Chapter Seventeen Griffin #2
My eyes felt dry and hot and filled with sand, and I fought against a tide of restlessness, hearing her say something like that about herself—that she felt like a monster from a cautionary tale. The book on her table made sense now, and I made a mental note to try to read that one too.
“When did that change?” I asked, my voice rough from disuse. I kept her fingers in place, and she shivered slightly when my lips brushed her knuckles as I spoke.
From his perch on the floor, Bruiser whined, notching his big square jaw on the couch by his mistress’s leg like he could sense her distress.
“It took almost three years. I was so focused on staying healthy. Walking every day. I was so strict with what I ate, drank, never went out—outside of work—because I was so afraid of getting sick.” Ruby licked her bottom lip, carefully extracting her hand from mine to scratch at Bruiser’s head.
He settled, eyes eventually falling closed.
“And then I just wanted to live. Not anything crazy, like jumping out of an airplane. But normal things, you know? Like stay up all night talking to someone because the conversation is so good, and I forget to care about sleep. Or a really good one-night stand or going on a long drive in a beautiful convertible. Dance with someone in a club and not worry about people watching.” She shrugged one shoulder lightly.
“It all sounds so small, but it’s big to me.
And I was sick of not doing any of those things. ”
Fucking hell, I was going to cry, wasn’t I?
It was the list of simple things, all of which I’d taken for granted but now seemed like a fucking miracle.
How thoroughly this woman had humbled me, without intention or forethought.
I wasn’t sure my life would ever quite look the same after this. After her.
“And you’re okay now?”
She pulled in a slow breath, eyes locked on her dog. “I’ll always be a little bit at risk,” she answered carefully. “I take immunosuppressants to make sure my body doesn’t reject the heart, but an infection would be much worse for me than anyone else with a normal immune system.”
When her eyes finally lifted again, there was so much heartache there that I felt it like a tear down the middle of my chest. “About half the people who survive the first year after a transplant should live about thirteen years or so. Some live more. Some live less.” She shrugged, like she wasn’t talking about possibly fucking dying in her forties.
A shocked gust of air pushed from my lungs, and I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and sinking my head into my hands. “Holy shit, Ruby.”
When I looked back up again, her lips—those beautiful soft, soft lips—were curled in a tiny little smile. “That’s why I told you not to fall in love with me. I’m a terrible long-term bet.”
The urge to bolt was so fucking strong.
Facing her—facing this—was a lot like being shoved off the side of a ship when I least expected it, and the thrashing for air only seemed to make it worse. Sucking in a deep breath helped, and I straightened my shoulders as I stared at her.
She fidgeted. “Say something.”
Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it up.
There had been so many situations in my life that I’d treated flippantly, that I hadn’t held with care or respect, and if this became one of them, I’d never forgive myself. I’d never be able to look myself in the mirror again if I caused this woman more pain than she’d already experienced.
This wasn’t a time to make a joke or pretend like the things she’d admitted to me weren’t precious, because they were. The thought of this woman not feeling human—God, if it didn’t break my fucking heart.
No, this was a moment for honesty. A moment to trade places with Ruby’s stunning show of vulnerability, even though the mere thought clawed at my skin.
“I-I’ve never dealt with anything like this,” I told her.
“And it scares the shit out of me to say the wrong thing or make you feel worse.” I shifted closer, easing my hands onto her knees where she’d crossed them on the couch.
Do something helpful, you idiot, a voice battered at the back of my skull, and I spoke without really thinking it through.
“What if . . . what if we renegotiate again?”
She inhaled slowly, eyes bouncing between mine. “To what?”
To what?
Great fucking question.
What would I want if this were me?
“I don’t know, exactly. You don’t need my help, Ruby.
Not with anything. You’re”—I shook my head—“you’re so much better at this than you think.
” Carefully, I reached up and grasped her chin between my thumb and forefinger.
“But I like you. You’re smart and a smart-ass.
You don’t take any shit, and you’re not fake or pretentious or pretending to be anything.
I like spending time with you. Can we . . . be friends while I’m here?”
The word tasted like acid on my tongue. A couple of hours earlier, I’d learned what she felt like from the inside when she came, and wanted to tattoo the sounds she made onto my subconscious—but sure .
. . friends worked too. I could bend my second head into submission if it was the last thing I did.
