Page 80 of See My Words

“You were covering the Jodi Arias verdict today?”

Rylan nodded. “Yep. I’m now a stringer for the Associated Press, and this was my first assignment. You know the case?”

“Sure. It’s been huge local and national news. Why wouldn’t I know it?” There was a faint note of testiness in Scott’s voice, and Rylan gave a shrug.

“No reason. Just didn’t seem like something you’d concern yourself with, that’s all.”

“What, current events in my city? I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head over it, just concentrate on shaking my ass in my thong?” Now his tone was one of cold fury.

Rylan whirled around in his chair to face him. “Would you stop putting words in my mouth? That fucking pisses me off.” He held his hand up and started ticking points off on his fingers. “No, we’re not done. No, I don’t think you’re white trash. No, I don’t think you’re a brainless idiot. Okay? What I think is that I’ve got a lot on my mind, and reassuring you isn’t my top priority right now. News flash, it’s not all about you!”

Scott’s face flushed, and he turned and strode from the apartment without another word, the door swinging shut behind him. Rylan buried his face in his hands and then went after him, but by the time he got his shoes on and found his keys again, Scott was long gone.

Back in his apartment, he grabbed his phone and texted him. I’m sorry.

No answer. Rylan’s looming deadline meant he had no choice but to sit down and edit his photos, and once he’d emailed them to the editor, he tried calling Scott. It went to voicemail.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry for being a prick. I didn’t mean to take everything out on you. Please call me.”

Rylan thought about going over to the club to try to find him, but a text from the AP office came through just then, asking him to cover what was supposed to be the clandestine arrival at the airport of a pro football player, here in town to turn himself in on DUI charges. Having to take the light-rail all the way there meant Rylan would have to leave now.

He slammed his fist down on the counter. “Dammit! I need to buy a fucking car.”

After sending one more Please call me text to Scott, Rylan grabbed his gear and headed out the door.

The next two days were busy as fuck as the AP kept him running all over the city, photographing a high-profile funeral, a protest, a scaffolding collapse. He spent hours on the train, on buses, exhausted yet getting a quiet thrill at seeing his work going out over the AP wire.

Still no word from Scott, but Rylan told himself a little space for them both to cool off was a good thing. Even so, he decided to turn down the next assignment if it got in the way of Rylan tracking him down.

Climbing onto the light-rail again, he dropped wearily into a seat right as his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen to see it was Minh calling.

“What’s up with you and Scott?” Minh demanded without any preliminaries, and Rylan snorted.

“Hey to you, too.”

“Sweetheart, he’s like a wounded bear or somethin’, was even rude to a fan last night. In all these years, I’ve never seen him bein’ rude to any of his fans. Ever. Then I remembered I haven’t seen you around for a while and put two and two together.”

Rylan told Minh everything, his intense disappointment over the death of his project, his need for a walk by himself to think, and how things had escalated from there.

When he was finished, Minh gave a disgusted huff. “Sounds like y’all need to learn how to fight.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. When you’re in a relationship with someone, you have to learn how to fight with them. Like, what’s the other person’s trigger? Whatever it is, that’s a hundred percent off-limits when you fight.”

Rylan’s face burned as sudden guilt and shame swamped him. Scott’s triggers, from the time they were kids, had always come from him not feeling wanted or good enough. Ignoring his texts had not only been shitty, it had also been damaging.

“Make sure he knows your triggers, too. Then when you fight, it doesn’t turn into somethin’ ugly there’s no comin’ back from.”

“You know where he is tonight?”

“Yeah. He’s at home. Corey told him to keep his ass away from the club till he could treat his fans with respect. It’s a little like gettin’ suspended from school, man. Wasn’t pretty.”

“I’ll head over there right now,” Rylan said quietly. He paused. “Thanks, Minh.”

“He needs you, honey.” Minh hung up.

Rylan got off at the next station and switched trains, texting Scott to say he was on his way over. Of course his phone stayed silent, and when he trudged through the lobby of Scott’s building toward the elevator, he had a horrible thought, his insides going cold. George waved him on through with a mild “Nice to see you, Mr. Mahoney,” and Rylan’s knees went weak with relief. Scott hadn’t revoked his visitors’ privileges.