Title: Secrets
Author: LuxKen27
Universe: Canon divergence
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: Y
Warning: Language, innuendo
Word Count: 8,112
Summary: When Stacy learns of a secret from Ryan's past, it threatens to shatter their relationship for good.
Author's Note: This story was written for KeB, who left me lucky review #50 for Stacy in Bloom. She requested angsty romance for her favorite pairing (and mine!) set sometime after the show's canon run. This was a challenge that brought me somewhat out of my comfort zone, so I really hope it delivers for you! Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and inspiring me =)
This story is not part of my Stacy in Bloom universe. Further notes can be found at my Dreamwidth and/or LiveJournal, which is linked in my profile.
DISCLAIMER: The Kids Incorporated concept, storyline, and characters are © 1984 – 1993 Thomas Lynch/Gary Biller/MGM Television/20th Century Fox Home Entertainment/Disney Channel. Any resemblance to any person currently living or deceased is unintended (aka, I am writing about the characters, not the actors who portray them). No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Stacy pushed aside an entire rack of clothes in her sister's closet. Where is it? she wondered, biting her lip as she stooped down to search the shelves below, picking through sweaters, vests, and cardigans.
The sound of the door opening startled her, and she turned swiftly, only to melt with relief when she spotted her sister in the doorway. "Renee!" she greeted her urgently. "Have you seen my new tennis skirt?"
Renee arched a brow as she pushed further into her dorm room. "Since when do you play tennis?" she asked her sister, surveying the piles of clothes strewn about with a critical eye. "And how can you find anything in this mess? What did you do, bring your whole closet?"
Stacy frowned at Renee. "No," she huffed. "You know I keep some stuff here so I don't have to lug my entire wardrobe back and forth." She turned her attention back to the clothes, absently crossing her arms over her chest.
Renee shrugged. "You're here practically every weekend," she noted. "You might as well save yourself the time and effort of packing ten suitcases to bring every time."
If Stacy heard the comment, she didn't acknowledge it. "Listen," she said instead, "I bought the skirt a couple of weeks ago and left it here – are you sure you haven't seen it? I really wanted to wear it tonight."
Renee smiled as she dropped her books on her desk. "I'm sure, Stace," she reiterated. "And it's just a skirt – what does it matter?"
Stacy rolled her eyes. "It matters, okay?" she replied crossly. "Will you help me look for it, at least?"
She tacitly ignored Renee's put-upon sigh as she continued to pick through the mountain of clothes. She'd been arranging this outfit in her head for the last two weeks, tweaking each and every aspect of it, right down to her makeup and accessories. She would be damned if she was going to let her plans fall through now, when the fateful night she'd been so anxious for had finally arrived.
"Is this it?" Renee asked, holding up a short, white, pleated skirt with a band of contrasting navy and crimson piping at the waist.
Stacy grinned. "Yes!" she cried, annoyance forgotten as she crossed the small space and grabbed it. "Oh, thank you, Renee! You've saved my life!" She sprinted over to her sister's bed, where she'd laid out of the rest of the outfit, and slipped into the bathroom to change. From the corner of her eye, she saw Renee shaking her head ruefully as she lifted herself from the floor and drifted over to her desk.
I love my sister, Stacy thought, shedding the lightweight robe she was wearing, but she has no sense of style. She wrinkled her nose as she ran through a mental inventory of her sister's wardrobe – lots of A-line wool skirts and scratchy cotton blend sweaters. Frankly, she thought Renee should've been grateful for all of the purchases she'd stashed here, cute little mix-and-match tops and pants and skirts, along with a couple of pairs of trendy shoes. Stacy's favorite hobby was shopping, and she was very generous with her finds – she wouldn't have minded in the least if her sister decided to borrow some of her clothes. After all, it was only fair, especially considering how limited Renee's closet space was.
Stacy smiled as she slipped into the bright white skirt, taking her time to adjust it so that the contrast piping rested squarely on her hips. It had been hard for her when Renee had moved away to college, but she was grateful for two things: one, that her sister had the foresight to attend the very prestigious Columbia University, located near the heart of New York City; and two, that her parents allowed her to visit as often as she wanted. Okay, so it wasn't like her family lived all that far away – just over the bridge in Brooklyn – but still, it was the thought that counted, and it gave her the independence she craved. She had taken advantage of both, visiting as often as the university would allow, and spending quite a bit of her time in the city seeking out the latest fashions.
Of course, that wasn't her only reason for hanging around the university as much as she did.
Stacy picked up her eyebrow pencil and leaned forward, gazing intently at her reflection in the mirror. She was so focused on her task that she didn't even notice when Renee came to stand in the slightly ajar door, her arms full of discarded clothes.
"If I didn't know better," Renee mused aloud, watching her sister with no small amount of wry amusement, "I'd think the only reason you ever came to visit me was to see your boyfriend."
