Chapter 10 Ryker #2
“Are you buying her love, pretty boy?” I kick off my shoes and toe them toward the wall, wincing as I straighten.
Still sore. Still tired. Still everything.
I’m not sure why I let Ashton convince me to wear heels tonight.
Wedges or not, they weren’t flats, and they weren’t sneakers, and my already sore body is regretting the decision.
She tried convincing me to wear a dress, but she lost that battle.
No one needs to see every bruise on my body like they would have in a dress.
I just hope they’re healed before the wedding.
“Sit,” Ryker orders as he rises, not even looking at me.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
I want to be indignant, but I’m a little more proud than anything because I know I got those words right.
“Sit, Lane.” His eyes flick to mine, steady, relaxed, and utterly unimpressed.
I’m not sure why I indulge him, but I do. Without arguing, which, if I’m honest, feels like a personality shift that should probably concern me. It doesn’t, but it should.
Instead, I walk into the living room and sit down, closing my eyes for a moment, taking in the day. When I open them, my fiancé is standing in front of me, a glass of water in one hand and the bottle of pain meds I’ve been avoiding like the damn plague in the other.
I stare at him, unblinking.
He stares back, unimpressed.
We do this dance for a solid five seconds before I shake my head. “No.”
“Delaney . . .”
“No, Ryker. Don’t,” I warn him.
“Don’t what?” His lips tug up, fighting a smile. He really is pretty when he smiles.
Ugh. No. He’s not pretty, and he’s not getting his way. “Don’t do that thing where you think I’ll do what you say just because you say it. This one is a hard no. We’ve been over it.”
“I know. But you’re not them,” he answers quietly.
I stop breathing. Literally stop.
There’s no judgment in his voice. No real pressure.
Just . . . concern.
Damn it.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and you’ll heal faster if you’re not in constant pain. It’s proven.”
My throat tightens. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” he pushes, squatting next to me the same way he did with Tori a few minutes ago.
I open my mouth and close it. Because how do you explain the kind of fear that’s been ingrained in me?
That kind of history?
That kind of pain?
You don’t.
Not yet.
“It’s just not something I do,” I settle on, unable to give him more than that. “I can’t. Please don’t ask me for more.”
He studies me for a long second, then nods. And just like that, his smile is back. No pushing. No arguing. No yelling or screaming. “Okay, then you eat.”
“What?” I blink. “That’s it?”
“Yeah, Bambi. You’re a grown woman, and I respect that. I’m not going to win every argument, and I’ve got another one to pick, so I’ll give you that one.”
“Oh no,” I groan. “What else?”
“You know, your ASL is getting better already.”
Thankfully. I feel like I’ve spent all my downtime trying to absorb as much of it as I can. It may not be easy, but it’s definitely worth it.
He sits down next to me and throws my legs over his. “I want to install a security system.”
“Okay.” That’s not too bad. “Was that the fight?”
“I mean, apparently not. You’re okay with security?” he asks, surprised.
“Sure. No one has bothered us yet, but you’re kind of a big deal. It’s bad enough I’m making you live here. You should at least feel safe.”
“I compliment you on your ASL and you give up?” he teases, and my face flames red.
“I know when I’ve got no hope, and I’ve hit the limit on words I know for the night. Does that bother you?” Please let him say no because I’m doing the best I can.
“Not at all, Delaney.” He stretches his arm behind me, and his fingers tangle in my hair. “You’re just fun to tease.”
Those same fingers travel from my hair to the back of my neck, and I let out a moan.
God, that feels good.
Ryker drops his hand and hops up, offering me his hands. “Come on, Bambi. Time to eat.”
I sigh, placing my hands in his. “You’ve got a thing for feeding me, you know that?”
He smiles, and oh my . . . This one is a little sly and a whole lot sexy.
“You’ve gotta eat, wife.”
“You keep feeding me like this, and I’m not going to fit into my dress. And I’m not your wife yet, pretty boy.”
“Three weeks,” he winks and pulls me up. “Wait, I’ve got something else for you.”
I watch as Ryker digs through his gym bag and pulls out a smaller bag.
Please don’t let it be the food.
“Here. This is for you.” He seems more unsure of this than he did the ring, which has alarm bells sounding in my head.
“You don’t have to buy me things, Ryker.” I drop the bag on the table and open it, then pull out a shirt. Not just any shirt. This is a woman’s Kings jersey with Ryker’s last name and number on it. “Ryker . . .”
“We have a home game this weekend. I figured if we’re supposed to sell this thing, you should probably be there.
” He looks away, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was nervous.
“I thought you might want to wear this. My family has a suite, or well . . . you could sit with Ashton and the girls . . . like . . .”
He stops because he was going to say like last week.
But this wouldn’t be anything like last week because last week . . .
Because that was the last game before . . .
Everything else in my life will be the after.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Damn it. He’s trying so hard. And whether anyone else wants to admit it or not, we’re in this mess because of me.
Not that it isn’t Roger Dennings’s fault.
But if it wasn’t me. If I hadn’t mouthed off to him.
If it was anyone else outside, Ryker’s life wouldn’t be sitting on the edge of a blade, waiting to see which way it falls.
He wouldn’t be forced to marry me to protect himself. None of this would be happening.
“Stop, Ryker. You didn’t say anything wrong.” I slip the shirt over my sweater and look down. “How’s it look?”
Ryker’s pupils darken, and his stormy blue eyes shine, deep and dark. Damn . . . “Perfect.”
“Well, okay then. What time’s the game?”