though I should have been concerned with my safety and what exactly he had in those boxes, I felt an instant kinship to this man-like I'd known him my entire life. I don't know why, but he felt like a friend I'd always had but never known.
Luckily, nothing scary or perverted came out of the box, only a handful of pictures. But when I got a closer look, I discovered that photos could indeed be more intimidating than my worst fears.
And right now, my worst fears were sitting in those boxes.
"What did you say the name of your friend was, Mr. Abrams?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the pictures.
"I didn't, but I'm sure you could guess."
Swallowing the lump that had now formed in my throat, I nodded. "Yes, but I don't think I can help you, Mr. Abrams."
I slowly backed away. His sad eyes met mine as I began to push the door closed.
"But what if he could help you?"
"He's already done enough, don't you think?" I said, feeling the anger rising in my veins.
"I honestly don't know-and neither does he. That's the problem," he began, and I slowly pulled the door open, allowing the crazy man to gather up his boxes and enter. If anyone ever asked, I'd deny everything and say it was simply caffeine withdrawal that made me to open the door, but really, I was suddenly just interested.
Interested in this man who seemed so much like a friend.
He took a seat at our small dining room table as I began brewing a pot of coffee. Being the old friends we were now, I just assumed he would join me. I didn't hang out with people who didn't like coffee-people like that couldn't be trusted.
"So, you're August's therapist?" I asked, looking over my shoulder as I moved about the kitchen.
"Something like that. I'm a therapist, and I know August. Let's just say I want to help him."
"Okay," I replied, feeling like he'd just evaded that question better than a politician on election day.
"August has no memory of his past-no understanding of who he is or why he became the person he is today. He's truly floundering. You hate a man who doesn't exist anymore."
As I stared at the coffee pot, waiting for it to brew, I let his words percolate and settle as I formed a response. "That doesn't mean I have to forgive him just because he doesn't remember."
"No, but shouldn't you at least give him the opportunity to move on-to find a new life?"
"Why? He destroyed mine," I spat.
"Did he?" He looked around, admiring our quaint little apartment with its secondhand furniture I'd lovingly restored on my days off. I'd used new fabric so it would all somehow match. The place was rustic, the total opposite of the house I'd decorated before, but it was still nonetheless home.
"Seems to me, if this is where you were supposed to be all along, how you got here would have been worth all the trouble."
I opened my mouth to respond, but couldn't form a rebuttal. I'd never seen my years with August simply as a long path to get me to Ryan. There had always been the time in my life with August, and then now. Two completely different worlds-separate from each other.
"I just want to move on," I sighed, taking the two cups of coffee I'd just poured and placing them between us as I sat down to join him.
"And so does he. What if you could do that-together?"
"I nearly gutpunched him the last time I saw him," I confessed. "While he was injured."
A smirk pulled across his lips, "He just needs answers. Maybe by giving them to him, you'll find the closure you need to move on."
"So you want me to just talk to him?"
He nodded, taking a sip of coffee.
"And that's it?"
"That's what he needs, Everly. What he's desperate for. He needs to fill in the blanks."
"And you think by doing this, I'll be able to find closure to all of this pain and anger I've been harboring as well?" I asked doubtfully.
"Talking with him could heal many wounds," he answered.
"Hmm," was all I could manage.
But even after we'd said our good-byes, even after my second cup of coffee had long since gone cold … I found myself returning to that single sentence and wondering whether he was right.
Was I still so wounded? And if so, could I find the healing I needed to move on without the man who'd caused me so much pain?
"You've got to be kidding me, Everly." Ryan looked up from his spot on the sofa.
"I know it sounds crazy-"
"Crazy? It's insane. No, it's more than insane. You can't seriously be considering it."
My lack of response had his eyes rounding with shock as he stood, ready to pace. He loved to pace. And I loved to flee. Those were our standard responses to an argument. He'd pace … talk, battle it out until everything was out in the open and well-discussed, like a well-functioning person-and me? I just wanted space. I'd learned through counseling and my time with Ryan that normal couples discussed their grievances with each other, but the practice still felt foreign to me.
When August got angry or frustrated-or hell, even just wanted to go out for an evening-I'd ended up locked in my bedroom.
I knew Ryan was different. I understood they weren't the same person, but the need to flee still remained. Even though he never raised his voice, never lashed out in anger, I could still feel his disappointment swirling around the room like a choking fog, and I suddenly couldn't breathe.
I rose to open a window. The fresh air dampened my frantic nerves.
"At first, no," I admitted, "I thought the idea was as ludicrous as you do. But, then I went and spoke to Tabitha."
He shook his head in disbelief, a wayward lock of hair falling over his eyes, hiding his expression from me.
"She wants you to do this?" he asked softly, turning away from me to begin his pacing again.
"She didn't give me an opinion one way or another-she just helped me understand the situation."
"And what is the situation, exactly?" he asked, running a frustrated hand over his face.
"Things aren't the same, Ryan-since August came back. For me, for you. It's different. And no matter how hard we try, it's been impossible to go back to the way things used to be."
"It will just take some time," he stated, grasping at invisible straws.
"No-I don't think simply time will fix this," I said. "Ignoring a problem never solves it."
"Then we'll move," he simply stated. "I can find a job somewhere else, and there are coffee shops all over America. Hell, there's a Starbucks on every corner. Rent is expensive here anyway."
He was rambling now. He felt threatened.
Closing the gap the separated us, I took his hand in mine. "I don't want to move, Ryan. And neither do you. The Giants are here and you have a fantastic career. You love this city-don't deny it."
His eyes met mine. "I love you more."
"I know."
When his lips touched mine, I felt the desperation in his touch, tasted the need in each lingering kiss as he carried me to the bedroom. He was scared-so very scared of losing me. We made love slowly, as if our bodies were memorizing every single inch of each another. Hours later, he still cradled me in his arms as we quietly held each other. Neither of us spoke, too afraid to break the calming spell that seemed to have been cast the second our bodies had met.
But spells are meant to be broken, and real life always seems to find its way back to the forefront of our minds.
"I know I'm different from most men," Ryan finally said, breaking the silence. I turned to face him in the moonlight.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I see the difference-between me and August … even now. I'm shy, and reserved. A lover, not a fighter if you will. These are qualities about myself I've known my entire life. My parents were gentle-natured and raised me to be so."
"Ryan-"
"No, let me finish. It's these qualities that first made me so appealing to you, I think-my stark contrast to him. I took care of you in a way that he never did-never would. But please, make no mistake that if it ever came down to it-"
My fingers moved across his worried face as he struggled to find the words.
"-I would fight for you, Everly. Do what you need to do to heal-to find the closure you need, but please know that I would tear apart heaven and earth if I had to-for you. This is not me backing away."