Stacy glanced at her in the mirror. "Oh, you know that's not true," she replied with a smile. "We do lots of things together!" Still, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as Renee shrugged and drifted away, continuing to pick up errant accessories. It wasn't the first time her sister had expressed such a sentiment, and there was more truth in her words than Stacy liked to admit.
Renee wasn't the only person at Columbia that Stacy had a connection to – her boyfriend, Ryan, was also a student there.
Stacy picked up her case of eye shadow, contemplating its contents before choosing a smoky gray shade. She smiled as her thoughts shifted to her boyfriend. Could she help it if she wanted to spend every waking moment of the day with him? He was gorgeous, thoughtful, attentive, and incredibly romantic – and they'd grown extremely close over the course of the last few months. They had been friendly since junior high, when Ryan moved to town and joined the house band at the P*lace, but at some point over the last year, they had suddenly discovered each other. He'd asked her out in the spring, and they had been nearly inseparable ever since.
Whenever she thought of him now, it was hard for her to imagine there was ever a time that she barely took notice of him, or thought him merely a protective, brotherly figure. Of course, she considered as she reached into her makeup kit and pulled out her lipsticks, it probably would've been weird to feel the way she did about him now when she was only ten. They had been friends then, but now, six years later?
She was ready for him to become so much more.
Stacy applied the finishing touches to her makeup and took a step back, gazing at her reflection with a critical eye. Satisfied that her makeup looked perfect, she reached for the rest of her outfit. She carefully pulled a black spaghetti-strap tank top over her head, taking a moment to adjust the straps on her shoulders, before layering on a navy and crimson gingham-print flannel shirt to complete the look. Butterflies filled her stomach and an excited smile played at the corners of her lips as she tousled her hair, running her fingers through her honey-blonde locks until the curls relaxed into waves. Tonight was a very important night, and she wanted to look perfect. She wanted to be perfect, not only for herself, but for him.
She loved him, of that she was very sure. She loved everything about him, from his quirky sense of style, to his endless esoteric interests, to his sometimes sarcastic sense of humor. She loved the way he made her feel: like she was smart, like she was pretty, like she was someone special and worthy of taking up so much of his time. She loved the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, and most especially, the way he touched her – every look, every word, every caress so intimate and intense.
She sent a covert glance at the still ajar bathroom door before approaching the mirror again, leaning almost as close as she had before, when she was still working on her makeup. Her eyes lingered on her reflection, but instead of inspecting it for imperfections, she was trying to commit it to memory. This is the last time I'll see myself like this, she reminded herself, clutching the lip of the counter as anticipation shimmered down her spine. When I wake up tomorrow morning, I'll no longer be a virgin.
"So, where are you two going?" called Renee from the vicinity of her desk. Her voice sounded thin and far away, like it was meandering through a long tunnel.
"Hmm?" Stacy mumbled, fluffing her hair. She wasn't paying attention to her sister, too busy wondering if she would look any different, or act any different, or only just feel different. A couple of the girls at school had told her that she'd never feel the same after having sex for the first time, but…come to think of it, they'd neglected to mention whether it would a 'good' different or a 'bad' different.
Stacy frowned. How could it be 'bad' different?
"On your date," Renee replied, moving closer to the bathroom door. "Where is he taking you on your date?" She arched a brow as she watched her sister preen, clearly feeling a bit hurt that Stacy was off in her own little world.
"Oh, I don't know," Stacy replied breezily, touching up her lip gloss.
"You don't know?" Renee echoed. "So, you tore my room apart in order to make sure you were wearing that very specific outfit, and you don't even know what you're doing?"
"Now, I didn't say that," Stacy responded cheekily, turning to face her sister.
Renee furrowed her brow. "What's going on, Stacy?" she queried, tightening the brace of her arms across her chest.
"Don't look so worried, Renee," Stacy teased, unable to hide her smile as she pressed past her sister. "It's nothing bad, I promise. I'm sure we're not going to rob a liquor store or anything. We just…didn't make very specific plans." She settled herself in the armchair next to Renee's bed, pulling on her socks and a pair of cute red athletic shoes.
Renee studied her sister intently as she tied her laces. "You're keeping something from me," she finally surmised. "What is it?" She sat in her desk chair. "You know you can tell me anything, Stace."
"I know," Stacy replied, sitting back in her seat. "It's just…"
"What?" Renee prodded, leaning forward, looking interested.
Stacy blushed, not quite comfortable with the idea of telling her sister such an intimate secret, but, at the same time, she figured Renee had the right to know why she wouldn't be coming back to her room that night.
"Tonight's the night," she announced, drawing her eyes back to meet her sister's gaze.
