Chapter 20
COLE
“Do you know her?”
“No. I mean, she looks familiar, but. . . ”
I run a hand over my face, trying to figure out what the hell happened. Ryder transformed into full armored defense mode right before my eyes. It was quick as a flash. Her entire body expanded as she morphed into steel, ready for battle.
Nick paces a bit, then turns to face me, his hands on his hips. “What’s going on here? Who is she?”
I stare at him. “She’s my protection agent.”
His scoff is filled with sarcasm. “Do I look like a fucking idiot? She’s living in your apartment, and by the look on your face, she’s not just anything.”
What is he talking about?
“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never been friends with a woman. You’ve never been anything with a woman because every single one of them breathes down your neck, hoping one night in your bed will set them up for life.”
My spine stiffens, and I straighten. I don’t know what to say. He’s right. Figuring out if I can trust a woman takes time and energy, all of which I reserve for football. What I’d like to know is what the hell that has to do with Ryder?
Before I can ask him, the door opens, and Ryder steps in. Her face is stone, and she looks like she’s about to rip Nick to pieces.
“She told me I don’t need to kill you, but I’m not convinced. How does she know you?”
He huffs. “Are you for real?”
“You’re about to find out how real I am.” She takes a step closer, her body rigid and tight.
Nick is a big dude, but the look on Ryder’s face tells me she’s not intimidated in the least.
Who is this woman?
“Where are you from?” she asks, demanding an answer.
Nick’s eyes shift from her to me and back. “What the hell is this? I’m not answering your questions.”
I step forward. “Hey, she’s just trying to figure out what happened.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t do anything. I don’t know her, and I won’t stand here and be interrogated.”
His furious gaze meets mine again. “I thought we were friends, man. I didn’t know I’d get passed over for some chick.”
I think I hear Ryder growl as Nick swipes his bottle off the counter.
He storms up the stairs while my head spins with. . .
I don’t even know. My brain is moving so fast that I can’t keep up. I drag my eyes to Ryder, and hers remain focused on the stairs as if she’s weighing following him.
A moment later, Nick returns with his suitcase. “Good luck, asshole. I hope your. . .protection agent is worth it.”
He brushes past Ryder, rips open the door, and slams it shut.
Fuck!
I grip my hair, wanting to tear it all out. I have no idea what the hell is happening. Absolutely nothing makes sense. All I can see is my life swirling down the drain at a rate I can’t keep up with.
When I finally open my eyes, Ryder stares at me, her arms crossed over her chest but not in irritation.
“Where is he from?” Her voice is softer.
I take a second. He’s my best friend. The only one I have, but I have no idea what just went down in my kitchen.
“Cole.” Ryder’s arms fall to her sides. “I just need to know where he’s from.”
I rub my jaw, which might actually crack. “Detroit.”
Ryder lets out a long, slow breath, apparently not liking that answer.
“He’s my best friend. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but he’s a good guy. He’s got—”
I stop. Nick’s life and background are his own. He doesn’t share it openly with just anybody, and I respect that.
“I have to make a phone call.” She surveys the room for a moment longer as if she’s also trying to figure out what happened.
I nod, needing a few minutes to myself. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of all of this. My fingers dig into my palms, and it takes everything in me not to slam my fist into the wall.
If I wouldn’t find myself in more trouble with a broken hand, I’d do it. I’d probably tear the entire wall down and enjoy every second of it.
I fling the sliding door open and step outside. I inhale and exhale, trying to calm down, and needing the fresh air to help expand my lungs.
I’ll give Nick time to cool off and hope that when he does, he’ll see this was just a misunderstanding.
I sit, letting my head fall into my hands.
I need these threats to stop. If T-Bone and his gang would shut the hell up and work, I could get back to winning.
I’m lying to my family by omission, and that’s not something I ever thought I would do.
Now, my best friend thinks I chose a chick over him.
But Ryder isn’t just some chick. I don’t know what she is or what I want her to be.
I just know I like having her with me, way more than I should.
I lean back, staring out at the ocean. Everywhere I turn, I’m losing. I need this to end before I find myself in deeper shit than I’m already in. The kind I might not be able to climb out of, and if by some chance I do, it’ll be worse than where I’ve always been. Alone.
The thing is, this time, I’ll wish I wasn’t. Nick might be right. I’m learning what it feels like to not be alone, and that might be the most frightening thing of all.
ME: I need you to see if there’s any possibility of a trade or getting me out of here next season.
ROB: Will do, son. Hang tight.
______
I climb the stairs to the rapid beat of Ryder’s fists punching the heavy bag. Her music is loud, but it’s not “Uptown Funk” this time. It’s still Bruno Mars, and I wonder if he’s all she listens to.
She pauses, wiping the sweat from her brow on the back of her hand wrap as her attention shifts to me.
Her stance relaxes, and she taps her phone. “Hey,” she exhales, trying to catch her breath.
I drop onto the weight bench. “I’d really like to beat the shit out of that.”
One eyebrow raises. “Do you want to borrow a pair of wraps?”
I huff. “I’m pretty sure that would violate my contract.”
“Huh.” She wipes her nose, letting her arms fall at her sides.
