by Jamie Beck
“You could come, too. That way you won’t look pathetic.” He chomped on a slice of pizza.
Even as she batted his knee, heat spread through her chest. The Snoopy dance wouldn’t be out of place after being asked on another date before this one even got started.
They ate a slice in comfortable silence, watching the boys practice footwork and tricks while some girls gathered at the edge of the field to flirt. Those girls all looked the same—long straight hair, ripped jeans, hoodies. Their laughter fanned into the night sky, raining joyful energy over the stadium, bringing back memories of the Lilac Lane League and Benny, Logan, and Ryan.
Ryan kept his gaze on the kids. “It’s funny to think about how life changes—perspective, too. I had some big dreams back then. I’m not where I thought I’d be at this age.”
She turned away from the kids and stared at him, head tipped. He’d accomplished a lot since high school, so she didn’t know why he sounded disappointed. “Where did you think you’d be?”
“Well, I’m not giving David Beckham any competition, am I?” He chuckled. “But seriously, I’d dreamed of a pro career, or at least a coaching gig.”
“I didn’t know that.” A nonsensical part of her felt slighted that he’d had a dream she hadn’t known. “So why’d you go to law school?”
Ryan raised his brows, as if the answer was obvious. “Val got pregnant.”
She shrugged. “Beckham has kids, Ryan. Why couldn’t you do both?”
His incredulous expression suggested he couldn’t believe he had to explain himself to her, of all people. “We were blindsided. Who knew antibiotics could affect the pill’s effectiveness? When she came to me in tears, the sudden responsibility hit me. One minute I’m a carefree college kid and player, the next I’m stepping up to be a husband and father. Pipe dreams don’t buy formula and diapers. I needed to provide a good home for Val and our child. I needed a secure career, and the law appealed to my sense of right and wrong.”
In Steffi’s mind, she’d always envisioned Val gleefully telling Ryan the news. Somehow, she’d needed Val to be a seductress and conniver, trapping Ryan into a life he never wanted. It never crossed her mind that Val had been frightened by her situation. Truthfully, she’d been too busy feeling sorry for herself to stop to consider what Val and Ryan had sacrificed in order to give their child a chance at the white picket fence–style American dream.
“You must have really loved her . . .” Steffi grimaced at the envy in her tone.
Ryan set his crust aside. Another thing she remembered—he never ate the crusts. “I don’t know.”
“I do. You wouldn’t have married her, and she wouldn’t have wanted to keep the baby, if you weren’t in love.”
He shook his head, yet a melancholy smile played on his lips. “It’s not that simple. We were young and clueless. We wanted to do the ‘right’ thing. We had a lot of heat in our relationship, but love? Real love?” He wrinkled his nose in doubt. “I can’t say I loved her the way a man should love his wife. Not with my whole heart and soul.”
“Maybe you’re just jaded now because it didn’t turn out well.”
“No. It was doomed from the start.” He plucked a pepperoni from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “When you suffer a serious heartbreak, it’s tough to really love anyone else with abandon again. A mended heart is fragile, so I think I held back a bit because I was a little afraid of what might happen if it broke again. I never gave my wife my entire heart, and that’s at least part of why we failed.”
He frowned now, seeming lost in his confession.
“I’m sorry.” Steffi stared at her pizza, having lost her appetite. She’d cost Ryan so much. No simple dinner date would get them over the trust hurdle. “I’m truly sorry that what I did closed off a part of your heart, and that the ripple effect caused so much pain to so many. I never meant for that to happen.”
Ryan shrugged. “I got Emmy, and I wouldn’t trade her for any of it. Not even for you, Steffi. So don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I wouldn’t trade her for me, either,” Steffi teased, grateful for a way out of the bottomless pit of that topic. “She’s a great kid. I’m glad to hear that she’s been getting friendlier with Lisa.”
“Me too.” He chewed another bite of pizza in silence, then asked, “What about you? Did anyone in college or afterward change how you think about love?”