A question formed on Renee's lips, but quickly died away when she realized what Stacy was hinting at. Her eyes widened. "Are you sure, Stace? You two have only been going out for a couple of months – "
"Six months," Stacy hastily corrected her, "and we've liked it each for a lot longer than that." She shrugged. "Besides, it's not like I haven't spent the night with him before."
"What?" Renee screeched, bolting upright out of her seat.
Stacy flushed. "Relax, will you?" she pleaded, reaching for her sister's hands. "I just – stayed with him one night. Our date ran late, and I didn't want to take the last train home. We slept in the same bed, that's all." Not that we weren't tempted to do more, she amended silently. "But now…"
"When was this?" Renee demanded to know, not quite able to move past this stunning revelation.
"Two weeks ago," Stacy admitted, "and before you ask – I told Mom and Dad I stayed with you, so please don't tell them otherwise, okay?" She looked up at her sister with her best puppy dog eyes. "Please, big sis?"
Renee managed a small smile. "All right," she agreed with a sigh, sinking back down into her desk chair. She gripped her sister's hands. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, it's a huge decision to make, and you're still so young… "
Stacy bristled. "I'm sixteen years old," she replied defiantly. "You can't tell me what to do."
"I realize that," Renee said dryly. "But I am your older sister, and I'm asking you – please, don't be stupid about it, okay? You may think you love him, but use protection."
Stacy grinned. "I promise," she replied, impulsively throwing her arms around Renee. She knew her sister didn't understand or necessarily approve, but she had given her blessing, and that was good enough. "Thanks, Renee," she whispered. "You're the best sister ever!"
.xxxxx.
Stacy met Ryan shortly after six, and it didn't take the two of them long to become reacquainted with each other, or to decide what they wanted to do that evening. She relished the feeling of having his arms around her once more – two weeks apart had obviously been two too many – and was all too happy to agree to his suggestion of sushi and karaoke. They took the subway from campus to the Upper West Side, disembarking on Columbus Circle. A couple of streets over, Ryan pointed out a little hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurant, one with a rocking karaoke bar on the second floor. Stacy could hear the faint sounds of music already emanating from the building, and she smiled.
"Looks good to me," she said, exhaling sharply as he pressed a fleeting kiss just below her ear. She tightened her grip on his hand, leaning into him slightly as her knees began to falter.
"Then let's go," he whispered in response, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her into the building. She was surprised when they didn't stop in the restaurant, instead immediately heading upstairs. "We can order from the menu up here," he informed her, "and they'll just bring it up. This place is great."
Stacy looked at him curiously. "Have you been here before?" she asked.
He merely smiled, pushing open the door to the already noise-filled room. They made their way over to the bar, where the bartender greeted him by name. "Ryan, so good to see you again!" the tall, slim man said. He immediately set out two napkins, bringing two glasses over to place upon them. "Will you be singing for us tonight?"
"Of course," Ryan replied with a grin, settling on one of the stools and reaching for his wallet.
Stacy sat beside him, feeling a little bewildered as she watched him fill out a slip of paper and hand it over, along with a dollar. They'd been going out for six months now, but he'd never brought her here before. She also knew that he didn't sing much anymore, focusing most of his musical talent on writing compositions these days. And yet, the bartender not only knew his name, but also looked inordinately pleased at the idea of him performing.
Chill out, Stacy thought, giving herself a firm shake. It doesn't mean anything.
Her silent reprimand did nothing for the butterflies in her stomach, however; they broke free and rose, fluttering in her chest. She relaxed a little when Ryan turned to her, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her close once more. "How about it, Stace?" he asked.
"W-what?" she mumbled, flushing lightly as she struggled to focus her attention on him.
He smiled, leaning forward slightly. "Do you want some sake?" he repeated patiently, indicating her glass.
"Sure," she managed, watching as the bartender filled the light-colored liquid to the top.
"So," the man began conversationally as Ryan handed Stacy a menu, "who is your lovely companion?"
"My girlfriend," Ryan replied, the sound of his voice pouring over Stacy like molten honey. His hand was warm on her waist, his fingers already sliding under the waistband of her skirt, and he gave her a little squeeze. She glanced over at him from behind her lashes, giving him a small, knowing, yet covert smile.
"Ahhh," the man nodded knowingly. "Many hearts will be broken on this night."
Stacy's heart skipped a beat.
The bartender quickly wrote down their order and turned to his next customer, who had taken a seat further along the bar. Ryan turned to Stacy, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear with his free hand. "Do you want to stay here, or move to a table?" he asked, indicating the somewhat cluttered room to their right. In the front of the cramped space was the stage, well equipped with several microphones, speakers, a prompter, and a well-worn book of song lyrics. Already there was a queue for the karaoke, with an older man warbling away to a classic country western song at present.
