by Lily Kate
“Doing what?” I’m starting to get frustrated now, and I hate that she looks excited by that fact. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She tsks, shakes her head. I equally want to know what she’s dancing around and don’t care at all. If I punch her in the face, maybe she’ll spit it out. Then again, I’ve never been the aggressive type. I deal with everything—conflict, sadness, happiness—through humor. At the moment, however, I’m not feeling very funny.
“Ryan Pierce has the opportunity of a lifetime to sign with me,” she says. “I’m going to secure him a spot on the LA Lightning, and he’ll win the Stanley Cup in the next few years. He’s a talented young man, and he has potential to be MVP, to really make something of his career.”
“I know he’s talented,” I say. “I’m dating him.”
“Of course you do,” she says soothingly. “But apparently he hasn’t told you the terms of him signing with me.”
I’m silent, and that seems to be answer enough.
“He’s flying out next weekend to sign papers, and he will be single.”
“No, we’re—”
“You think you’re together, but it can’t last more than a week.” Jocelyn’s cold blue eyes show the first signs of humor. She’s horrible, thriving on my confusion and the pain that accompanies her words. “So if you do truly love him, you’ll let him go without a fight.”
“No, that’s not how this is going to go,” I say. “Why does it matter if I date him?”
She leans in, practically spitting with cool rage. “Did you see the way he talked to me out there? He’s got a hard-on for you, and suddenly he can’t find a second to talk to the agent who’s going to give him everything, open every door, give him every opportunity. I don’t deal with players who have their minds, dicks, or hearts elsewhere. If a player is signing with me, they’re going to focus on their career, and that is it.”
“I’m not a distraction,” I say. “I support his career. I want him to succeed.”
“Yes, until you want to get married, and have a family, and suddenly he needs—”
“Plenty of players are married with families. And anyway, you don’t even know that’s what I want, what we want, together.”
“I don’t care what either of you want. I care about my reputation, and I care about making Ryan a star,” she says. “If you care about him, you’ll let him go, because if he shows up to my offices next week and hasn’t broken up with you—and trust me, I’ll know—I’m not signing him. Then he’ll be back in Minnesota, playing for the Stars, and you won’t have him anyway.”
I swallow, hating that she’s touched on the root of my anxiety, the cause of my only worry about being with Ryan. How can we be together if his career is here and mine is in Los Angeles?
“If I were you and I couldn’t have the man I loved, I’d at least want to see him happy, successful.” She reaches over me, picks up my cupcake, and takes a bite. Then she tosses it in the garbage and turns to leave. Over her shoulder, she offers one last, tight smile. “Goodbye, Andi. It’s been a pleasure.”
I’m fuming, positively infuriated. My hands are shaking too much to eat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryan talking with Lawrence. He looks up then and sees Jocelyn walking away from me; I can practically feel him burning with anger. In the reflection of my glass, I see him break off the conversation with Lawrence and head across the crowded dance floor to find me.
I’m not ready to talk. I need a minute to think, to process, to calm down. Pretending I don’t see him, I make my way quickly, casually across the dance floor and slip into the ladies’ room just as he reaches the dessert table.
I poke my head out of the door and watch as he runs a hand through those gorgeous locks, his eyes scanning the crowd, likely searching for me, and my heart pangs with longing. More than lust, more than desire, it’s something deeper.
Ryan, as a whole, fits me. He matches me, and I match him, but the timing is all wrong, and that fact breaks my heart.
The first tear slips down my cheek, and I recoil into the restroom, locking the stall door behind me. I put down the toilet seat and collapse onto it, my chest breaking open with sobs. Maybe there’s a way to make this work; nothing is impossible, as they say, but it sure feels like it in this moment.
I want everything—my career, Ryan, and Ryan’s career.
However, those three things don’t work together in any sort of logical semblance. He signs with Jocelyn, and he breaks up with me. He doesn’t sign with her, and we live with some sort of doomed long-distance relationship. I could move here, but what about my career? My family, Lisa…the life I’ve built is there.