Everything about Ryder is understated. She’s raw and natural. Her defined muscles are formed through repetition and precision.
She rests her hands on her hips with half of her hair falling out of her ponytail. She’s stunningly beautiful in the most powerful way, and I have a feeling she never sees it.
“Ever get tired of rules, Matthews?” Those blue-green eyes issue a challenge. She steps away from the heavy bag. “Come here.”
I stare at her, wondering if she’s beckoning me to do what I think she is.
“Come. Here.” It’s a demand this time. “I won’t let you scuff up your delicate hands.”
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering if I’ll really let this woman dare me into striking the bag and going against the fully detailed clause in my contract.
I stand, deciding to hell with it. I’ve been following the rules long enough.
She takes another step back, letting me move between her and the hanging bag.
“Everyone thinks you should enter a fight with your fists, and only dumbasses go for the face.”
I huff out a laugh, peeking over my shoulder at her, but her expression tells me this is serious business.
“Put your hands up.”
I do what she says, and she slips around my side, inspecting me while I stand looking like the mascot for The Fighting Irish.
“Open your hands and take this foot back a little.” She taps my right foot with the toe of her shoe. “Now, you’re going to thrust the heel of your palm into the bag.”
“How come you hit it with your fists?”
“I know what I’m doing, and I don’t get paid millions for my hands to work. Now, come on. Show me what you’ve got.”
I side-eye her.
“Matthews, this will feel so damn good.”
She moves to the other side of the bag, standing in front of me.
“Show me how much you hate whatever is going on inside your head right now.”
I stare at her.
“For once, break a rule and do something that just might help you instead of them.”
I force my palm into the bag, and she presses her body against it, keeping it in place.
“Do it again, but twist at your waist and follow through with your whole body.”
I do as she says.
“Again,” she says, watching me.
I’m ashamed to admit it wasn’t long ago when I’d have stood here feeling like an idiot letting a woman show me how to hit with my palms. But with Ryder, there isn’t an ounce of condescension. She’s teaching me just like she’s let me teach her about football.
“Throw one with the other hand,” she says, readjusting her hold.
I nail the side of the bag, but my hand slips, and she dodges it, a slight smile appearing.
For fifteen minutes, she demonstrates and instructs as sweat drips into my eyes. She lets go of the bag while I take a second to catch my breath.
“I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” I say, as she peels back the Velcro on one of her wraps and unwinds it.
I wipe the sweat off my face with my shirt, remembering the look of disbelief on Nick’s face. “Is Lyla ok?”
Ryder’s gaze lifts to mine, likely deciding what she wants to say, if anything. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I need to find out.” She starts on the other wrap. “I think your friend took her back somewhere.”
I nod. That was evident. “Nick is a good guy. He can be rough and gets worked up, but he’s one of the best men I know.”
She studies my face, and I know she’s not giving anything more away.
“Are we ok?” I ask, needing to know where we go from here and to be sure nothing else is unraveling before my eyes.
Her brow scrunches. “You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t have anything to do with that.” She lets that hang there, draping her wraps over her shoulder. “Unless there’s something you need to tell me.” She bites her bottom lip, trying to hide a smile, but it doesn’t work.
I see it.
I want to laugh, but it hurts too much right now. I run a hand through my damp hair. “Not unless you consider my sister’s threats about not attending Thanksgiving a need for further precaution.”
“Your sister is expecting you for Thanksgiving?” Her tone is a bit tighter compared to a second ago.
“My sister expects everyone to be at Thanksgiving. She’s one more person I’m going to disappoint and piss off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, with the way things are going, I should get used to it.”
She doesn’t say anything but stares at me long and hard. Her eyes reveal something new. Sympathy, maybe, but I don’t want it.
“I’m hungry. Do you want to help me with dinner and turn on a game? You’ve still got a lot to learn.”
Her shoulders sag along with her eyelids. “I just think I need a better teacher.”
It’s my turn to rest my hands on my hips. “That’ll cost you, Jones. See, I learned from the best, and I live and breathe this game, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She grabs her phone. “Huh, I hadn’t quite gathered your lame-ass life revolves completely around a bunch of sweaty guys trying to see how hard they can knock each other over.”
“Lame-ass?”
She smiles, and it’s a rare sighting. It zaps the agony buzzing through me, and instantly, I want to know how to make it happen again.
“Because your evenings are typically filled with extravagance and fun?”
She passes me on the way to the stairs. “I live with three women. I can assure you, quiet evenings are non-existent.” She stops before she takes the first step down.
“But you cooking dinner and showing me how your game works isn’t so bad.
” She starts down the stairs. “And your fight stance could use some work, but it isn’t completely terrible either. ”
I smile, and it feels damn good. “Hold on. I didn’t say I was making dinner. And what happened back there, that’s a secret.”
I think I hear what might be a laugh. It’s exactly what I need at the end of this shitty day. If I can make her do it again, maybe it will help me not think about all I have to face tomorrow.
“Matthews, has anyone ever told you rules are made to be broken?”
I’ve always lived by rules. It’s what got me here, but this woman has me thinking about a whole list of personal rules I just might feel like breaking.