Stacy glanced around, her eyes lighting up when she noticed tablecloths draped over the tables. "Table," she decided immediately, sensing all of the possibilities.
"I like the way you think," Ryan murmured, signaling for a refill of his sake before the two wandered towards one of the tables near the back. They settled themselves side by side on the leatherette bench seat, and he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close as they waited for their dinner.
Moving to a table didn't stop the crowd of regulars from wanting to greet Ryan, however. Even after their food had arrived from the restaurant downstairs, it seemed like there was an endless parade of people stopping by, continually drawing his attention away from her with hearty slaps on the back or ill-timed jokes about the happy drunks singing onstage. The only indication Stacy had that Ryan was still aware of her presence at all was his hand resting on her thigh, just below the hemline of her skirt.
It was easy to let her mind wander under such circumstances, and she found that her thoughts were moving in only one direction: forward. She picked at her food, her stomach twisting into a nervous knot. What would it be like, later that night, when they were finally alone? Had he planned anything special, like candles or rose petals? She furrowed her brow. Unlike her sister, who shared a suite with a couple of other girls in the high rise East Campus building, Ryan lived in the corridor-style McBain dorm, sharing a double room with one other guy. She'd met his roommate a few times; he was a pretty nice guy, and generally considerate of their relationship, but his presence had thwarted their plans on more than one occasion.
She thought back to their last date, two weeks ago. They'd gone to a play on campus, some production that his roommate had a part in, though she couldn't really recall most of the details – it was pretty bad, even by student theater standards. What she did remember, however, was what happened afterwards – she and Ryan had gone to the wrap party as guests of his roommate, and they'd actually had a good time, staying far longer than they meant to. Stacy wasn't staying on campus that weekend, planning instead to simply take the train back home at the end of the evening, but by the time they left, she knew that she'd already blown her curfew by a long shot. She didn't feel comfortable taking the last train of the night back to Brooklyn by herself, so when Ryan invited her to stay with him instead, she immediately said yes…not that he had to do much in the way of convincing her.
By the time they made it back to his dorm, they found themselves surprisingly alone in his room – but Stacy was a bit too tired and anxious about the idea of facing her parents' wrath the next morning to take advantage of the situation. The next morning, however, was a completely different story – she'd never felt closer to him than she did when she woke up, still wrapped in his arms, his head on her shoulder, their bodies nestled intimately together. He stirred awake shortly after her, opening his eyes and greeting her with a smile, then with a kiss. It had seemed completely natural to shift positions slightly as their kisses deepened; she twined her arms around his neck, their bodies moving fluidly together as he rolled over on his back.
It was only then that either of them realized his roommate had returned at some point during the night, and was zonked out on his own bed a few feet away, his arms splayed out over the ends of the mattress. His presence completely killed the mood, with each of them becoming hyperaware of their unknowing audience.
"Penny for your thoughts," Ryan offered, breaking into Stacy's memories, the hand on her leg stroking her skin in a soft caress.
She glanced at him, taking in the curious cast of his expression, but focusing on the luminous depths of his emerald green eyes. Sometimes she thought he could see straight through her, so penetrating was his gaze. The knot in her stomach deepened into a curl of heat at her core. "I was just thinking about how much I love you," she replied, leaning into him.
He smiled. "Oh?" he mused, turning towards her, his hand rising to circle her waist and draw her ever closer. "Well, that's worth more than a few pennies to me."
Anticipation swirled through her as he closed the gap between them, but just as she felt the whisper of his breath on her lips, he pulled away with a soft curse.
What? Stacy thought, cracking her eyes open.
"Sorry," Ryan said ruefully, as if he'd read her mind. He nodded toward the stage. "I'm up."
"Oh." Stacy tried not to feel disappointed as he stood up, but she must not have looked too convincing, for he leaned down just far enough to whisper one more thing before leaving:
"This is for you – I think you'll like it."
Curiosity swept through her as she settled back in her seat, pondering his cryptic words as she watched him take to the stage, much to the apparent delight of the crowd. When the first strains of the song he'd chosen began blaring from the speakers, she couldn't help but laugh. Of course, she thought to herself, of course he'd pick this!
"I was born in Little Rock / had a childhood sweetheart," he began, gripping one of the microphones with both hands and leaning into the stand. "We were always hand in hand..."
He'd chosen one of her favorites, and was playing with the lyrics accordingly.
"I wore high top shoes and shirt tails / Stacy was in pigtails," he continued. "I knew I loved her even then…"
He smiled then, the influence of his sake intake apparent in its silliness. "You know, her papa disapproved it," he crooned, "her mama boo-hooed it / but I told them time and time again / I was made to love her, worship and adore her / hey, hey, hey…"
There was a surge of approval from the audience as he began to really dig into the song, unable to escape the effervescent groove of the infamous James Jamerson bassline. As she watched him, Stacy found it hard to believe he'd ever given up performing – it was very obviously in his blood. The raucous crowd, who had heretofore been heckling the other singers who dared climb up on stage, were now resting squarely in the palm of his hand; a couple of the older patrons were even screaming the lyrics along with him, especially when he welcomed audience participation.
