Chapter 41
RYDER
I hang my backpack and kick off my shoes.
“Would you get your dirty boots off the table?” Van’s voice carries into the kitchen from the living room.
“Why? A little dirt would do your prim, anal tendencies some good?” TJ’s low voice grumbles.
Jos groans. “If you two want to keep at it, take it to the bedroom. I’m about to shove my head in the refrigerator and slam it just so I don’t have to listen to your constant verbal sparring.”
I grab a bottle of water and a granola bar, then join them in time to hear Van ask, “Why are you even here? Can’t find any other women willing to tolerate your militarist, emotionally unavailable state?”
“Oh, for the love of. . . ” Jos pops off the couch. “I need sugar if I’m going to survive the two of you.”
I flop on the couch beside TJ as sports highlights flash on the TV.
Great.
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid today.
“Where have you been?” TJ grumbles.
“The gym.”
It was the only place to help me keep from thinking about Cole.
“You didn’t watch the game?” Jos hollers from the kitchen.
I thought about it all afternoon. Really, I thought about him, his wrist, and whether he won. Instead, I ran ten miles and punched the shit out of a bag. Then, I showered and pulled on the sweatshirt I officially stole from him. It’s the one thing I’m allowing myself.
I tuck my knees inside the soft material and bring them to my chest, inhaling his scent.
Jos curls into a chair, shoving a bite of—
“What is that?” I squint, leaning closer to inspect the food in her hand.
“Oh, this?” She holds it out. “They were delivered earlier. The box is on the counter. I left the card beside it.”
I stare at her as my stomach twists and then flutters back open. “Go ahead. Help yourself,” I say, shoving my legs out and standing.
“Listen, I had to deal with these two for the last hour, trying to watch The Assignment. . . ”
I don’t hear the rest as I rush to the kitchen. On the counter is a plain white bakery box with a card beside it.
I pull in a breath, lifting the envelope and slipping the note out.
You owe me another dance.
I close my eyes.
Damn him.
I’m doing this for him.
I lift the lid, and inside are a dozen, well, now, eleven of those ridiculously addicting cookies. Cole’s winning cookies.
My eyes burn. Someday he’ll see.
I close the lid, depriving myself of anything good.
Shit. Who am I kidding?
I flip it back open. Maybe just one, but only if he won the game. It seems fair.
I grab a cookie and a paper towel, then return to the couch. I set it on the table and change the channel to SportsCenter.
“What the hell is in these?” Jos says, licking the crumbs off her fingers. “That’s the best damn cookie I’ve ever had.”
“Hey,” Jamie snaps, carrying a box and setting it along the wall with the others. “I thought I made the best cookies.”
Both of Jos’s eyebrows arch upward, and her eyes grow wide.
I point the control at her. “Stay out of them. They’re mine.”
I wait for the report on the Stingrays’s game as Van returns, dragging her suitcase behind her.
“Where are you going?” TJ barks as she zips up her purse.
“That’s none of your business.”
I’m pretty sure TJ growls, but Van ignores him, stopping at the door.
I climb over TJ to hug her while keeping my eyes on the TV. “When will you be back?”
“A few days.” She hugs me tightly. “Talk to him. It’s so clear he cares about you. Let him.” Her whispered words surprise me as she pulls away.
I meet her eyes, and sadness reflects back at me.
“Don’t take him for granted. Not everyone can love us back the way we need them to.”
TJ makes some sort of noise and stands. “You ready?” he asks Jamie, lifting the giant box from the floor. “There’s too much estrogen and feelings floating around in here.”
“What? Afraid it’s contagious, and your cold insides might catch a breeze of warmth?” Van asks, looping her purse across her body.
TJ grumbles something on the way to the door, but we ignore him.
Van hugs Jamie as she follows TJ out with a box on her hip, then reaches for Jos. “Stay out of trouble.”
Jos grins. “Ha. Not a chance. Life’s too short not to have a little fun.”
“Love you, guys.” Van hollers.
“Even when we don’t,” Jos and I say back.
I sink back into the couch as Jos reclaims her chair.
“You seriously didn’t watch the game? What kind of ex-fake-girlfriend are you?”
I side-eye her, not needing her sassy ridicule.
“It was a good one,” she sings, baiting me to ask her questions.
I watch as the screen fills with Cole’s tall, strong body, standing behind the mic. Something in my chest expands at the sight of him.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I listen as he talks about his wrist, a late comeback, and how he battled to make the final passes that led to the winning touchdown.
I barely make out the muffled question tossed at him.
“That pass to Ricketts from the thirty-yard line could have been cut straight from your dad’s playbook. Was that something you pulled out at the last minute, or have you been working on this for some time?”
Cole’s posture stiffens, and he braces both hands on the podium.
I lean toward the TV, knowing it was a jab to his heart.
His eyes scan the room of reporters. “My dad had an amazing gift. He could read the field and make plays no one would attempt. He taught me so much, but. . . ” He pauses.
“I’ve learned how to use that to become the player I am.
