I feel ridiculous.

Like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. I went back and forth over whether or not I should even put it on several times before I finally relented.

It was the underwear that did me in.

I’ve developed a thing for lace.

I blame Henley and her La Perla addiction.

Most of my bras and underwear are serviceable cotton but I’ve splurged on a few silk and lace sets that I wear when I need an ego boost.

The black lace bustier and matching thong panties are beautiful and when I try them on, they fit perfectly. Since I’m already half-way there, I put on the dress and the shoes before looking at myself in the mirror.

You look beautiful, Tesla.

My mother’s voice sounds off in my head, so close, so real, I half expect to feel her hands on my shoulders. See her beautiful smile hovering next to mine. When I don’t, I turn away from the mirror.

“Fuck it.” I snatch the beaded, red satin clutch that was tucked into the shoe box, and head out the door.

By the time I get to the center, it’s after visiting hours. When she hears my heels clicking across the linoleum, the night nurse picks up her head. It’s Kaitlyn, the woman Con was pretending to see after Henley left. She smiles when she sees me, which never ceases to amaze me. Despite the fact that Con pretty much dumped her, she’s never been anything but nice. Even to Henley. Either she’s the most understanding person alive or she wasn’t as into Conner as I thought.

“Whoa.” Kaitlyn stands and gives me an appreciative nod. “You look—”

“Ridiculous?” I say, finishing the sentence and earning myself a laugh.

“Ridiculously hot,” she says, amending my statement. “Seriously—Mr. O’Connell is going to have a heart attack when he sees you.” She calls Ryan, Mr. O’Connell. Keeps her distance, like the rest of the female nurses. He scares them. I’m not sure if it’s the still-healing burn scars or the fact that he’s assaulted every male orderly and nurse in the place, but Kaitlyn rolls with the majority when it comes to Ryan.

It’s the only thing I don’t like about her.

“Let’s hope not,” I say, giving her a flat smile. “I need him for emotional support.” Moving away from the station, I give her a little wave on my way to Ryan room. When I get there, the door is cracked. I raise my hand to give it a knock but before I can, it’s yanked open and Ryan is standing in front of me in his dress blues.

“You’re late,” he says, his face set in its perpetual scowl.

“Thank you, Ryan,” I say, giving him a little twirl. “I feel pretty,” I say, even though I don’t. “And you look… less homeless than usual.” My words send an ugly red flush crawling up his neck. The truth is he looks good. Damn good. He got his haircut. His beard is trimmed. His dress blues are carefully pressed. Shoes shined. Service medals gleaming. I half expected him to be wearing flannel pants and a stained T-shirt when I showed up.

“Let’s just go.” He pushes past me and heads down the hall, leaving me to shut his door and follow after him.

He doesn’t say anything else until we’re in the car and on our way. “You do.”

I give him a quick glance before refocusing on the road. “I do what?”

“Look pretty.” He says it to the window, his hands fisted in his lap. “More than pretty, actually.”

I smile in spite of myself. “And you look a little better than less homeless—I guess.”

He turns in his seat and gives me a smile. A real smile. The kind he used to give me when we were kids—when we weren’t fighting that is. “Ladies love the dress blues.”

I laugh out loud and he looks at me for a stunned second before joining in. Finally he’s quiet again but the silence between is less tense. It’s like that with Ryan sometimes. It’s like he needs to be reminded of who he is. Who we are to him. That we’re his family. Most of the time it doesn’t work. Most of the time he stays angry. Doesn’t care.

“Con tell you he’s asking my sister to marry him?”

“He did.” I knew Conner told Ryan but I haven’t seen Con to ask him how Ryan took the news, so I don’t say anything else.

“I’m happy for them.” He doesn’t sound happy. He sounds resigned. “I suppose Cap’n will ask his artist to marry him before long too. Dec’s marrying Jess.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Doesn’t see the way it cuts me.

I pull into the parking lot of the gallery. Ryan was right, we are late. Valet is full. Pulling into a spot reserved for buyers only, I kill the engine and turn toward him. “Do you want to get married?” I ask, trying to figure out where this is coming from.