As my tears dry and my sobs expire, I’m left weak, tired, and exhausted by the entire evening, but at least I’ve come to some sort of conclusion.
It’s early enough in the relationship that it shouldn’t hurt too much to call things off with Ryan. We’ve only been dating officially for less than twenty-four hours. I’ll call it off now, let him sign with Jocelyn, and maybe down the line, things will work out for us. One can hope.
In the meantime, I’m going to spend my last night enjoying Ryan, his presence, his comfort, and then tomorrow, I’ll leave with clean-cut ties. My flight is early in the morning, so I’ll tell him then.
I wonder, as I leave the stall, if I’d have come here in the first place if I’d known the goodbye would be so hard.
CHAPTER 45
Andi
The ride home is a quiet one. After I gathered myself in the restroom, reapplied some mascara and lip gloss, and wished the smiling newlyweds a good night, Ryan and I left.
He holds my hand tight throughout the drive. I ask once if he’s okay, and he grits out a short yes. I wonder what happened between him and Jocelyn tonight, if he tried to change her mind. It doesn’t matter anyway—her mind obviously wasn’t changed.
Clearly neither of us are in a chatty mood, so I pass the time by watching the stars fly by the window.
The previous night, the stars had seemed so bright, so warm, so hopeful in their very nature. Tonight, however, they look like icicles pricking through the black night sky, poking holes in what was pure happiness just hours before.
“Do you want to shower?” Ryan asks once we’re in his room. He’s busy taking off his tie, and though I suspect he’s not upset with me, he’s too frustrated to untie the knot. “I’ll get in after you.”
I move across the room and silently help him out of the tie, then the jacket, and rest them both on the bed. He watches my motions in the mirror, his eyes soaking in every detail. It’s almost uncomfortable, as if he can see through me, straight to my core.
When he’s free of his troublesome outer layers, I offer a smile and make my way toward the bathroom.
I turn at the door and pause to watch him for a moment. He’s sitting on the bed, head in his hands. The look on his face nearly rips my heart out of my chest, and I know what he’s thinking.
It’s me or the game.
Well, I’m not going to force him to make that choice.
“I’m sorry,” he says when he sees me staring. “I’m not upset with you, it’s…Jocelyn, she’s—”
“I know,” I say. Then, I lie. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
I rest against the doorframe. I can’t wait until morning. “I don’t think we should do this.”
His head jerks up. “What are you talking about?”
“Us. Me and you.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Andi?”
“Look, Ryan, I came out here as a joke. This whole thing started as a joke. If I weren’t such a crappy, clumsy delivery girl, none of this ever would have happened. Let’s just call it what it is: a good time.”
He stands, his eyes blazing, hard now, unlike the melted chocolate look that takes over when he is aroused, happy, or otherwise pleased. “That’s not what this is at all. I love you, Andi.”
“You think you love me,�
� I say. “It’s not real. We’ve been pretending so long that it’s easy to say.”
“Do you love me?”
I remain silent. Of course I do, but I can’t tell him that. My heart is heavy, a stone in my chest as I look him in the eyes. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not meant to be. Those are the facts.”
“What did she say to you?”
“She?”
“Jocelyn.” He stands, moves across the room. “What did she tell you tonight?”
“Nothing,” I lie again.
“It was about the deal, wasn’t it? That I have to give you up to sign with her? Well, I’m not going to do it.”
“It’s not about that.”
“I should have told her tonight. I just didn’t want to cause a scene at my brother’s wedding.” He looks down, shaking his head. “I’m an idiot.”
“I trust you.” Despite my words, he looks so flustered. I reach out and cup my hand against his cheek. “But that doesn’t change the other things. So what if you turn her down? You live here, and I live there.”
“Stay.”
“I…” It takes a second to register. “What?”