And yet, at the same time, he had the ability to make her feel like he was serenading her, like the rest of the world had melted away and it was just the two of them, the way his eyes lingered on her the entire time, the feeling he put into the words as he approached the climax of the song.
"My baby loves me / my baby needs me," he continued, "And I know I ain't going nowhere…"
He pulled the microphone from its stand and made his way down the side steps of the stage, still singing full-blast, and the surprised audience parted ways for him without protest. Stacy's heart leapt in her chest when she realized he was walking towards her, holding out his hand to take hers.
"Even if the mountain tumbles / if this whole world crumbles / by your side, I'll still be standing there," he sang, giving her hand a warm squeeze. "I was made to live for you / Build my whole world around you…"
She felt her anxiety and nervousness melting away under the intensity of his loving gaze, only to have it followed by a sharp pang of disappointment when he let her go, moving back to the stage as the song wound down to a close. She barely heard the audience's reaction, even though he'd earned a standing ovation, so focused was she on the lingering suggestiveness of the song, and the way it had only stoked the fire that burned for him inside her.
As easily as the audience had parted for him before, they crowded around him now, as nearly everyone in the cramped space flocked forward, ready to show their appreciation for his performance. He patiently pushed through the mob, soaking in the attention, giving just as much silliness as he received, accepting the back slaps, high-fives, and shots of sake that were shoved at him in thanks.
Stacy frowned a little when she realized most of those surrounding him were women. She pushed to her feet, ready to round the table and make her claim on him, when someone else beat her to the punch. Stacy's stomach dropped as she watched a tall, slim girl drape herself over Ryan, chatting and smiling and giggling at him with far more familiarity than a chance meeting would imply.
At first, Ryan ignored her, but then the girl threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body intimately into his, and his entire expression changed, to one of surprise and pleasure. Stacy felt rooted to the floor, horror washing over her in waves as he swept the girl into a friendly embrace, returning her chatter with enthusiasm. He let her go soon enough, but she didn't reciprocate, her arms locked in place on his shoulders, her smile turning coy as she lowered her eyelashes.
Stacy found her legs and pressed forward, unsure whether to be angry or afraid that this girl had captured her boyfriend's attention. Just as she reached their side, she realized how flirtatious a turn their conversation had taken.
"Any time you want me," the girl purred, "you know where to find me."
Stacy flushed, feeling her blood boil as she took hold of Ryan's arm.
"Who's this?" she demanded without preamble, shocked at the strength of the anger in her own voice. But then, she hardly felt like being cordial to the one person who seemed bound and determined to ruin her evening.
Her heated words drew both Ryan's attention and the other girl's. "Who are you?" she sneered, looking down her nose at Stacy. "And how did you even get into this place? Aren't you a little young to be sneaking into bars?"
Ryan, sensing the growing tide of animosity, quickly separated the two. "Actually, she's with me," he informed the mystery girl, shrugging out of her hold and covering Stacy's hand at his elbow. He granted Stacy a small smile before directing another comment at the girl. "I'll see you around, okay?"
The girl frowned, obviously unhappy at having her offer rejected. "All right," she sighed. "Sooner, rather than later, yeah?"
Ryan had the good grace not to respond, instead turning to face his girlfriend and her angry, hurt glare. "C'mon," he urged. "Let's get out of here."
Stacy didn't object, only reaching out to grab her purse as they passed by the table for a final time. They pushed through the virtual sea of humanity that filled the bar area; by the time they made it to the stairs and out into the cool, fresh air of the night, she felt like she'd been through the wringer – and her anger over the situation had only worsened.
"Who was that?" she asked again, the tone of her voice more even and controlled, now that they were alone. Her back was ramrod straight as she stood beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Ryan looked at her, his eyes sharp and assessing in spite of the fact that he'd had a few drinks. "Her name's Melissa," he finally said, rocking back on his heels.
His words hung heavily in the air between them. Stacy held his gaze, sensing a challenge in his statement. "Do you know her?" she pressed, half-knowing, half-dreading what the answer would be.
He shrugged. "We used to go out," he admitted, his hands coming to rest on his hips.
Stacy nodded slowly, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she felt a sob welling up in her chest. "Is that all you did with her?" she whispered, averting her eyes from his, as if it was too hard to even look at him while asking such a question.
"Excuse me?" he sputtered incredulously.
She gathered every shred of her courage in order to meet his gaze once more, even though she felt like her knees were about to give out from under her. He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the fleet of turbulent emotions that played so plainly across her features, but somehow, his silence only made her feel worse.
