What in the world is he doing?

I turn off the water and grab a towel, running it over myself. “Ryle!”

He still doesn’t respond. I pull my jeans on in a hurry and open the door as I’m pulling my shirt over my head. “Ryle?”

The nightstand by our bed is tipped over. I move to the living room and see him sitting on the edge of the couch, his head in one of his hands. He’s looking down at something in his other hand.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up at me and I don’t recognize his expression. I’m confused by what’s happening. I don’t know if he just got bad news or . . . Oh, God. Allysa.

“Ryle, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

He holds up my phone and just looks at me like I should know what’s happening. When I shake my head in confusion, he holds up a piece of paper. “Funny thing,” he says, setting my phone on the coffee table in front of him. “I dropped your phone by accident. Cover pops off. I find this number hidden in the back of it.”

Oh, God.

No, no, no.

He crumbles the number in his fist. “I thought, ‘Huh. That’s weird. Lily doesn’t hide things from me.’ ” He stands up and picks up my phone. “So I called it.” He tightens his fist around the phone. “He’s lucky I got his fucking voice mail.” He chunks my phone clear across the room and it crashes against the wall, shattering to the floor.

There’s a three-second pause where I think this could go one of two ways.

He’s going to leave me.

Or he’s going to hurt me.

He runs a hand through his hair and walks straight for the door.

He leaves.

“Ryle!” I yell.

Why did I never throw that number away?!

I open the door and run after him. He’s taking the stairs two at a time, and I finally reach him when he’s at the landing of the second floor. I shove myself in front of him and grab his shirt in my fists. “Ryle, please. Let me explain.”

He grabs my wrists and pushes me away from him.

• • •

“Be still.”

I feel his hands on me. Gentle. Steady.

Tears are flowing and for some reason, they sting.

“Lily, be still. Please.”

His voice is soothing. My head hurts. “Ryle?” I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright. I can feel a sting at the corner of my eye and I wince. I try to sit up, but I feel his hand press down on my shoulder.

“You have to be still until I’m finished, Lily.”

I open my eyes again and look up at the ceiling. It’s our bedroom ceiling. “Finished with what?” My mouth hurts when I speak, so I bring my hand up and cover it.

“You fell down the stairs,” he says. “You’re hurt.”

My eyes meet his. There’s concern in them, but also hurt. Anger. He’s feeling everything right now, and the only thing I feel is confused.