“Stay here, with me. I’ll decline anything with Jocelyn—that doesn’t matter anyway. I’m happy here, playing for the Stars. Stay by my side. Live with me in Minnesota.”
I swallow, and the words that come next are hard. “But what about me, Ryan? What about my dreams? My dad, my friends, school, my career—I have a real chance at making comedy work. If I stay, I’m giving all of that up.”
His eyes are hollow. “I can’t ask you to give any of that up.”
“And I’m not asking you to give up hockey for me.”
“Where does that leave us?”
My eyes smart, and I blink back tears, my soul splitting as I step toward him. My hands clasp his face, and I bring my lips to his in a tender moment.
The kiss is soft, full of all that could be, but never will…full of memories we’ll never make, full of the relationship we’ll never have, the laughs we’ll never share. Instead, stung with its sweetness, strands of pain seep into my very essence. We are right for each other, so very right—but at the wrong time.
When I pull back, his eyes are still closed, his lips pursed in the lingering semblance of a kiss, as if his very world will shatter when he opens his eyes. The illusion will be gone, and the painful truth of reality will set in and drag both of us down with it.
I rise up on my tiptoes, rest my hand on the back of his head, and leave one last brush of my lips against his forehead.
When I close the bathroom door, there are tears on my cheeks.
By the time I’m in the shower, the tears have grown to full-on sobs, my shoulders shaking as I try to remain silent. The last thing Ryan needs is to hear me crying; it’s hard enough for us both already.
My eyes are closed when the door to the bathroom opens, and I’m focused on the warm rush of water on my shoulders. I don’t realize Ryan is in the bathroom with me until the door to the shower opens.
He’s there, shirtless, looking incredible. His cocoa eyes are soft with hurt, his hair curling in disgruntled waves from fingers wrestling through it. “Andi.”
It’s one word, but it’s enough. I push the door the rest of the way open, and he joins me under the steaming warmth. Already, the bathroom is foggy with heat. My hair is damp with conditioner, my body lightly scented with the lilac body soap I imagine his mother left just for me.
“Let me,” he murmurs, spinning me around so the water courses between my back and his chest. His hands come up to massage my scalp, working the conditioner through the ends of my hair.
Then his hands slide down my neck, slick with soap. He rubs small circles on my shoulders, loosening the tense knots that have developed there. Then it’s my back, my ribs, my hips. His fingers run in sensitive lines across my skin until his hands are circling my waist.
I feel him, smooth and firm against my back, the water slick, the steam making it difficult to breathe, yet somehow, it’s more sensual than anything I’ve ever known.
Then he wraps a hand around me and presses his palm to my stomach. He eases it down, below my belly, to a place where warmth and desire curl under his touch.
One of his fingers begins to stroke, slow, gentle movements that have me biting down on my tongue to keep from crying out. His lips press against my neck as he sucks gently and then eases my head around so he’s kissing me.
Stroking, kissing in the heat, I moan into his mouth. His other hand holds my hips so my back is pressed to him. I’m on the verge, and I tell him so.
He murmurs my name, holds me steady, urges me over the wall until I don’t have anything left. When his name finally spills from my lips, I sink against him.
He hooks an arm around my waist, the other resting against the wall. “Andi…”
“Mmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
I reach out, my fingers pressing against the shower wall as he slides in, achingly slow at first, so I can feel every whisper of movement.
Arching my back, I silently ask him for more, for everything. He seems to understand my need, and he begins to move faster and faster. He’s grasping hard enough for me to feel the indents on my hips, until he releases one hand and brings it around, stroking me at my core.
It’s more than I can handle. I feel the wave coming harder, faster, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. We’re connected now, our motions intertwined as one, and when he grits out my name, it just about pushes me over the edge.
But he has other plans. Ryan pulls out, leaving me wanting, needing, gasping at him with threats.
“What are you doing?” I turn to face him. “You can’t stop like that.”