“Are you proposing?”

“Gross.” I roll my eyes and he laughs again but not like before. This laugh sounds harsh. Bitter. “You know what I’m saying, Ry.” Shifting in my seat I look down at his hands. They’re scarred. Clenched into fists. Resting on his knees. I’m not like those nurses at the center. I’m not afraid of Ryan. He’s the closest thing I have to a big brother. Even when we were kids and fought like dogs, we were friends. “Is that something you want for yourself… later.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Tess.” He looks at me then, his deep brown eyes fixed on my face. “Who’s going to want me?”

“What’s not to want?” For some reason, I feel defensive. “You’re—”

“A mess. I’m a fucking mess.” He doesn’t look away, his deep brown gaze going dark and bottomless. “Burned. Broken. So fucked in the head I can’t even tie my own goddamned shoes half the time.” He laughs when my gaze dips to the ugly pink scars clawing their way past the collar of his dress shirt. “That’s not even the worst of it. You should see what I’ve got going on below the belt.”

I feel the blood rush away from my face, even as I shake my head. “None of that would matter to the right woman.”

“The right woman?” He repeats it like I just spoke to him in a foreign language. “I can’t have kids, Tess. I can’t even get it up to try, so unless Mother Teresa has a Tinder profile, I’m pretty sure I’m shit out of luck.”

We both sit there in stunned silence, digesting what he just said out loud. That he’s twenty-eight and impotent. That’s he’s damaged beyond repair. So far gone that no one in her right mind would want him.

Finally, he unclenches a fist and lifts his hand to give his face a rough swipe. “Look—let’s just pretend the last five minutes never happened, okay? We’ll go inside and I’ll do my best to pretend I don’t want to jump off a fucking bridge.”

His admission knocks the air from my lungs. “Don’t.” I shake my head. My fingers find each other in my lap and squeeze each other so hard I can feel my bones bend beneath the pressure. “Don’t say things like that. You can’t—”

“I can.” His tone is cold. Hard. “And if I wanted to—really wanted to—there’s not a goddamned thing any of you could do to stop me, so like I said, let’s just—”

“My mother killed herself.”

I would’ve sworn I only thought it. That the words bouncing around inside my skull never escaped my mouth but his head snaps back on his neck and his face goes pale, like I just slapped him. “No. She died of an aneurysm.” He shakes his head at me like I’ve got it all wrong. “Your dad—”

“Lied. He lied to everyone because he couldn’t accept what really happened. She killed herself, Ryan. I’m the one who found her.” I can still see it, like I just pushed the door open. Like she’s still in front of me, floating in a tub full of cold, red water. “She left me without ever giving me a chance to make it better and I live with that every day, so no, you can’t. If you love Henley, you can’t do that to her. You won’t.”

“I didn’t—” He reaches for me, tries to pry my fingers apart but I pull away from him, shaking my head.

“Promise me.” I don’t have to say anything else. I don’t have to clarify. He knows what I mean. What I’m asking for.

“Okay.” He nods his head, hard and fast, like he’s willing to give me anything I ask for, as long as this conversation can be over. “I promise.”

I’m out of the car and across the lot before I know what I’m doing.

Away.

Away.

I have to get away.

And then he’s in front of me. Not the Ryan that came back, but the Ryan he used to be. The years fall away and we’re kids again, standing in the Gilroy’s living room, surrounded by whispering grown-ups about how vibrant and beautiful my mother was. How much she’ll be missed. How lost we are without her. He’s wearing one of Con’s hand-me-down suits and I can’t cry.

It’s been days, and I still can’t cry.

I’m sorry, Tess. I’m here for you, okay? If you need me, I’m here. I’ll always be here.

When he said it to me then, I nodded and thanked him. Gave him a flat smile before wandering away.

This time, he doesn’t say a word. He just opens his arms and waits for me.

I step into them and let him hold me.

But I still don’t cry.