Running Home to You (The Running Series)

by Sweeney, Suzanne

  I send out text messages to my mother, Auggie, and Derek, telling them to watch for me in the stands at the game. All our friends will be gathered together at Rush Friday night to watch the game. I was looking forward to joining them, but my new plans are pretty awesome, too.

  It’s near four o’clock now and the restaurant is empty. It’s that in-between time when it’s too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. Marcus takes advantage of the free time to pull the bartenders together and work on their flair bartending. Emmy is working on a basic hand stall move. It includes a single flip of the bottle and catching it on the back of your hand. The final step is to pop it back into the air and catch it by the neck in order to pour a shot. We have special empty plastic bottles that we fill with water for practice. The last thing I need is to have shattered bottles of expensive liquor all over the floor.

  While I’m practicing my behind-the-back flip and pour, my phone goes off. I slip to the far end of the bar to answer the call while the rest of the team continues their practice. It’s Delaney calling to confirm our plans. Luckily, she was able to reserve one more seat on the plane. I grab a bar napkin to take notes. We’re flying out of Atlantic City tomorrow afternoon. Our flight will leave at five o’clock, a few hours after the team’s flight. We’ll take the red-eye home at midnight late Friday night. The team will be flying home at around the same time, so Evan and I can drive home together.

  Once the plans are set, I thank Delaney and return my attention to the bar. I must have been on the phone longer than I thought, because when I turn around, the lessons have ended and there’s a customer sitting at the bar. At closer look, I realize it’s not a customer at all. It’s someone I recognize in a flash. Looking up at me with a wicked grin is none other than Ryker Donovan.

  “So, Jette, I guess it’s road trip time, huh? Sounds like you’re off to scenic Detroit. Every girl’s dream vacation.” Ryker smiles and watches me closely as I walk towards him.

  “It’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations, Ryker. What are you doing here? I thought both Evan and Marcus asked you not to return.” I stand staring at him with my arms crossed.

  “Glad to see I still make you nervous, Jette. But don’t worry. I’m just here to collect my last paycheck. Marcus scampered to the back to get it.” A really uncomfortable feeling starts blazing in my stomach as I stand here alone with Ryker. I thought his last check was issued weeks ago. “You’ll be pleased to know that I used the front door as instructed.”

  “Evan will be glad to hear it when I tell him.” I need Ryker to know that Evan is aware of everything that goes on whether he’s here or not.

  Ryker is about to respond with what I am sure would have been some sort of snarky remark when Marcus returns. He hands Ryker the check and stands menacingly over him. “This is for your last week at work plus an extra week. That should cover everything.”

  He rips open the envelope and looks at the check. “This is bullshit. I thought we were clear, Marcus. We had an agreement and this,” he throws the envelope back at Marcus, “is not nearly enough to keep my mouth shut. You tell pretty boy that unless I see a few more zeros, he’s going to be seeing a lot more of me.”

  “Not going to happen, dude. Take this,” Marcus bends down to pick up the envelope. “It’s more than you deserve and all you’re going to get.” He puts the envelope on the bar. “Time for you to move on.”

  Ryker looks more than just angry. His hands are balled into fists and his face becomes firm. “Do you understand what’s going to happen now? You’ve left me with no choice. I’m going to have to call my buddy at the National Tattler.” Ryker turns to me to explain. “He’s willing to pay big bucks to hear how Big Mac beat the shit out of one of his employees, who just happens to be an Afghanistan War Veteran, in a jealous rage. Oh, and I have the pictures to back it up.”

  “Oh my God, Ryker. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t possibly.” Panic begins to overwhelm me. I’m having trouble breathing.

  “You go ahead and make that call. But you’ll leave us with no choice but to talk about Lance Corporal Rosalie Figueroa.” Immediately, the look on Ryker’s face changes from arrogance to shock, his eyes large with surprise.

  Marcus addresses me directly now. “You see, there was this beautiful young soldier who had the misfortune to have known Ryker in Afghanistan. She made a claim of sexual assault against him. But before anything could be proven, Miss Figueroa tragically committed suicide.” I gasp loudly. I knew Ryker had a complicated past, but this?

