Therefore, he required some space to think about the words he wanted to say so she understood and believed his appreciation for the risk and his care toward her, but that, no, what had once existed between them could not be rekindled.
Nor would he want it to be.
In addition to his wish not to cause Leah pain, he felt that he absolutely needed to give her request the respect their past relationship deserved. He needed to mull through the reasons he did not believe they should, or could, regain what they’d once had, to determine the unadulterated truth and arrive at a worthy and compassionate response. All in all, it was a lot to think about, to come to terms with, to line up his gut knowledge against indisputable, honest logic. Especially as doing so meant revisiting the past, remembering the Leah he’d so adored.
A heaviness sat on his shoulders, clouded his heart, while he prepped and grilled a salmon fillet, which he paired with basmati rice and steamed vegetables. Over dinner and a glass of wine—he saved beer for pizza nights—with a sitcom on for background noise, Ryan thought about Leah. About the relationship they’d once had and how very much he’d loved her. How, at the time, he had set his various concerns on the back burner in order to convince himself that they were meant to be together. That no other woman could claim as much of his heart as she had.
Then, those feelings were true. Real. If Leah hadn’t chosen a different path, he would still love her with the same strength, the same surety, the same confidence in their rightness as a couple. He knew this with absolute fact. When he loved, he did so fully, without pretense or subterfuge or doubt. Back then, no other woman—even Andrea, with her fire and beauty—would have had a shot at catching his eye or crawling into his heart. He just wasn’t built that way.
But time hadn’t only mended his wounds, he’d grown and changed. With Leah, they would’ve—hopefully—grown at a similar pace. Become better friends, better lovers, better everything, as they walked the same path in tandem. That had not happened. Their paths had diverged and the man he was today did not recognize Leah as his other half. The partner he so yearned to share his life, his laughter, his burdens and his joys.
And while his instincts were strongly leaning that way with Andrea, she hadn’t become that woman yet, either. But if she wrote him a message stating she wanted to take a risk and see where that could lead, what their path might be? His answer could only be yes.
That, right there, told him a hell of a lot.
But suppose Andrea was not in his life at the very moment Leah had her change of heart. What then? Hard to say with one-hundred-percent accuracy or clarity, because wiping Andi from his mind as if they’d never met proved impossible. She was there. Simple as that.
A different tack, then.
Say he’d received this message from Leah six months ago? His life here had been good, his business flourishing, his happiness at just waking up every damn day in this house, with the incredible view outside his windows, full and complete. He had not missed Leah. Had not thought about her in any way other than general curiosity or, of course, when they touched base on the phone or Facebook. Nope, he would not have had a different answer then, either.
Solid, confident and comfortable in his reasoning and his gut response, Ryan finished eating his dinner and moved on to considering what he would actually write to Leah. Simple was best, probably. The honest truth. He cared about her and their friendship. He was glad she had taken the risk to let him in on her thoughts. But he believed her original decision, while difficult at the time, remained correct. Their lives were different now. He was different, too.
But he wouldn’t mention Andrea—really, what was there to even say on that front?—and on his end, he would try to check in with Leah here and there over the next week, to alleviate any embarrassment or oddness she might experience at being turned down.
Satisfied with all of his decisions, Ryan cleaned up the kitchen before returning to his laptop and powering it on. He had just finished typing and sending his message to Leah who, thankfully, was not online at that second, when a new friend request came through.
Clicking the appropriate tab, assuming he’d see someone in Denver—an old schoolmate, a prior coworker—or an acquaintance he knew here in Steamboat Springs, he was shocked through and through to recognize the thumbnail picture before reading the name.
Fiery red hair and a sexy-as-all-get-out, bordering-on-sultry smile. Andi.
