In a Rush

Chapter 35

chapter thirty-five

Ryan

Today’s Learning Objective:

Students will be the life of the party.

Well, I really was fucked.

I knew that coming in here—and Grace had held nothing back as far as death threats went. But the detached way Emme looked at me drove that fact home hard. Watching her walk across the deck hit like a dagger to the gut.

That didn’t mean this was over yet. I wouldn’t let it be over. Not until she gave me a minute to explain and many more minutes to apologize, to throw myself at her mercy. Not until she took off those rings and told me we were done.

It was obvious I’d have to wait for that minute. She was busy flitting around the deck, never far from Grace or another one of her friends. The smile plastered on her face was entirely fake, and the way she threw herself into one conversation after another with various members of the bride or groom’s extended family reminded me of the way she listened intently when her students told her extremely random, disjointed stories. She never stopped messing with the flower centerpieces on each table or straightening the place settings or tapping a finger in the air to count chairs, of all things.

As if I didn’t know it already, she was avoiding the fuck out of me.

“We should start a group chat,” Ben said. He’d positioned himself beside me at some point and only stopped with the rambling comments long enough to inhale another mountain of shrimp cocktail. “The three of us. Since our wives are all best friends.”

I dragged my gaze away from Emme—an older woman had her cornered near the bar while my wife nodded along—to eye Ben and the burly guy on his left. Didn’t know when he’d joined us. The jam farmer, then.

The burly guy came through with the save, asking, “Are there things we need to discuss?”

“We could help each other out,” Ben replied.

The other man speared Ben with a glance as he leaned over to me, his hand out. “I’m Shay’s husband. Noah Barden.”

“Ryan Ralston,” I said, shaking his hand. “Emme’s”—I swallowed hard as the word husband stuck in my throat—“mine.”

“Congratulations on that,” Noah said. “Not a bad year for you, huh?”

I blinked at him as I slipped my hands into my pockets. Nothing existed outside my catastrophic fuck-ups. Then, in a distant corner of my mind, I remembered I’d won another Super Bowl and, as of yesterday morning, I was the co-owner of eight undeveloped pro soccer teams. “Yeah. Thanks,” I managed. “I’ve heard a lot about you. The jam farmer.”

“Emme would say that. That girl’s a hoot.” He gave a rough, rumbling laugh as he shook his head. “You’ve got your hands full there. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I felt my face warm into something like a smile for the first time in days. It was like trying to speak a foreign language I barely knew. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“And that’s why we should start a group chat,” Ben said.

“I see where you’re going with this,” Noah said to him, “but I don’t spend much time on my phone.”

“That’s all right. Ralston and I can hold it down.” Ben clapped me on the shoulder and held his plate out to me. “Try the oysters. They’ll change your life.”

“I’m not touching anything here,” I said, nudging the plate away. “Emme’s severely allergic to shellfish.”

I sensed both men staring at me. I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to find my wife in the crowd. After a minute, I caught sight of her glossy hair as she squatted down to talk to a little girl.

“This is the last place she should be,” Noah said.

“Trust me,” I said with a brittle laugh, “I know.”

“Why?” he asked, motioning to a table covered with raw seafood. “Just…why?”

“Because she’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for,” I said. “Loyal beyond logic.”

“My aunt Linda is an impulse shopper,” Ben said. “She booked this place and plunked down a nonrefundable deposit and then surprised us with it a few months ago.” He rolled his neck from side to side, loud cracks punctuating each movement. “We tried to say no, but when we found out how much she’d already paid, there was nothing we could do except move the party up here and make sure they’d have something the Emster could eat.” He shot us a pair of pointed glances. “Getting married is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but we sure as shit put a lot of time—and fuckin’ money—into keeping everyone else happy.”

“That’s why some of us elope,” Noah said, tapping his beer bottle to mine.

I nodded. “It has its merits.”

“This is the kind of advice that belongs in a group chat,” Ben said.

“You’re fucking relentless, man.” I rattled off my number. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Ben swung his expectant gaze at Noah. With an enormous eye roll, Noah followed suit. A second later, my phone buzzed with a new message.

“That’s from me,” Ben said, grinning. “You should see what I named our group.”

“Let’s save that surprise for later,” Noah said.

I nodded in agreement and went back to watching Emme. A woman around my mom’s age held Emme’s fingers, turning her hand this way and that to study her rings. I watched a soft, real smile spread across her face as she spoke and I felt a bit of the tightness in my shoulders flag.

“You gotta try these.” Ben slapped my back as a server stopped beside us with a tray of appetizers that looked like mini muffins. “Grace loves artichokes and they made this special for her. No fish,” he added.

I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten real food, but when all I could come up with was protein shakes, I reached for an artichoke muffin. It wasn’t bad, so I grabbed another two before the server left.

A little girl—the one Emme was with earlier—skipped over to Noah’s side. She handed him a loaded plate and hoisted a small cocktail skewer in the shape of a sword, saying, “You promised there’d be carrots but there’s not and this shit is gross, Noah.”

I swallowed a laugh at that, but I seemed to be the only one reacting to the mouth on this child. Ben leaned in, saying under his breath, “You’ll get used to it.”

Noah scowled down at the plate. Everything had one bite taken out of it. “Sorry about that. I assumed there would be veggies,” he said. “Want me to see if they can make some chicken fingers?”

“Fuck yeah,” she replied, jabbing her cocktail sword in the air before turning her attention to me. “Who are you?”

“Gennie, come on.” Noah shook his head. “We talked about using our manners tonight, didn’t we?”

The look she gave him seemed to say These are my manners .

“Gennie, this is Ryan,” Noah said. “He’s Aunt Emme’s husband.”