That pass and all the others are a result of every win and loss throughout my career. ”
He smiles. “I’m still learning, and I’ll keep learning, but I’ve always played the game my way.”
He just claimed his place.
My smile breaks loose, so damn proud of him.
“You really should have let yourself watch the game.” Jos interrupts the warm pride running through my entire body. “You should also quit sitting around here smothering yourself in his clothes and maybe let him smother you with his body.”
I twist to look at her.
“You know, eventually, when you’re ready for that.” She shrugs. “Just sayin’.”
I laugh and toss a pillow at her. “You’re insane. Like you’re one to talk, Miss No-Man-Is-Ever-Going-To-Get-Near-This.”
She rolls her eyes. “First, it’s Cole. Mr. Perfect and Gorgeous himself. And second,” she pauses, momentarily laying down her sass. “It’d be nice to know it’s possible. To trust someone with it all and have them love you anyway.”
My little ball of fire and scorn has turned tender.
“I’ll only end up hurting him,” I offer honestly.
“You might also be hurting him now.” Her voice is soft as we listen to the detailed highlights.
My mind battles between what I want and what is right—what’s best for Cole.
The screen flashes to him, throwing on the sidelines before the game as they discuss his injury and his usual backup being benched at the last second.
“What’s the deal with that?” Jos asks. “They kept talking about this guy, Jenkins, and how they were expecting him to start. I guess they removed him from the roster and pulled up this new hot dude.”
There’s a flash of the guy Jos is talking about as the commentators relay his experience and stats.
“He’s Cole’s backup, but his daughter is sick. She’s been in the hospital. I think Cole said she’s waiting for some kind of drug trial.”
“Well, I’m sure being dismissed from the team wasn’t what he needed.”
A picture of Will and his family standing in front of a mural he painted fills the screen.
“At least he’s an artist,” Jos says as I try to listen, remembering his wife saying that the team was the only thing holding him up through their struggles. “Although it looks more like graffiti if you ask me.”
She pushes out of the chair, and I turn up the volume, staring at the canvas in the background of the shot, but then it’s gone.
My mind spins as my heart kicks into a jog to keep up.
Graffiti. Spray paint. Removed from the lineup. His daughter. Cole took his place when he was drafted.
I climb off the couch and run to my room, needing my computer.
I flip it open and start clicking through files, opening all of the evidence collected from each threat.
My fingers drum along the edge as I wait for the pictures to load.
“What are you doing?” Jos asks from my doorway.
“We got it wrong.” My heart hammers in my chest. “How long ago did the game end?”
“Uh. . .I don’t know. Maybe an hour and a half ago.”
I look at the clock. The game was in Charlotte. “Dammit!”
“What?” Jos sits on the bed beside me.
I click through photos, searching for his sprayed car.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’m checking something.” My stomach squeezes tight as I sift through pictures. I stop on the note tacked to Cole’s tire and zoom in on the symbol in the corner.
I open a browser and type in ‘NFL Will Jenkins Foundation.’
I scroll, searching for an article. I click on one from the fundraiser, hunting for a picture.
There. I double-click, enlarging it.
I lean in, squinting.
“I need to zoom in closer. How do I do that?” I spit out.
“Hell, if I know,” Jos says.
I grab my phone and punch Van’s name. It rings twice.
“Hey, I’m just about to go through security.”
“I need you to tell me how to zoom in on a digital image.”
She must hear my panic because she doesn’t ask questions and walks me through a few different processes to try.
My screen fills with the symbol on the bottom corner of the canvas raffled off at the fundraiser.
I split my screen to line up the images.
“That’s the same,” Jos says.
“Hey, I gotta go,” Van says through the speaker. “Call you when I land.”
“What is it?” She inspects the images closely. “An ‘R’ and a ‘J’”
I sit back. RJ.
My mind rewinds, sorting through all of the information I gathered. “Rachel. His daughter’s name is Rachel.”
“And this,” Jos points. “It’s a heart around the letters.”
Fuck.
I glance at the clock, shoving my computer at Jos. “Search every player’s social. See if you can find anything about the team arriving back here.” I pull my hair into a ponytail and grab my phone.
“What? Where are you going?” Her fingers tap the keys.
“I’ve got to get to the bus before Cole gets off. Call me if you find anything.” I run toward the door, directing Siri to call Tracker.
It rings twice.
“Hey, Ry.”
“We were wrong. It’s not Mindy.” I pull on my boots.
“What?”
“It’s his backup. The guy who steps in for him if he’s injured. Cole took his place when he joined the Stingrays. His daughter is sick, and they just released him from the team.” I grab my helmet and my backpack. “Cole will be getting off the bus and. . . ”
“Ryder, slow down. Wait for me.” It’s a demand.
“I can’t. He can’t get off the bus if. . . ” I can’t even think of it.
I close the door, jogging to my motorcycle. I swing my leg over, knowing I have to get there before he does.
“Ryder, I’m on my way. Wait for me.”
“Track, I gotta go.”
I hang up and tug my helmet on. Nothing will stop me from getting to him.