“No. I dated around in college, but nothing serious. I focused on sports and school.”
He widened his legs and rested his elbows on his knees. “I can’t believe you didn’t have a single significant boyfriend in the past ten years.”
“I told you, I broke up with you because I didn’t want to be tied down.” She blotted some grease from her lips. “I wanted to make my own way in college.”
He stared at the space between his feet. “What about after that?”
One never knows how far they’re willing to humiliate themselves until a test comes along. Given what he’d admitted here tonight, she decided to expose herself and hope for the best. “Honestly, when I heard about you and Val getting married, it threw me into a funk. Before that, I had this crazy idea that we could still end up together—assuming I was willing to beg. Then Peyton called me after she heard about the pregnancy from Logan. On your wedding day, I drank myself into oblivion with my teammates and had an ugly cry. I knew I deserved every bit of that bitter pill, but it sucked.” Steffi stretched her legs out, hoping it might help her relax a bit. “After college, I worked with some real alpha-holes in construction. It wasn’t easy to meet the kind of guy I could see myself with. I kept searching for someone who had it all—someone like you. I dated, but I never fell in love again. Seems like love was another first and best with you.” She fanned herself despite the early-October chill.
Ryan reached for her hand and tugged her closer, then raised one hand to her cheek. His gaze dipped to her lips, and he leaned forward, brushing her lips with a gentle kiss. Brief and sweet, leaving her wanting so much more.
He rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching. “Thanks for telling me all that. I know you don’t like to talk about your feelings.”
“No, I don’t,” she laughed. “But I’m older now. I’m getting better . . . or at least I’m willing to try.”
Ryan eased away but kept hold of her hand, allowing his chest to fill with the hope that this would blossom into something beautiful. Something more real than the fairy-tale love story he’d imagined it to be way back when. “You’ve changed. I mean, you’re the same in a lot of ways, but you’re more open.”
It was one step, but could she commit? That, in essence, had been her fatal flaw. The thing that had ruined them. He couldn’t give in to his feelings until he felt more certain of hers. That kiss had been a reflex and had whetted his appetite for more. But whatever happened between them wasn’t just about them. Any relationship he had, whether with Steffi or someone else, would affect Emmy. He should be sure before he took a major step, or stole more kisses.
“Tell me one thing that’s changed about you.” She turned and straddled her legs on either side of the bleacher now, her curious expression staring him in the face.
“For the better or for the worse?”
She made a soft clucking sound. “You were sort of perfect before, so it must be for the worse.”
“Fooled you, apparently.” He crossed his arms, thinking he’d changed in so many ways he didn’t know where to begin. “I’m more cynical now.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“My job keeps me mired in the shit parts of humanity. Between the criminals and the dirty cops, it’s hard to be optimistic about people’s intentions.”
“Sounds depressing. Why not switch to corporate law?”
“It might sound weird, but this job feels like a calling. Once in a while, a case comes along where I’m the only thing standing between some poor sucker and a really bum deal. Most of my clients have never had a lucky break. At
least half are decent folks who made a single bad mistake, like a bar fight. In court, I see private defense attorneys getting rich people off for the same and worse crimes. Seems to me the average Joe deserves a lawyer who cares.”
Her eyes twinkled beneath the stadium lights. The chilly air painted her cheeks, and the tip of her nose, a rosy shade of red. Like her lips. The ones he wanted to kiss again.
“They’re lucky to have you on their side, but I still don’t know how you can defend someone you know is guilty.”
“Guilt’s not always so easy to define. For example, right now I’ve got a guy who’s accused of rape.” In his head, he saw Owen O’Malley’s face. The perpetual confusion and frustrated anger that shone through his eyes. Ryan could hear the man’s slow speech responding to questions. “I know he had sex with his accuser—DNA evidence is clear, and he doesn’t deny it. The problem is, his IQ is seventy, and she’s a known prostitute he didn’t pay. I’m convinced he didn’t understand the transaction, and she’s accusing him of rape as some kind of payback.” When he looked up at Steffi, her rosy cheeks now matched the color of the moon above. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, adding sheen to her haunted expression. Her pupils had dilated and were fixed on some distant spot.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder to see what was happening on the field or in the parking lot, but nothing caught his attention. He turned back and gently touched her knee. “Steffi.”