He’d be pissed. But I’d gotten used to people being pissed at me. My dick could get in line.
Ruby’s forehead did that delicate little wrinkling thing it did when she was thinking really hard. After a slight hesitation, she spoke. “Is that what you want? To be friends?”
Fear gripped me instantly, because no, it really fucking wasn’t. Even sitting here, I had to fight an overwhelming urge not to touch her as she talked, or tuck her up against my chest and listen to her breathe, just to assure myself that she was okay.
Was that how you acted with friends? For a moment, I tried to imagine tucking Marcus’s big-ass body up against my chest, and I grimaced. “No.”
She sucked in a breath as she nodded slightly. “No?”
“I want . . .” I looked down at my hands and stretched out my fingers, then curled them into tight fists, needing that anchor of tension because I felt so fucking powerless.
Ruby took pity on me, easing one of her hands over mine.
“I’ve talked a lot tonight, Griffin. Maybe if you told me what you’re feeling about all this, it might help us figure out where to go next.”
I wiped at my mouth and studied her while my thoughts attempted to untangle themselves. “We almost had sex tonight. And then I found out you almost died. That’s . . . that’s a lot. I’m not sure how I feel.”
With those big gray eyes fixed steadily on me, my hands started sweating a little bit. How ridiculous. I didn’t have sweaty palms when I was in the divisional championship. Maybe that was my problem.
If something this big happened out on the field, I’d know exactly what to do.
I’d know how to process some big, earth-trembling change without blinking.
I’d listen to my gut and trust my training, but this entire thing with Ruby—from the very beginning—had me feeling so incredibly out of my element.
“I’m scared to hurt you,” I blurted. “Like . . . even sitting here, I have this crazy fucking feeling in my chest.” I rapped lightly at the space over my heart and just let the words come out without second thought.
“Like I should be gentle.” I tilted my head while my hands reached out, carefully tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“Tender. Cover you with a blanket or carry you to bed and make sure you’re sleeping.
Warm up soup or something. I don’t really know why, because in general, I think soup is a giant fucking waste of a meal. ”
Her eyes went soft. “Do you?”
“Yes. No one’s full after soup. Not unless you eat an entire loaf of bread with it.”
“But you want to feed me soup,” she clarified.
“Yes.” I shook my head. “I don’t fucking know—you’re staring at me with those big eyes and I can’t think straight.”
“Sorry.” But she smiled a crooked little smile, and I felt a jump in my pulse at the sight of it. God, if I wouldn’t hurt someone just to see this woman smile. “That’s a lie, actually. I’m not sorry.”
“I think that’s because you enjoy torturing me.”
“Everyone needs hobbies, Griffin,” she said solemnly.
With a slight roll of my eyes, I sat back on the couch and stretched my arm to the side, easing my legs apart while I tried to figure out what to say next.
“Does that tenderness scare you?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
My gruff answer didn’t seem to deter her. If anything, she looked more and more certain the longer this nonsensical little therapy session went on.
Ruby sucked in a deep breath and moved, shifting to brace one knee on the couch as she rose up. Her hands settled onto my shoulders, and she swung her other leg over my lap and settled her slight weight on top of me, looking down into my shocked face with a stunning sort of resolve.
“What are you doing?” I barked, keeping my hands straight out. But when I tell you the urge to tenderly grab her ass was strong . . . I mean it.
“We can’t be friends,” she stated. “Not after the last couple of days. To your point, we almost had sex, though I’d amend that to say we never would’ve gone any further because the unsanitary nature of a bathroom is the least sexy thing I can imagine.”
I arched an eyebrow, ignoring the way my hard-on grew underneath her as she settled herself more fully on top of me. “I think you found it sexy enough, birdy.”
She let out a lofty sigh. “Fine. It’s a moot point because we stopped anyway.”
“And you relocated to my lap, why?”
“Because I wanted to.” Her own eyebrow arched, and I had a feeling it looked so much more imperious than mine.
“And I’ve found, in this new phase of my life, that when I want to do something because I think it will feel good, I’m going to follow that impulse.
” Ruby huffed. “Isn’t that your fault? You encouraged all this. ”
“I’m very good at encouraging a lot of stupid shit; it doesn’t mean you should keep doing it.”