It Ends with Us

The Neurosurgeon
has a better
ring to it. I take another sip of my champagne. “How do you know it was
him? Did he introduce himself?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, but he overheard Marshall introducing me
to someone as ‘
Lily’s date
.’ I thought the look he gave me was going to set
me on fire. That’s why I came in here. I like you, but I’m not willing to die
for you.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m sure that death glare he gave you was really
his smile. They’re superimposed most of the time.”
The door swings open again and I immediately stiffen, but it’s only a
caterer. I sigh with relief. Devin says, “
Lily
,” like my name is a
disappointment.
“What?”
“You look like you’re about to puke,” he says, accusingly. “You really
like him.”

---

I roll my eyes. But then I let my shoulders drop and I fake cry. “I do,
Devin. I do, I just don’t 
want
to.”
He takes my glass of champagne and downs the remainder of it, then
locks his arm in mine again. “Let’s go mingle,” he says, pulling me out of
the kitchen against my will.
The room is even more crowded now. There have to be more than a
hundred people here. I’m not even sure I know that many people.
We walk around and work the room. I stand back while Devin does
most of the talking. He knows someone in common with every person he’s
met so far, and after about half an hour of following him around, I’m
convinced he’s made it a personal game to find someone in common with
everyone here. The whole time I mingle with him, my attention is half on
him and half on the room, searching for traces of Ryle. I don’t see him
anywhere and I begin to wonder if the guy Devin saw was even Ryle to
begin with.
“Well, that’s odd,” a woman says. “What do you suppose it is?”
I look up and see that she’s staring at a piece of art on the wall. It looks
like a photograph blown up on canvas. I tilt my head to inspect it. The
woman turns her nose up and says, “I don’t know why anyone would
bother turning that photograph into wall art. It’s awful. It’s so blurry, you
can’t even tell what it is.” She walks away in a huff, and I’m relieved. I
mean . . . it’s a bit weird, but who am I to judge Allysa’s taste?
“What do you think?”
His voice is low, deep, and 
right
behind me. I close my eyes briefly and
inhale a steadying breath before quietly exhaling, hoping he doesn’t
notice his voice has any effect on me whatsoever. “I like it. I’m not quite
sure what it is, but it’s interesting. Your sister has good taste.”
He steps around me so that he’s at my side, facing me. He takes a step
closer until he’s so close, he brushes my arm. “You brought a date?”
He’s asking it like it’s a casual question, but I know it isn’t. When I fail
to respond, he leans in until he’s whispering in my ear. He repeats
himself, but this time it isn’t a question. “You brought a 
date
.”
I find the courage to look over at him and instantly wish I hadn’t. He’s
in a black suit that makes the scrubs look like child’s play. First I swallow
the unexpected lump in my throat and then I say, “Is it a problem that I
brought a date?” I look away from him and back at the photograph

---

hanging on the wall. “I was trying to make things easier on you. You know.
Just trying to 
make it stop
.”
He smirks and then downs the rest of his wine. “How 
thoughtful
of you,
Lily.” He tosses his empty wineglass toward a trash can in the corner of the
room. He makes the shot, but the glass shatters when it hits the bottom of
the empty container. I glance around me, but no one saw what just
happened. When I look back at Ryle, he’s halfway down a hallway. He
disappears into a room and I stand here, looking at the picture again.
That’s when I see it.
The picture is blurred, so it was hard to make out at first. But I can
recognize that hair from anywhere. That’s 
my
hair. It’s hard to miss, along
with the marine-grade polymer lounge chair I’m lying on. 
This is the picture
he took on the rooftop the first night we met.
He must have had it blown up and
distorted so no one would notice what it was. I bring my hand to my neck,
because my blood feels like it’s bubbling. 
It’s really warm in here.
Allysa appears at my side. “It’s weird, huh?” she says, looking at the
picture.
I scratch at my chest. “It’s really hot in here,” I say. “Don’t you think?”
She glances around the room. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed, but I’m a little
drunk. I’ll tell Marshall to turn on the air.”
She disappears again, and the more I stare at the picture, the angrier I
get. The man has a picture of me hanging in the apartment. He bought
me flowers. He’s giving me attitude because I brought a date to his sister’s