Her body trembled as she let out a sort of stifled whimper. He watched as she blinked, her focus sharpening on him, yet her eyes remained filled with confusion.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She rubbed her temple. “Sorry. Zone-out.”
“I saw.” Wherever she went during those lapses, she came out of them agitated. “Can you remember anything?”
“No.” She shook her head briskly while playing with the generous cuffs of her sleeves. Everything about her body language signaled a desire to end the inquiry, like she was keeping something from him.
Maybe he didn’t have the right to all her secrets yet, but given their past, he wanted them. He wanted to know she would confide in him. Beyond that, her insentient behavior could hurt her and others, like Emmy. “Do you remember what we were talking about?”
“Your job.” She rubbed her head again. Maybe she had a headache and now wasn’t the time to press her.
“I wish you’d go to the doctor.”
“I went early this week. My scans show mild concussion damage, but no other physical symptoms.”
“I did a little reading about brain trauma causing epilepsy. There are things called absence seizures, although those are usually prevalent in children and go away with maturity. Did he mention epilepsy?”
“He sort of dismissed it because there wasn’t real evidence.” She patted her head and flashed a forced grin. “The good news is I’m tumor-free!”
A healthy level of paranoia earned from years with the PD office meant he could be misreading her overly bright attitude as some kind of cover. Yet something in her manner seemed off. “Maybe you should do a follow-up to rule out other things.”
“Overextended business owner here.” She raised her index finger, along with the level of sarcasm. “No free time or spare change for second opinions or shrinks.”
Psychologists? Had the doctor suggested that? A mental disorder? A reaction to trauma? Something else?
“Minutes ago you were bragging about how much you’ve changed, but if you don’t get answers, that’s your passive-aggressive way of avoiding things.”
Every trace of humor vanished from her expression. “Watch yourself there, Ryan, or you might sound self-righteous and condescending.”
“Sorry.” Was she right? Did he impose his judgment on everyone around him? Or did he just want people to take good care of themselves and others? “Tell me this, did these episodes happen before the mugging incident?”
She shrugged. “No.”
“So it is related to what happened in Hartford.”
“Yes. I told you that concussion was serious.”
“I’d love to look at the police file. Maybe I’d notice something they missed, or someone in my office might pick up on a clue.”
“Don’t bother. Besides, I tossed that file along with lots of other pointless stuff when I moved. I got attacked and robbed. It sucked. Life goes on. Don’t make me a victim.” Her voice had sharpened with each word, and her spine grew increasingly erect. “I’m not powerless or broken. It’s only been a few months. This brain fog could clear up on its own.”
“Okay. Okay.” Ryan held his hands up. “No one would ever call you powerless, by the way.”
“Good.” She grinned and blew out a short breath. “Now, if you’re finished interrogating me, let’s clean this up and go someplace a little warmer.”
Before he could respond, she leaned forward, took his face in her capable hands, and kissed him. Not an all-out passionate kiss, but the nip at his lip drove all thoughts from his head except one—desire. “Whatever you want.”
Chapter Sixteen
Steffi’s heart beat as if she were sprinting the stadium stairs when she and Ryan climbed her porch steps. “Claire’s at her aunt’s birthday dinner tonight, so she’s not home. But I doubt she’ll be out past ten.”
“Are you trying to send me home early?” Ryan asked playfully.
“No. I just . . . I don’t know. I’m being weird.” The last thing she wanted was to cut their night short. She’d prefer to drag him inside and lock the door so he could never escape, frankly. Not that she could say that, or admit that her insides were shaking like an earthquake. That would make him laugh. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, telling herself to relax. Did that work for anyone? It never worked for her. “Let me find a bottle of wine. Maybe you can find something decent on TV or pick a music channel.”