Like she was prying. Like she was demanding information she had no right to.
But didn't she?
"Look, Stace, why does it matter?" he finally asked. "I'm not interested in doing anything else with her."
"Does she know that?" she muttered, tightening the brace of her arms. Her chest felt tight and heavy, and it was becoming progressively harder for her to breathe without wanting to cry.
Ryan's features hardened imperceptibly. "Do I look like I care?" he said carelessly, tugging his shoulders into a half-shrug.
You did back there, she thought, recalling just how animated he'd been when he realized it was Melissa who had stopped him. It was enough to break the heaviness in her chest, her shoulders shaking with fury and fear and insecurity as tears slipped unbidden from the corners of her eyes.
"I can't believe you kept this from me," she choked out, swiping angrily at her cheeks.
"Stacy," he tried, stepping closer to her and opening his arms. She was having none of it, however, and quickly pushed out of his embrace. Suddenly, she had to know – the depth and breadth of the corner of his life, this part of himself he'd kept hidden from her. Here she was, ready to give all of herself to him, and only now was she finding out that maybe she didn't even know him at all.
"How many girls have you slept with?" she blurted out, a flush rising to heat her cheeks. She didn't even like to think about him being intimate with anyone else, especially not after the way he'd held her, kissed her, caressed her.
Ryan looked at her for a long moment, his gaze assessing as he considered his words carefully. "You don't want to ask me that," he finally replied. "You're not going to like the answer."
Another sob shook her shoulders. "Why not?" she asked in a strangled voice.
"Because it's not zero!" he burst out. He paused, closing his eyes and trying to reign in his own temper. "Look, Stacy," he continued, his tone overly patient and nearing condescension, "I realize you're anxious, or nervous, or whatever, but digging into my past is not going to help anything."
She shook her head, refusing to heed the warning note in his voice. She was going to get the truth out of him, even if she had to drag it out. "Have you ever slept with Melissa?" she persisted stubbornly.
It was at that moment that she realized Ryan had lost all patience with her. "Yes," he replied coldly, sarcastically. "Yes, I have. Many times, in fact. Do you want details – times, locations, positions?"
She was truly inconsolable now, crying so hard she could barely think straight, his words like razor sharp daggers in her heart. "I just want you to leave me alone," she whispered between sobs.
He heaved a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Stacy, I – "
"No!" she shouted, quelling the overwhelming urge to shove him. As it was, she took a step back, anything to put more space between them. "I can't believe I ever wanted to sleep with you."
He threw his hands in the air. "If that's the way you feel, fine," he said irritably, "but you don't have to act like a child about it. Let's not forget, this was your idea."
She exhaled sharply, feeling as though he'd just punched her in the gut. "So you mean you don't even want me?" she breathed, turning disbelieving eyes up at him, but finding herself unable to meet his gaze.
"Stacy, don't be stupid," he replied abruptly.
She didn't feel stupid – she felt totally humiliated. Had their entire relationship been a nothing but a sham? Was this how he really felt about her? Could he really make a mockery out of everything she held dear – like that song – because he felt, what, sorry for her?
"You know what?" she managed, taking a deep breath, feeling the resolve of her anger and the adrenaline suddenly coursing through her. "Why don't I just save us both a lot of time and trouble? You don't want to have sex with me, and I don't want to have anything to do with you."
Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and stormed off, breaking into a run after she turned the corner, hoping against hope that she would make it back to the subway station before her tears overtook her again.
.xxxxx.
"Stacy!" called her mother, her voice muffled by the walls that separated them. Her parents were in the family room of their apartment, while she relaxed two doors down in her bedroom. "Phone!"
"Who is it?" Stacy called back, her eyes not leaving the page of the magazine she was flipping through.
"It's Ryan, honey!" came the response.
Stacy's breath caught in her chest, her heart beginning to beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs. She scrambled into a sitting position on her bed, letting her magazine slide to the floor, forgotten. "I-I'll take it in here, Mom!" she replied, rushing out the door and settling herself by the extension in her parents' bedroom.
She picked up the receiver with a shaky hand. "Hello?" she said uncertainly.
Click. For a moment, she was afraid he'd hung up on her.
"Hey, Stace," Ryan greeted her a moment later, his tone warm, if cordial.
Her entire body went weak at the sound of his voice. It had been almost a week since their fight, and she'd had plenty of time to process and digest everything that had happened in the interim. She'd fled back to her sister's room in tears that night, spilling the story out as fast as she could comprehensively tell it, needing comfort and assurance and some other way to feel, besides humiliated. Renee had complied, lending her a sympathetic ear (and not hesitating to throw in a few barbs at Ryan's expense for good measure), but at the same time, it was impossible for her to turn off her practicality.
