Chapter 28
COLE
I lean over the counter, my elbows pressing into the hard, cold surface. My thumb moves over the screen, searching for anything that resembles the burn marks.
I grip my phone tighter as my stomach rolls with the possibilities.
Maybe it’s not what I think it is. Maybe it’s just a symbol or one of those things you do that signifies something, like a tattoo.
“You ready to go?”
I click my phone off and shove it in my pocket. “Yeah.”
Ryder stares at me for only a second, but proceeds to the door.
She slings her backpack over her shoulder, which I now know includes a pistol and steel-toed boots.
I wonder what else she’s hiding in there, but I don’t ask.
It’s only one of the thousands of questions I’ve been holding onto and racking up over the past few days.
We ride the elevator in silence. Our new normal.
Both of us are tiptoeing around everything that happened the other night.
We’ve discussed the threats thoroughly, including the precautions that will be taken at my upcoming game, but have avoided any and all conversations related to what I can only assume is Ryder’s life.
I respond to emails as she drives. Between practice and stopping to see Matt, the days have been full, but at night, we’ve resumed our quiet, comfortable routine.
Although after we eat, we’ve been watching game tape in my room.
I sit on my bed, and Ryder tucks herself into the chair, biting the end of my pencil and cursing under her breath as she tries to complete my sudoku puzzles.
Other than that one night, she’s gone when I wake in the morning, and I don’t like it.
I don’t like any of this, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I just have to be ready to face the truth about what that deep scar under her arm really means.
I’m a big ass coward, but really, what I want is for Ryder to tell me. I want her to trust me enough to really let me in—to ease down the impenetrable force field she surrounds herself with and allow me inside. I want to know her, who she really is, behind the badass exterior no one can touch.
She pulls through the stadium gate and waves to the security guard. “You need to be all eyes and ears today. This is casual and a good place for someone to slip up.”
She pulls into my spot at the stadium and flips down the visor, angling her head to inspect her cheek.
“It looks good,” I say as she checks to make sure the yellowing bruise is covered.
She side-eyes me. “Lyla had to give me a blending tutorial.”
“You don’t usually cover them?” The words are out before I can stop them.
She pushes the visor closed. “I don’t usually have to cover them.”
Her defensive tone is a jab to my conscience. The one that keeps telling me to stop protecting myself.
Fuck. Does she think I want her to cover them?
“You don’t have to cover it up. I don’t want—”
“Matthews.” Her calling me by my last name feels so. . .business-like, not like I held her in the middle of my bathroom. “I can’t go in there with a bruised face. The media would love that, and you don’t need more of a shitstorm than is currently taking place.”
She shoves the door open and climbs out. I quickly catch up to her.
“Hey.” I carefully reach for her elbow, sure to keep my grip light.
I wait for her to look at me, needing her to hear my words.
She reluctantly turns to face me, her shoulders relaxing in surrender as her face slowly tips up to mine.
“I don’t want you to cover anything up. Not from me. Not for them. I understand why you did, and I appreciate it, but. . . ”
There it is—my truth. I don’t want her to hide from me, and it scares the absolute shit out of me.
I want to push her sunglasses up so I can see her eyes. The greenest blue I’ve ever seen, but the tinted lenses are a shield, keeping me from really seeing her. Maybe not asking questions has let her believe my avoidance means something it doesn’t.
That distinct patch of marred skin under her arm is branded into my memory, sending raging flares throughout my body, and every muscle contracts.
I’ve been a selfish prick, shoving my head in the sand to guard myself from what I’m not sure I can handle and the unbearable rage that will erupt with confirmation of everything I’ve seen. But I’m done with that now. I won’t do that to her, Matt, or anyone else who’s suffered and survived.
I won’t be a coward for one more second.
I inhale a deep breath, shoring myself up.
“What you did the other night… I don’t fully understand what happened or what it is you actually do, but I will never forget it.
I don’t want to.” I pause, and her face drops toward the asphalt.
“Ryder, you are extraordinary in ways I can’t fully comprehend, but. . .I want to. I want to understand.”
Sometimes, fear warns us of danger ahead, and sometimes, it just holds us back. After these past few days, if there’s anything I know for certain, it’s that I’ve never really experienced the kind of fear that exists for some. What I’ve been doing, isolating to shelter myself, is fucking ridiculous.