“Hi.” I shifted the napkin filled with artichoke bites to my other hand with my beer, and went in for the shake, but then thought better of it and waved. Kids didn’t want to shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Gennie.”

“Am I supposed to call you Uncle Ryan?” she asked.

“Um”—I shot a glance at Noah, but his only assistance was a shrug—“if you want?”

She eyed me up and down, her tiny sword pinched between two fingers and aimed at me. I felt like I was back at the scouting combine before draft day. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, then,” I called as she trotted away.

“She must like you,” Ben said, bumping me with his elbow. “She usually tells me to prepare to walk the plank.”

Since I didn’t have the mental capacity to explore any of that, I went back to the artichoke bites. I figured we had another hour or two here and then Emme would probably keep herself busy with Grace for a bit. I’d wait all night to talk to her. All weekend, if that was what it took because?—

“What’s in this?” I asked, my mouth full.

“It’s artichoke and something else. Leeks, maybe,” Ben said. “Grace loves them. She makes this hot dip and?—”

“It’s oyster. There’s oyster mixed in with the artichoke,” I said as I scanned the deck for the server. My stomach dropped as I saw him a few paces from Emme and an artichoke bite sitting on a napkin in her palm. “Shit.”

“ Fuuuuuuck. Grace is gonna kill me. Goddammit, Linda.” Ben plucked the beer bottle from my hand and issued another hard slap to my back. This guy was a high school football coach waiting to happen. “Go!”

The world condensed down to a series of routes across the deck to get to Emme. I took off, twisting between guests, leaping from a chair to a tabletop to another table, and then hitting the floor at a sprint. Everyone around me seemed to move in slow motion. The only sound was the rush of my heartbeat in my ears.

I watched Emme pick up the artichoke bite as I charged toward her. My only goal was getting it away from her. I had no plan for how I’d accomplish that or what I’d do with all the speed I’d built up as I bolted across the deck. I knew all of these things would become serious problems in a matter of seconds, but all I could do was bellow, “No!”

I slapped her hand away from her face and wrapped my arms around her torso as we collided. Tumbling to the deck floor, I held her tight, my back taking the brunt of the impact. No QB liked getting sacked, but at least we did it on turf. This was murder.

“Oysters,” I gasped out, “in the artichoke bite.”

“Now that’s how they do it in the pros!” Ben shouted.

Emme pushed off my chest and I saw blood streaking down her face. Oh, fuck. Everyone else saw it too because the stunned quiet that’d surrounded us now burst into panicked cries and the rumble of people pressing in around us.

“Let’s give them some room to breathe,” Ben called, pushing the crowd back. “No reason for concern. Everything’s in order. My good buddy Ryan was just making sure Emme didn’t have an allergic reaction. Nothing to see here, folks. Back it up.”

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Muggsy. Come here, baby, let me see.” I cupped her chin and tipped her head back. Yep, that was one hell of a bloody nose. “Awww fuck, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

She stared at me, her eyes wide, a little shocked. “What—what the hell was that?”

I gathered her close to me, skimming my hands over her head, her arms, everywhere. “There were oysters in the artichoke muffins,” I said again, yanking my shirt free and mopping up her face. It was clotting quickly, which meant it only took five full years off my life instead of ten. “You almost ate one. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bust your nose or whatever the fuck else I did.”

Emme went on staring. “You’re a terrible outside linebacker.”

I shook my head because, yeah, this wasn’t my finest hour and it came at a time when I needed all the halfway decent hours I could get. Bloodying my wife’s nose was no way to make up for my mistakes. “Believe me, I know it.”

I accepted a wad of napkins from someone, a bag of ice from someone else, a bottle of hand sanitizer from another. I squirted the liquid into my palm and scrubbed my hands before moving to Emme’s. She watched, her lips parted and her brow creased. I didn’t know which reaction to expect after tackling her at a dinner party, but I couldn’t help feeling like none of this was good.

“Stick to the backfield. Fewer casualties.”

“This wouldn’t have happened”—I motioned to the blood staining the front of her dress, and the shoulder strap I’d ripped at some point—“if you’d just worn the appropriate protective gear tonight. I’m sure we could’ve found a helmet to match this dress.”

“This isn’t the time for a fuck-around,” she seethed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please let me fix it.”

She didn’t respond to that and it concerned me more than anything else. She lived to jab at me, to tease, to fuck around. I didn’t know what to do with her silence. All I could do was hook an arm around her waist and bring her to her feet.

Jamie and Shay pushed through the crowd to flank Emme. “Daddy Football is a rowdy beast,” Jamie said.

I glanced over my shoulder and found Grace there, her lips pressed into a tight line and her eyes worried. She stepped between us and worked on fixing Emme’s strap. “Are you okay, babe?”

Emme gave her friend a grimace. “I’m so sorry,” she said under her breath. “I can’t believe I screwed up another party for you.”

“You don’t get to apologize,” Grace replied. “I was the one who swore they were vegetarian and basically shoved one in your mouth.” She hooked a thumb in my direction. “But do you want me to take this guy out back and beat him up for you? I will—and I’ll delight in his torture—but keep in mind, he did save you a trip to the ER tonight.”

Shay curled an arm around Emme’s shoulders. “Let me take you back to my place,” she said softly. “We’ll soak your dress in some cold water and get you changed into something clean and, if you want, we can come back. Good as new.”

Before I could weigh the risks of Emme’s reaction, I said, “No. I’ll do it.”

Her cool gaze hardened. She tipped her chin up. “Fine.”

A ripple of icy awareness moved down the back of my neck. My stomach twisted. This was it. No more time on the scoreboard. Either I made this play happen—or I didn’t.