She’d gone through the minor trouble of locating him on Facebook and had sent him a friend request? Well now, that seemed positive, didn’t it? At first, all he could do was stare at the name, “Andrea Caputo,” and the tiny picture to the side. And he had to work a little, to talk himself down from the probably meaningless request. Wanting to be friends on a social media site did not in any way indicate she actually considered him a friend or saw the potential, the possibilities between them, that he did.
But hell, if nothing else, it proved that he had been in her thoughts to a certain degree. Waking from his daze, his surprise, Ryan clicked Confirm on the request and...just that fast, he had another connection to Andrea. It took some doing, but he resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to immediately go to her page and scan through her photos, her life before the shooting and after—if anything was even there—in the days, months, before they’d met.
At some juncture, he would. His curiosity about her and his want to know her wouldn’t allow him to ignore pictures and updates that would offer a glimpse of her life in Rhode Island. Before he gave in, though, he wanted to see what she would do with this new “friendship.”
The thought had barely formed when the “new message” flag appeared on his screen. Not from Leah, but from Andi. Yup, this woman was full of surprises tonight. All good.
Hi, Ryan! I hope the friendship request is okay. And I know I could have told you this tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait. Today, I didn’t use my cane at all, and I drove by myself. This might not seem like a big deal to you, but it was huge for me. I’m celebrating with an extra-large bowl of ice cream. Anyway, hope you’re having a good night.
Ryan read her message and grinned. She’d had a good day and wanted him to know. Sure, everything she’d written was simple and direct, but he could almost hear her excitement, her pride in herself, for her accomplishments. They were a big deal. Both of them.
He quickly typed his response.
Hey, back! And of course the friendship request is okay. Better than okay. You know, I was actually going to talk to you tomorrow about your cane, that I thought you didn’t need it for short distances. But look at you, figuring that out for yourself! And the driving on your own must feel wonderful. It’s even more independence, which I know you’re big on. Congrats on both, Andi! Enjoy the ice cream, and yeah, I’m having a great night.
He waited a minute, to see if she’d respond. She did, with a thank you for understanding and the congrats, and that she’d see him tomorrow, for their appointment. Another minute later, the little green circle that showed when someone was online blinked out. She was gone.
Probably to eat dinner or take a bath or talk to her aunt and uncle. Or whatever she did to fill the evening hours before attempting to sleep, only to be awakened by one of her nightmares. Then, from what she’d already told him, she’d spend the rest of the night awake. And alone.
Ryan hated that thought, the image itself, and wished there was a way he could offer her some company in those hours. He couldn’t, without her reaching out, but maybe... Hmm. Without giving the idea any additional thought, he typed one last message to Andi. For her to see whenever she next logged into Facebook. Perhaps tonight, if a nightmare roused her once again.
A final thought before I’m off for the night. I don’t know if you listen to music very often, but I have found music is a great way to connect. To feel company when we’re alone. I’m just thinking that perhaps, after one of your nig
htmares (which I’m happy to hear about whenever you’re ready to share), find a soothing song to listen
to. Might help you relax. Might help you feel not so alone in those moments. Of course, I’d rather your nights were filled with sweet dreams. Night, Andi.
He hit Enter, clicked out of Facebook and powered down his laptop. Maybe, if she liked the music idea, thought it helpful at all, he’d share a few of his favorite songs, some of which had helped him after the breakup with Leah when, yeah, he’d felt pretty damn alone.
A glance at the clock told him what he already knew, that it was hours too early for bed. TV didn’t interest him; nor did reading. Both were sedentary activities that wouldn’t relieve his bout of sudden, unexplained nervous energy. What he needed, he decided after a minute of reflection, was some good, old-fashioned exercise. Yeah. He’d go for a run.
Maybe that would bring him down enough levels so that he could relax in front of the television or finish his book without a certain redhead clouding his thoughts.
Somehow, though, he doubted that would, or even could, happen.