I make millions of dollars, have an amazing family who loves me, and I’ve never been afraid to fall asleep at night or wonder what might happen to me when I do. I’ve never been terrified of those around me or of entering a new place. I’ve never feared someone’s touch—their hands on my skin.
My fingers curl into tight fists.
She drags her head up, letting it fall to the side slightly, and I go for it. Risking it all. No holding back. Not anymore.
“I won’t lie. I’m a little scared.” I huff out a laugh because it’s true.
“No, I’m a lot scared, but you were right.
There are some things you can’t unsee. Watching you jog up that loading ramp, I’ve never been more terrified in my life.
Then, seeing you carrying that little boy out of the hotel, and the look of absolute terror in his eyes.
Your swollen cheek and the cut curving up your body. . .”
Your mark and what it might mean. Holding you and never wanting to let you go.
I run a hand over my face. “We don’t have to talk about any of it if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that I’m in freaking awe of you, and I really don’t know what to do with any of it.” I pause, breathing deep to release the last piece. “I want to understand whatever you’ll allow me.”
She doesn’t move. Not even a twitch, but underneath her shades, her eyes are absorbing every minute detail and screening for sincerity. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking because I just laid a shit load out there.
Her chin drops, her hand tightening around the keys in her hand. “I didn’t want you to see any of that, but. . .thank you for what you did, helping save a boy. I can promise you helped save his life, and he won’t ever forget it.”
I stare at her, wondering who saved her life. An ache erupts deep in my chest that burns all the way through, and I have to swallow it away.
Maybe sensing it, she glances away. “How about we get in there and see if we can figure out who tried to make you look like a clown?” She gestures with her head toward the stadium.
Time. She’s asking for time, and I’ll wait as long as it takes.
I croak out a laugh. “Tried? They flat out did.”
We make our way into the stadium, and I feel a hundred pounds lighter, knowing what I want. I want to know Ryder, just like I told her. Anything and everything she’ll allow me.
As we exit the tunnel, the party is in full swing.
A large banner hangs on the far sideline with the foundation’s name and logo.
Lines of kids surround games and raffles while a small band plays in the endzone.
The smell of funnel cakes and cotton candy lingers from the food trucks parked between tents selling donated items. A large Stingrays booth is set up in the far corner, where the team will take turns signing autographs.
“Wow. This is. . . ”
I glance at Ryder, surveying the space. “Yeah, it’s a whole thing.”
She peers up at me. “You need to—”
“Stay close. I know.” I can’t hold back my grin, and her gaze moves back to the crowd, but I see the corner of her mouth curve.
I’ve missed it, her smile that rarely shines.
“You ready?” I ask, giving her time.
She takes another moment and then nods. I risk it, grabbing her hand. After spilling my guts all over the parking lot, I’m ready to have a little fun.
I don’t give her time to retract it, tugging her forward and into the carnival. To my surprise, her fingers wrap around mine a little tighter as we enter the crowd.
“What do you want to do first? Get your sugar fix? Your face painted? Win a goldfish? The Ferris wheel?”
Her face remains flat, completely unamused. “If there are real clowns here, we’re out.”
I grin and lean close. “Real as opposed to fake clowns?”
She tugs me to a stop, scanning the field, her bottom lip tucking between her teeth. “Come on, Matthews. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She drags me forward to a trailer where a set of mock rifles is lined up in front of tiny revolving targets.
“I don’t know much, Jones, but I suspect this is entirely unfair.”
One light eyebrow raises in challenge, stirring something in my belly I usually choose to ignore.
We both sit on a stool, Ryder surveying the surrounding area again before taking aim.
She peeks at me, a slight smirk appearing. “Don’t forget to breathe, Hotshot.”
I square my shoulders, placing the butt of the gun against me, knowing I don’t have a chance in hell with this woman, but I want one.
Ryder kicks my ass, hitting every single bullseye. She stands, turning to me like she didn’t even try. “Matthews, you not only need a little sparing practice, you need some time at the range.” She bites the corner of her lip, preventing her smile from breaking free.
I laugh, hoping she’ll make good on her offer when the season is over.