  “Rosalie? Was she your green-eyed desert rose, Ryker? Were you the one who lost control with her?” He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t have to. It all makes sense now.

  Ryker swipes the check off the bar. “You really don’t want to go there with me, man. This is not over. Tell Mac he’s going to hear from me and next time, I suggest he take me more seriously.” Out the door he goes as my chin hits the floor. I grab Marcus by the arm and drag him into my office.

  “Okay. Tell me what the fuck just happened,” I demand as I walk back and forth across the room, frantic. “It sounded like Ryker was trying to blackmail Evan.”

  “I guess you could call it hush money. Ryker’s been calling Mac, threatening to go public with their altercation unless Evan gives him five figures. He calls it a more reasonable severance package.”

  “And did Evan really agree to this?” I ask, astonished.

  “Yes, but he never intended to pay out. He just wanted to buy us some time to come up with a plan. He actually had Adam dig into his service records and it didn’t take long to come up with something. Remember Ryker’s rose tattoo in the thorn bush?” I nod, recalling the story about the single rose in the thorn bush and how it was a reminder to always look for the beauty in every situation. “Well, apparently the real inspiration for the rose was Rosie. So is the tattoo that says, ‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned’.” I knew there was a connection. I wish I had listened to my intuition.

  “Oh, my God, Marcus. I had no idea.”

  “Evan and I decided that if we were to give in and pay him money now, what’s to stop him from coming back for more over and over again? So we decided to cut him off at the knees so he won’t be back.” The shock on my face must be obvious, because Marcus tries to reassure me. “It will be okay, Jette. He’s not stupid. He doesn’t want word of his indiscretions to get out. It’s over.”

  “God, I hope you’re right. I think you should have told me, though. I have a right to know when someone is extorting money from my fiancé.”

  Marcus apologizes for keeping me in the dark and I plan to grill Evan on the fine details later. My shift is nearly over and I have work to do.

  An hour later and I arrive home to find Evan in the shower. I’d guess he’s just gotten home himself. I open up a big bottle of wine to let it breathe and feed Maddy while I wait. We need to talk.

  When Evan finally emerges from the shower, I’m sitting comfortably in the living room, sipping my wine. I pat the empty seat beside me, indicating my wish for Evan to join me on the couch. Evan looks at me, his face a mixture of happiness and trepidation, but he sits and fills a glass of his own. With a kiss and the soft touch of his hand sweeping the loose locks of hair from my face he asks, “What’s up, Running Girl? Busy day at work?”

  “You could say that. I have some good news,” I tell him.

  “Lay it on me, baby. What’s the skinny?” Evan teases. He’s in a good mood.

  “Delaney Duffy called and invited me to join her and Willow in Detroit. I’m flying out with them tomorrow.”

  “Seriously, Juliette? You’re not pulling my leg are you?” I shake my head, biting my lip. I can’t tell if he’s happy with the idea or not. “That’s amazing. You must have made some impression on them, because they don’t invite just anybody, you know.” He kisses me and with a twinkle in his eye, he admits, “Not that I’m surprised. You have that effect on people.”

  “Well, that’s not all, it ge
ts better. Emmy and I had a real heart-to-heart today and we cleared up a few things. I was afraid she was going to be disappointed with me and mad about what I did. But she’s not. I feel so much better now.” I take a deep cleansing breath.

  “Yeah, Emmy’s a pretty forgiving person. I knew you two would be okay,” he reassures me.

  “Have you heard from Adam?” I ask, wondering if there’s any way for the two of them to repair their friendship.

  “Actually, I did. We have some unfinished business. He’s got some of my shit at his house and I had an attorney draft a Dissolution Agreement for him to sign. He’s going to drop it off along with my stuff on Friday.” Evan is showing no emotion, but I know it bothers him more than he’s letting on.

  “Friday? But we’re not going to be here, we’ll be in Detroit,” I remind him.

  “Exactly. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. There’s nothing left to say. I want to stay as far away from Adam as possible. If I see him, I’m just going to want to punch him in the face again.”