"You know I'm not Ryan's biggest fan," Rene had said, "but as much as I hate to admit it, he was right about one thing." When Stacy had looked at her questioningly, she explained: "There's no way he could've answered your questions to your satisfaction. Would you have preferred that he lie to you instead? I think he's a jerk, yes, but the real jerk move here would've been telling you what you wanted to hear just so you'd have sex with him."
Her reasoning had definitely given Stacy pause, but after a sleepless night tossing and turning on Renee's floor, replaying the agony of that final, nasty conversation, her mind was made up – she wanted to take the first train back home to Brooklyn and wallow in her misery. She wasn't sure she could ever face him again – or if she even wanted to.
She didn't know what that meant for their relationship, and for the first couple of days, she didn't really care. She avoided her friends at school, skipped rehearsals with the band, and cowered in her room after dinner. She cried more tears than she ever thought she had, sorry for what she said, what he said, and how she'd stormed away from him. She could never quite bring herself to regret anything else about their relationship, except for its possible end. A hollow ache had settled in her chest, replacing her endless tears with numbness, and she wondered – would she ever be able to move past this?
Did she even want to try?
"Are you still there?" Ryan asked, breaking into Stacy's racing thoughts.
"Yes," she assured him. "I'm sorry…I just – you're still speaking to me?"
He chuckled lightly. "I'd like to," he replied, an almost plaintive note in his voice. "I'd really like to talk to you – but what I have to say, I'd rather say in person. Would you be willing to meet me tomorrow, maybe for breakfast at the Deluxe?"
She clutched the phone a bit tighter. "Okay," she hedged, trying not to read something into his words that wasn't there.
"Great," he breathed, and she could almost picture his relieved smile. "I'll see you then."
"See you," she echoed, holding the phone to her ear until he hung up. Her heart was beating in her throat now, the hollow ache in her chest burning at the idea of seeing him face-to-face. What did he want to tell her? That he was sorry – or that they were finished?
She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the receiver to her chest, hoping mightily for the former.
She spent another sleepless night tossing and turning following that phone conversation, any myriad of possible outcomes to their meeting bombarding her brain. Even in her dreams, she'd felt the heaviness of tears, as if the entire relationship had slipped from her grasp and there was nothing she could do about it.
Stacy woke up the next morning feeling pessimistic.
She went through the motions of showering and dressing, throwing on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. She pulled her hair back in a hasty ponytail, not even bothering with her makeup. Not until she was well on her way into the city did she decide this was probably a bad move. If she wanted to have any chance of saving her relationship, she probably should've put some effort into her appearance, but by that point, it was too late.
When she stepped out onto the platform at the Columbia University station, it took her five minutes to convince herself not to cry.
Instead, she somehow made it to street level, walking the short distance to the brightly colored Deluxe diner, a popular hangout for Columbia's undergraduate population. It was decorated in the style of old '50s Americana, and as she entered its doors, she felt a pang of nostalgia for the P*lace, and all of the good memories she'd shared with him there. The diner was mostly deserted, so she chose a table in the back, near one of the windows, and pulled out a menu, opening it to the breakfast offerings. The words merely blurred on the page in front of her eyes, however, her stomach twisting into a sickening knot as she waited.
She had no sense of time passing. At one point, she noticed Ryan walking through the door of the diner. She looked down quickly, pretending to study the menu, trying to keep her heart from beating right out of her chest.
"Hey, Stace," he greeted her quietly, coming to a halt next to the table.
She looked up and almost immediately regretted it, feeling her inner anguish surge and threaten to overwhelm her. "Hey," she managed to reply.
He studied her for a moment, and she took the opportunity to do the same. He was dressed quite similarly to her – jeans and a t-shirt, with a sweater pulled hastily over it; his hair was slightly disheveled, and it was all she could do to resist reaching for him, to smooth the strands back in place.
"You didn't tell Renee that you were meeting me, did you?" he asked, sliding into the seat across from her.
"Why?" she asked curiously, swallowing her disappointment that he had moved even further out of her reach.
He shot her a rueful look. "Well, the last time she saw me, she threatened to separate my head from my shoulders."
Stacy snorted in spite of herself, reaching up to cover her mouth with her hand.
"I wish it was a joke," Ryan said wryly. When she looked at him again, however, she realized that he was smiling. She chanced to smile back, and suddenly, they were both talking at once.
"You go first," she demurred, averting her eyes back to her menu.
"Okay," he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "First of all, I want to say that I'm not here to break up with you."
Stacy's shoulders sagged with relief, her eyes slipping shut momentarily. She was surprised when she felt his fingers brush against the back of her hand. She lifted her eyes to his, meeting his luminous emerald gaze.