He’s standing before me, smoking hot, soaking wet, his eyes ablaze. “I need to see your face.”
Before I can react, he picks me up and rests a hand behind me to hold our combined weight. My legs wrap around his back, the shower walls shuddering as he rocks into me. Neither of us notice or care; we’re too wrapped in the moment, the heat of it all.
This time, he doesn’t stop. He pushes us to the cliff, and together we sail over the ledge. I’m gripping his shoulders for dear life as he eases every last bit of energy from me, and when the last of the tremors stop, the water continues to rush over us.
We stare at each other for a long moment. In our nakedness, we’re raw. There’s love and lust and desire. There’s also hurt, frustration, and something else, something more…despair, maybe.
“Let me finish what I started,” he says, and at first I think he’s ready for another round.
I’m about to tell him I need a minute to recover when his fingers reach into my hair and continue massaging out the conditioner. I close my eyes, let his fingers work their magic, and then I help him. Beneath my fingers his abs ripple, and for a moment, he twitches alert when my fingers graze his thighs. There’s a moment of devilish want in his eye, but then it fades in an instant.
The moment is too sweet to do anything but towel off and climb into bed together.
He wraps me in his arms, and I lean into him, both of us too exhausted to put on clothes. If the night weren’t so bittersweet, I’m sure we’d go again and again until the sun arrived and lulled us to sleep.
But as we are, it’s too dangerous. To have sex is to invest more in each other, to deepen the relationship ties that will surely break. So instead, we hold each other like the very world will vanish if we let go.
I don’t remember drifting off to sleep, but I know that when I did, I was in Ryan’s arms.
And when I wake, I’m still there.
My flight is early. His alarm goes off five minutes after mine, and I silence it before he so much as rolls over.
I dress, grab my clothes, and head out of the room. I stop in the doorway, my heart tugging me back to bed. I return to the side of the bed, but only for a brief moment. Inhaling t
he soft scent of Ryan’s shampoo, I press my lips to his forehead.
His eyelids flutter, and my heart nearly stops.
But then he merely rolls over.
I’m free to go.
I sneak out of the house without seeing anyone else, and by the time I’ve arrived at the airport courtesy of a taxi, I’ve gathered enough composure to text Ryan. I write out the message eleven different times, and I don’t settle on the final one until the wheels of my plane have lifted.
We’re just about to lose service when I hit send.
Never in a million years did I think a single order for a smiley face pizza could send my world spiraling off its hinges. As I close my phone and shut my eyes, I pray that my world— which is currently off kilter, lopsided, upside down—can find a way to right itself.
It doesn’t work.
At least, not immediately.
When I land at LAX, I’m a mess.
I text my dad to pick me up, and I’m waiting on the curb by the time he arrives, pulling to a stop under the Sun Country sign.
He takes one look at my face and opens his arms. “It’ll be okay,” he tells me, gripping me tight around the shoulders. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 46
Ryan
Sunlight pokes at my eyes like a knife. I roll over, reaching for Andi’s body, but my arm falls flat onto the bed. I feel around for a bit, resisting pulling my eyelids open, wondering if she’s in the bathroom.
I can’t hear anything, so finally, I peek one eye open.
My heart races the second I see the empty bed.
I know I set my alarm last night, so it can’t be later than eight o’clock. I don’t sleep through my alarm as a general rule. We have early practices often, and being late to them means more than a slap on the wrist. Old habits die hard.
I reach for my phone, fumble around with it, and blink. This can’t be right. Ten a.m.? That would mean I overslept by two hours. Two hours?
I pull myself out of bed, throw on a pair of sweats, and leave the room. I make my way downstairs where my mom is sitting by the fire reading a newspaper, a pot of coffee ready. I ignore both of them and look at the clock above the stove. It’s never wrong—my mom is militant about keeping that thing clicking along at the right time. She even waits up ’til two or three in the morning, or whenever the hell daylight savings clicks into effect, to adjust it.