Chapter Seven
Lying on her bed, Andi stared out the window, not seeing the sun, the trees, the pale blue sky or the billowing clouds. She’d had two fantastic days in less than a week. One in which she’d danced, laughed, beaten a panic attack and had almost been kissed. Almost. Yesterday, she’d regained a chunk of her lost independence by driving a car without fear or doubt and had gone the entire day without the use of her cane. So yeah. Two excellent days.
Today, so far, could not be described as excellent.
She’d had such hope when she’d gone to bed last night, such certainty that perhaps she’d sleep without a nightmare, that she’d manage enough rest to have a third excellent day. Instead, she’d woken within an hour, terrorized and sick and guilty, her entire body shaking, and burning behind her eyes was that damn buildup of tears that refused to fall.
But, even then, she’d tried to dispel the images the nightmare brought forth. She’d taken a hot bubble bath to soothe her nerves and eradicate her fears, had brewed a cup of chamomile tea and had purposely brought every good, positive, happy memory she could think of to mind.
Moments with her family. Their various vacations. How, as children, the Caputo sisters used to stay up late, hidden under one or the other’s bedcovers with a flashlight and tell stories. Some funny. Some scary. They’d always fallen into a heap laughing.
Hours later, those memories led Andi to phoning home, having a conversation with her parents and her sister before they left for work, and she’d put on her bright, happy voice...pretending that everything was wonderful, that she was doing so much better. Talking to them solved the problem of missing her family but didn’t do anything to help her mind stop circling.
None of her other attempts had proved successful, either. She hadn’t been able to relax or to gain any additional minutes of shut-eye. Exhausted, drained, almost unable to function, she had canceled her session with Ryan, and other than brewing more tea and using the bathroom, she’d chosen to remain hidden in the sanctuary of her bedroom.
When Margaret knocked on her door, concerned, Andi lied and claimed a migraine, stating she needed rest. That part was the truth, anyhow, and since then, she’d mostly just hoped that somehow, her body would give up the fight and she’d pass out. Sleep for hours and hours and hours, and that when she woke, she’d feel better again.
Stronger. More hopeful and capable and not so damn fragile.
Yet, the bliss of unconsciousness continued to evade her grasp. Her brain seemed unwilling or unable or too vigilant to shut down, to become vulnerable to the images her subconscious was hell-bent on sending her way. Something had to change.
Now. Because she had nothing left. No reserves. No fuel. No...nothing.
Her options were limited, but she’d reached the end. If she didn’t sleep enough hours between now—late afternoon—and morning, she’d phone her primary care physician in Rhode Island and follow her advice. And tonight, she’d give in and take two of her prescribed sleeping pills. Her doctor would ask if she had, and if Andi’s answer was no, that would be her first recommendation. Smart and sensible. She should try them now, she knew.
She needed to, as far as that went. Yet, she wasn’t quite ready. Even in her current state of exhaustion, she still wanted to sleep without medication. She’d wait until tonight.
Closing her eyes, Andi envisioned the hot spring, the way the steam had floated into the air, into the sunlight, and had morphed into magic. She thought of how the weight on her heart had lightened, how serenity had swept in and through her and had, for those precious, perfect minutes, buried her fear and anxiety and even her fatigue under a blanket of comfort.
Her thoughts moved on to Ryan. The soothing tone of his voice, the firmness of his body, the way he’d held her hand and how he had seemingly brought yet another level of peace to her heart. How she had never wanted to leave his side.
Easy enough to remember. To visualize and appreciate. But none of what she’d experienced that day reappeared in her present world. It did nothing to help her current dilemma. Maybe if she were there in person at the hot spring she’d feel some relief. But she knew enough not to attempt driving when in such a depleted condition, and her aunt and uncle were at the pub, working. Briefly she considered phoning Haley and asking her for a ride, but nixed the idea.
Other than Ryan, she hadn’t admitted this particular struggle to anyone. Oh. Ryan. Could she, should she, reach out? He could still be working. He might have other plans, even if his workday had come to an end. But if he happened to be free, he’d probably agree. But, jeez, actually phoning and asking him to drive over here to pick her up, because she couldn’t sleep?