  “What did he say when you talked? Did he try to apologize, at least?”

  “He did. He admitted he fucked up. He gave me some stupid shit about just trying to help. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care,” he maintains. Well, at least they’re talking.

  “I know he royally screwed up, but he’s also done a lot to help you, Evan. Like digging up dirt on Ryker Donovan for you.” Evan turns to look at me, surprised. I definitely caught him off guard with that remark. “We had an interesting visit from Ryker at Rush today. Why didn’t you tell me he was trying to blackmail you?”

  “Oh, that.” He takes a sip of his drink and sits back. “No big deal. Marcus and I handled it. I didn’t see any need to worry you with the details.”

  “Evan, seriously? There’s no reason for you to keep me out of the loop with something like that. I could have helped. I could have talked to him. Maybe he would have backed down.”

  “No way. If you think for one minute that I would have allowed you anywhere near him after what I learned, you’re out of your mind. It’s my job to protect you and I take that job very, very seriously.” He puts his glass down, takes my glass from me, and he hovers over me, trailing kisses up my neck and pausing to nibble on my ear.

  At first, it works, and I completely forget my train of thought. All I can think about is the feeling of his lips and tongue and teeth on my skin. I push those feelings to the side and try to focus. “Evan, stop, please. I want to talk.”

  “Oh, yes! Talk dirty to me, Juliette,” Evan hisses in my ear.

  I can’t hide how he still affects me. With just a simple smile or a well-placed nibble, I become a helpless bundle of nerves. There will be no further discussion on this or any other topic tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Under the Weather

  The next morning I wake to find Evan wandering around the room getting dressed, still damp from his shower. “Evan, can you please turn the air conditioning down? It’s freezing in here.” I pull the comforter up to my chin, my body shivering from the cold.

  “Baby, it’s not that cold in here. Do you feel alright?”

  “No. Can you please get me another blanket? I’m so cold,” I tell him through chattering teeth.

  Evan walks over and sits beside me on the bed. He places a hand on my forehead and frowns. “Juliette, no wonder you’re so cold, you’re burning up.”

  No, I can’t be sick. Not now. Not today. Evan disappears for a moment, and then returns with another blanket, two Tylenol and a glass of water. “Here, take these,” he insists as he tosses a warm blanket over me. “I’m going to grab something to eat. I’ll come back to check on you in a few. Close your eyes and try to get more sleep.”

  I do as Evan requests and close my eyes, trying to sleep off whatever might be making me ill. The next thing I know, Evan is tiptoeing around the room in the dark, trying not to disturb me. He seems to be gathering things to pack for his overnight trip. I try to sit up, but the moment I lift my head off the pillow, I can feel it pounding. As I reach over to grab the glass of water Evan left on my nightstand, I am overtaken by a coughing fit.

  Evan comes over and sits with me, again checking for fever. “You’re still pretty warm, baby. What can I get for you?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble as I get up, swinging my legs off the side of the bed. “Let me get into the shower and see how I feel.” Ooh, I feel woozy when I move too quickly. I squint my eyes, looking at the clock in horror. “Holy crap, Evan, is it really eleven o’clock already? How did that happen?”

  “I may not be an expert, Juliette, but I’m pretty sure you’re sick.”

  I drag myself to the bathroom and try to pull it together. It’s no use. My muscles ache and I can’t get warm. With Evan’s help, I curl up on the couch, wrapped up in a warm blanket with a box of tissues and the remote control. There will be no road trip for me today.

  “Do you want me to call anyone to come over and sit with you?” Evan asks. “I hate to think about you here all alone like this.”

  “No, baby. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’ve never been sick before. I’ll probably sleep for a day or so. Hopefully by the time you come home tomorrow night, the worst of it will be over. Besides, everyone else has work.”

  “Not Auggie,” Evan suggests. “I could call him to come over.”

  In between coughs I remind him that Auggie’s immune system is still compromised from the loss of his spleen. He can’t fight off infection like he used to. He really shouldn’t be around anyone who’s sick yet.