Ryan removed his jacket and laid it over a chair, then picked up the remote from the coffee table. “I’ll do my best.”
Steffi went to the kitchen and, once alone, slapped her cheeks a few times. Discomfort from the recent zone-out clung to her longer than others, but she couldn’t say why. That kiss keyed her up, too. Made her almost uneasy, which didn’t make much sense. She really liked Ryan. She’d loved him for years, and then loved her memory of him. She couldn’t afford to let anything blow this second chance.
“Get yourself under control,” she muttered to herself.
“What?” Ryan called from the other room before she heard lounge music emanate from the speakers. Mm . . . kinda sexy.
“Nothing!” Her heart would not cooperate and settle into a normal rhythm. She glanced heavenward and took two wineglasses from a cabinet. “Just talking to myself about the wine.”
Steffi pinched her own arm and took another deep breath before shaking out her hands and searching for wine.
They were out of red, but she found a rosé in the refrigerator. A girl’s drink. Good God, she had not planned this part well. Who knew they’d get this far on the first date? A trickle of sweat rolled between her breasts.
She nestled the bottle under her armpit and carried the glasses to the living room, where she found Ryan looking at some of the candid photos Claire had framed and scattered across the mantel.
He looked up when she came into the room. If he didn’t like rosé, he hid it. “Let me. Do you have a corkscrew?”
“Screw top,” she confessed. Fortunately, he’d never been a wine snob—or any kind of snob—before. He was just good old Ryan. A guy she could trust.
He poured them each a glass and took a sip. “Shall we sit?”
“Yes.”
He waited until she plopped onto the sofa, then sat beside her. Close but not touching. He rubbed his hands on his thighs more than once. His palms had to be clammy, too.
His gaze meandered around the small room—one that seemed to be closing in on her—taking in the turquoise abstract watercolor on the wall behind them. It complemented t
he cream-and-gray throw rug and the glass-top table with the tree-trunk base. “Did Claire decorate?”
He took up so much space on the sofa. The temperature seemed impossibly warm.
“You know I couldn’t pull all this together. Remember my old room?” Steffi chuckled when Ryan involuntarily grimaced.
The decor of her high school bedroom could only be described as “sporty spirit.” She’d strung soccer tournament medals, old cleats, and uniform jerseys to showcase her achievements. Photographs of Claire, Peyton, and Ryan were pinned to her bulletin board. A royal-blue comforter, the identical color of her soccer uniform, covered her bed. She’d installed a double set of metal school lockers for storage.
The only feminine touch in the entire room had been a crystal framed photograph of her mother and her, taken shortly before her mom’s diagnosis, when she still looked healthy and happy and full of hope for the future. That photograph was Steffi’s sole material treasure and currently sat on her nightstand upstairs alongside another photograph of her entire family.
“We snuck up there enough times for it to be etched in my memory.” Ryan seemed even closer and larger as he sipped more wine. He deadpanned, “Fortunately, I usually had other things on my mind, so I was able to ignore the way it looked.”
Her breath felt uneven. “I liked the no-frills appeal.”
“Clearly, your brothers have had way too much influence on your taste.” Then he fell silent, his brows furrowed as if he realized too late that maybe he’d tread upon a sad memory or truth or both.
“Well, we all did the best we could.” She suspected part of her had shunned feminine things once she lost her mom, perhaps to prove to herself that she’d be okay on her own. Doing so taught her she’d survive just fine as long as she always kept moving forward. You couldn’t gain momentum if you kept looking back or wallowing in “woe is me” thinking.
“At least you had three brothers to help you when you missed your mom. Emmy’s got no one.” He frowned while staring into his glass. Steffi sensed more to his sorrow than the momentary empathy he felt for his daughter. “That’s a big regret. I should’ve pushed for another kid sooner . . . after . . .” His gaze never strayed from that glass, and then he tossed back the rest of it in one long swallow.