Seemed too much to ask. This was her battle, not his.
It was then that the doorbell rang, sending her heart into overdrive at the sudden, unexpected noise. She considered ignoring it. Certainly, whoever was at the door wanted to talk to her aunt or uncle, not their visiting niece. But good manners dictated she couldn’t, so she carefully sat up and pulled herself to a stand before grabbing her cane. Today, her leg was too weak to do without. Yesterday seemed like a million years ago.
The energy required to physically move from her bedroom to the front door sent shudders of weakness rippling through her muscles. Okay, maybe she’d surrender to the sleeping pills after dealing with whoever waited on the front porch. Stubbornness to get better without help was one thing. Ignoring her health, her well-being, bordered on insanity.
Andi unlocked the front door and tugged, struggled slightly—the door tended to swell when the temperature rose and, while unusual for Steamboat Springs, the past few days had grown uncomfortably warm—and finally yanked it open. The force of doing so, along with her weakened condition, caused her to tumble backward, nearly losing her balance. It was only pure good luck and the help of her cane that kept her standing.
“I’m sorry. The door sticks,” she mumbled, focusing on her visitor. Oh. Ryan. Here. Probably to scold her for missing their scheduled appointment. Or to check on her. Or both. Didn’t matter which, really. Here he was, as if her thoughts alone had summoned his presence, looking too good to be real. A mirage. One with strong arms, a sexy physique and, yes, those dark chocolate, all-seeing eyes she could drown in. Trouble. Danger. Security and comfort.
All wrapped up in a pair of formfitting blue jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.
She blinked to ascertain he wasn’t a mirage. And no, he wasn’t. Relief, swift and sure and far too strong for her liking, came into being. She scowled, pushed the relief down deep, and said, “Hi, Ryan. What brings you to my neck of the woods without any advance notice?”
“Hello to you, too,” he said with that charming, semisarcastic grin. A cover, she guessed, for his concern. His nosiness. Whatever his motive for being here.
“You’re happy to see me, huh? That’s good to know, because I’m happy to see you.”
“Let me repeat,” she said, trying hard to hang on to her defenses. “Why are you here?”
“I was worried,” he said. “And from the looks of you, I had a right to be.”
“I’m fine.”
“Hmm. Yes, and ‘fine’ is Andi for ‘I’m not fine, but I refuse to admit that or explain why, so please accept my answer and go away.’” He leaned his long, firm body against the inside of the door and crossed his arms in a relaxed posture. “I’m on to you, Andi. You’re not fine.”
“I had a migraine,” she said, using the same lie she had with her aunt. “But I’m doing much better now. Really, nothing here for you to concern yourself over.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? I’m concerned for you.” His voice was quiet, calm. Steady. “And you look as if you’re less than thirty seconds from keeling over and dropping to the floor in a heap.”
“Migraine,” she insisted. “I don’t get them often, but—”
“Stop. Please,” he said. “Do me the honor of telling the truth.”
Damn it. “Haven’t slept more than an hour. Not since the night before last, and that was my...three-hour norm. But I have a plan now, see, and really, there isn’t any need to burden yourself or go out of your way. I...have it figured out. And—”
“Nothing to do with you is a burden.” He pushed out a breath. “Invite me in or we can sit out here, on the porch. But we’re going to talk, and you need to get off your feet.”
“There isn’t anything to talk about.”
“Andi. Stop doing that,” he said, his gaze and voice unflinching. “I’m not leaving.”
She wondered, briefly, if she could summon the strength to push him far enough back to allow her to close the door. If so, she’d return to her bedroom and, rather than dredge deep enough to locate the will to have an actual conversation—this conversation—she could...what? Lie there on her bed and stare out the window some more? Feel alone? Feel...helpless?
From Good Guy To Groom (The Colorado Fosters #6) Page 10