"I thought that might get you to look me in the eye again," he mused. "Which is good, because – I want to apologize, too. I was a jerk, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you last weekend."
"I'm sorry, too," Stacy confessed in a rush. "I never should've asked you those questions. Your private life is private, and I shouldn't have pried."
"I don't know about that," he returned thoughtfully. "I mean, just because your timing sucks, doesn't mean that you don't have the right to know about my past." He paused. "So do you still want to know?"
"That depends," she said, letting her gaze fall to their hands. She turned her palm up and laced her fingers through his. "Do you still want me?"
He smiled, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes," he replied softly. "I've waited six months for you, and I don't mind waiting longer, if you're not ready. It was your idea to set a date, and make this a 'thing'."
"I know," she responded. "I thought if we set a date, I could plan for it, and it would be perfect." She sighed. "Instead, all it did was make me even more insecure than I already was. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
He reached for her other hand, clasping it gently. "I knew you were anxious," he said. "I could tell the moment I met you that night. That's why I suggested we go to that bar. I really don't go there that often," he hastened to add, "only when I want to get away from the campus…or when I want to sing." He shook his head. "I wasn't expecting to see Melissa there, and I really wasn't expecting her to throw herself at me like that. I was flattered, but…I was on my way back to you."
Stacy flushed. "And I acted like a jealous bitch."
He squeezed her hands. "You acted like a girlfriend," he corrected her, "and I shouldn't have gotten mad." He smiled ruefully. "I get mean when I drink, which is why I don't drink that often."
Stacy smiled, turning his hands over in hers, caressing the backs of his fingers with her thumbs.
He heaved a sigh, his smile slipping away. "So do you want the truth?" he asked. "About Melissa?"
Stacy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, concentrating on the warm prickles of electricity that passed between their hands.
"We dated in high school," he continued after a moment. "Ever since that Sadie Hawkins's dance, in fact. I slept with her after the prom." He chuckled. "I know, I know, it sounds like a total cliché, but it wasn't anything that we'd planned. It just happened, you know? We were having a good time that night, and one thing led to another…"
She nodded again, ceasing the movements of her hands. It hurt to hear him say this, but it was a different sort of pain than what she'd felt before. He wasn't trying to wound her with his words now, but at the same time…she knew that he'd always have someone to compare her to. It was an advantage, however small, and it was something she'd have to learn how to deal with if she ever wanted to share this intimate side of him.
"That's the way it's always been with me," he continued quietly. "There have been others, but it's always happened naturally."
"Did you love them?" she inquired, not quite able to bring her eyes to meet his, even though she could feel him watching her intently.
He shrugged. "I think you have to love anyone to want to have sex with them – more than once, at least." He paused, sweeping his eyes toward the window, a thoughtful expression settling over his features. "So yeah – I loved them, once upon a time."
She chanced to look up then, her breath catching in the back of her throat when he gazed back at her, his dark green eyes as piercing as they had ever been. "I can tell you one thing for sure, though," he added, the wistful cast of his voice melting away, his grip on her hands tightening. "I never felt about any of them the way I feel about you."
Her eyes widened, and her heart began to thump heavily in her chest as the weight of his words settled over her – but he wasn't quite finished.
"If I'd had that fight with Melissa, or any of the others?" He shook his head. "That would've been it for me. But it's different, with you. You're worth fighting for. You're worth waiting for."
For the first time in a week, her lips curved up into a genuinely happy smile. "I love you," she said softly.
He smiled back. "I love you, too," he returned. "Now, please, let's never fight again."
Her grin widened as she leaned forward, only to feel the edge of the table cutting into her abdomen. She laughed, extracting herself from her side of the booth and circling around to his, twining her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him. His mouth was warm and welcome on hers, his lips soft and pliant and lingering. Their kisses were tentative and comforting, reestablishing something so special that was almost lost. She felt the hollow ache in her chest recede as his arms closed around her, drawing her body ever closer into his. Almost imperceptibly, she felt something within her shift; love and need and lust poured through her, racing along her nerves, settling deep in her abdomen. Their kisses deepened into something more heated and urgent and daring, and before she realized it, she was in his lap, pushing him back into the corner of the seat, raking her hands through his hair.
"Stacy," he whispered heavily against her lips.
"I'm ready," she replied in a rush, tracing her tongue along the line of his jaw before pressing a tiny, light kiss just below his ear.
He stilled her movements with a single caress, his hand finding her cheek, his thumb ghosting across its crest. His eyes searched her for a long moment, and she secretly thrilled over how dazed he appeared, even momentarily.
"Are you sure?" he questioned softly.
She nodded, allowing her eyes to fall to his lips. "You live across the street, right?"
"Right," he replied with a smile.
She looked up at him, her gaze emboldened and reckless. "Then let's go," she breathed, lowering her mouth to his.