  “Well, what do you want me to tell Auggie when I drop Maddy off at his house and you’re not with me?” Evan asks.

  “Tell him I’m still packing. He’ll believe you. Don’t tell him I’m home alone and sick. He’ll insist on coming over.” I know Auggie will throw all caution to the wind and come sit with me, even if the only thing wrong with me is a common cold. I’ll be better in a day or two, but if Auggie catches my germs, he could wind up in the hospital.

  “Okay, but are you sure I can’t call Emmy or Reese?” Evan asks, but again I refuse.

  Evan heats up a can of my favorite soup, Campbell’s Chicken and Stars, and helps me get settled. It’s the best comfort food, warming me from the inside out. I watch as he finishes getting ready. He gives me some last minute instructions before he leaves.

  “I’m taking the Optima. I’d rather not leave the Porsche in overnight parking. The keys are on the counter if you need to go out. I’ll call you the minute I land.” Evan kisses me on the forehead and smiles. “I’ll miss you. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing you’re home alone like this.” As he walks towards the door he says to me, “Wish me luck! Love you!”

  “Love you, too,” I reply, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Go put up some big numbers, chief.” He turns and just like that, he and Maddy are gone. Off to the biggest event of his professional career. And I’m left here, relegated to the couch to watch it all unfold on national television.

  Evan took good care of me before he left. I’ve got everything I could possibly need within reach – bottles of water, daytime and nighttime cough syrup, tissues, my cell phone, television remote, and a banana. Just as promised, Evan calls me the minute his plane lands. They are being shuttled to their hotel to check in, and then he’ll eat dinner with the team and have some last minute strategy meetings.

  After Evan’s phone call, I lie back down, covering myself with Evan’s blanket. Just like everything else in this house, it smells like him. I pull it up to my chin and inhale his rich, masculine scent. When I close my eyes, it’s easy to imagine that he’s here with me now, wrapping his arms and legs around mine, keeping me warm and safe. As I drift off to sleep, I dream of stadiums and cheering fans, all chanting Evan’s name.

  Hours later, my cellphone rings and my head springs off the pillow. Momentarily, I’m confused. It’s dark outside and the only light in the house is being cas
t by the television. I grab the phone and check the time. It’s ten o’clock at night. How many hours have I been sleeping? Evan is calling to say good night. “Hey, baby,” I answer groggily.

  “Hey, yourself. You sound terrible. How do you feel? Should I call someone to come over?” I hate that he’s worried about me. He should be concentrating on the game, not me.

  “No, I’m okay. I was sound asleep, that’s all.” I hold the phone away from my face as a coughing jag takes control of me.

  “Yeah, you sound great,” he answers sarcastically. “Do you think you can make it another twenty-four hours or so until I come home?”

  “I’ll survive. All I want to do is sleep. It’s just as well that you’re not here. There’s nothing you could do. I just have to wait it out until it passes.” My head hurts and my eyelids feel heavy. I rub my face, trying to wake myself up enough to hold a conversation.

  “Well, when I get home, I’m going to make you some homemade mac and cheese and run you a nice hot bubble bath. How does that sound?” God, I love the sound of his voice.

  “That sounds amazing.” I pause for the first of a series of big yawns. Once I start, it’s hard to stop. “What are you doing right now?” I ask.

  “Just lying here, all alone, thinking of you.” I must really be sick because the sexiest man in the world just told me he’s lying alone in a hotel bed thinking of me and the only thing I can think about is going back to sleep.

  Between yawns, I force a response, “Mm, me too.”

  Evan tells me a little about the flight and the hotel, and all I can do is add the occasional, “Oh,” or “Mm,” to the conversation. Evan promises to call me in the morning to check in and I’m back asleep before I put the phone down.

  The next time I open my eyes, the sun is shining brightly off the ocean, bathing the living room in vivid hues of blue and green. It’s beautiful how the reflection of the morning sun off the ocean beams through the sliding glass door into the living room. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before. Based on the position of the sun in the sky, I’d say it’s no later than seven in the morning. I slept a solid nine hours, so why don’t I feel better?