It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

Ryle is still staring at the television, one of his hands protectively on
Emmy’s back, the other behind his head. “Since this movie started.”
I recognize the scene, which lets me know it’s been about an hour.
Allysa finally walks into the room, breathing life into it. “Hey, Lily. I’m
sorry she’s asleep; we tried so hard to keep her awake.” We give each other a
two-second glance. She silently apologizes that Ryle is here. I silently tell her
it’s okay. They’re siblings—I can’t expect him not to show up when he
knows she’s babysitting his daughter.
Ryle motions for Allysa. “Can you put Emerson on her pallet? I need to
talk to Lily.”
The curtness in his voice alarms both me and Allysa. We give each other
another look as she pries Emerson off Ryle’s chest. The ache to hold her only
grows wider as Allysa lays her on the pallet.
Ryle stands up, and for the first time since I walked in, he makes eye
contact with me. He gives me a once-over, noticing the outfit and the heels
I’m wearing. I can see the slow roll of his throat. He nudges his head upward,
indicating he wants to speak to me on the rooftop balcony.
Whatever conversation this is, he wants complete privacy.
He exits the apartment to head to the roof, and I look toward Allysa for
guidance. Once Ryle is out of earshot, she says, “I told him you had an event
tonight.”
“Thanks.” Allysa swore she wouldn’t tell Ryle about my date, but I can’t
figure out why he’s so angry if he doesn’t know where I’ve been. “Why is he
upset?”
Allysa shrugs. “No idea. He seemed fine when he showed up an hour
ago.”
I know better than anyone how Ryle can seem fine one second and
absolutely the opposite of fine the next. But I usually know what’s setting
him off.
Did he find out I went on a date? Did he find out it was with Atlas?
Once I’m on the roof, I locate Ryle leaning over the ledge, looking down.
My stomach is already in knots. My heels click against the floor as I make
my way over to him.
Ryle glances at me briefly. “You look… nice.” He says it in a way that
makes it seem like an insult rather than a compliment. Or maybe that’s just
my guilt.