“Because you’re right. About all of it. I am a bitch. Ryder does deserve better.”
She studied me for a moment. “So why don’t you do something about it?”
“I don’t know how. I can’t help how I feel.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’m terrified. Alone. Sad. I hate myself for hurting Ryder. I…I…I’m broken.” The flood gates opened then and I wept in a way I never had before. I’d have been embarrassed to do it in front of Sinclair, but right now, I had no control.
“Oh, honey.” She sat on the couch next to me and pulled me into an embrace. She held me for a long time. I was comforted by it even as part of me warned me not to get used to it.
“When you’re triggered to build your wall, that’s when you need to stop and assess,” the therapist's words came back to me. “Ask yourself if you really need to protect yourself. Are your beliefs around what’s going on really true.”
Sinclair was my oldest friend. Over the years, we’d had fights and most of the time, it was because of something I’d done. I’d hurt her brother, a person she love
d dearly. And yet, she was holding me as my world fell apart. So I guess the answer was no, I didn’t need to protect myself from her. She’d always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.
As my tears slowed, I wiped them and straightened from her shoulder.
“Trina, do you love Ryder?” her voice was soft, not angry or tense.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Why won’t you let him love you back? He really wants to.”
“Why?”
She laughed. “Beats the hell out of me, you silly bitch.”
I was able to laugh a little bit at that too.
“Or maybe it’s because he sees you. The real you that you don’t want others to know about.”
“He said he’s done with me.” His words and anger came back to me, making the little hope I had for a moment wither away.
She tugged me close and I rested my head on her shoulder. “Come on, this is Ryder we’re talking about. The guy will forgive you at hello,” she said referencing the Jerry McGuire movie.
That’s how, two days later, I walked up on stage at the Harvest Festival after Sinclair introduced me. My knees were knocking and my hands were shaking as I looked out over the sea of people from Salvation waiting to hear Ryder’s band play.
I stood at the microphone, paralyzed as I scanned the audience. I looked to the right of the stage where Sinclair smiled, and gave me a thumbs up.
“I…ah…I’m here to introduce...Ryder…ah…”
“Ryder Simms is a traitor,” I heard from the audience.
Immediately my hackles went up and I scanned the crowd until they landed on Earl Nesbit.
“Is that you Earl?” I yelled out. “You have some nerve calling Ryder a traitor. Does your wife know you sit at Kelly Wheeler’s table at Salvation Station so you can ogle her ass each night you’re out drinking?”
A long and loud “ooh” came from the audience. Earl shrank as his wife glared at him.
I put my fists on my hips. “Anyone else have something negative to say about Ryder?” I looked over everyone again, daring them to speak badly of Ryder. They all stayed silent. “Good. Now.” I took another breath. “I know you all know how the deputy mayor and Wyatt Jones got married to join forces for the farmers. At the time of their first wedding, well…that was fake. Of course, it took no time at all to become real, but they had the gall to say that being fake married was hard. Can you believe it? I mean, you’ve seen them, right?”
Everyone nodded.
“So, me and Ryder told them they were full of sh—malarkey. Being fake married couldn’t be hard. They insisted it was and bet us that we couldn’t stay fake married for a month.”
“That’s crazy,” someone yelled.