Chapter 15 Delaney
DELANEY
If Persephone can be both the goddess of spring as well as the
queen of the underworld, you, my dear can be both sunshine and chaos.
Stop fighting it and start embracing it instead.
—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
Ilook at the snacks laid out on the kitchen table, hoping I have enough.
Lexie said she’d bring the sweets, but I picked up the actual game-day food because seriously, what’s a game without greasy food?
Their laughter carries through before I even open the door. The four of them, loud and obnoxious, like I’ve learned to expect. Kyrie throws herself into my arms, and Dillan grumbles something that sounds a lot like she loved me first.
I don’t correct her. Let her have her delusions.
“Okay.” Kaleigh claps, dropping a bag onto the couch. “Where’s the jersey?”
I freeze. Because—what?
“I don’t—”
“Wrong answer,” Dillan cuts in, already walking into my room. “Where’s Ryker’s stuff.”
“In her closet,” Ashton calls out to her, one hand braced on her lower back, the other holding a forty-ounce pink tumbler covered in cherries. “And you.” She looks my way. “No complaining. You’re wearing it.”
“Do I have to?” I ask no one in particular.
“Yes, you do,” Lexie says as she pulls cupcakes from the bag. “Social-media optics, remember? We’re doing reels and stories and posting a ton of pictures of us all supporting our men.”
“Really?” Dillan groans as she walks out of my room with one of Ryker’s jerseys in hand. “My man fights in an octagon. He doesn’t run around on a football field.”
Lexie rolls her pretty eyes. “Your dad is the quarterback coach. Stop moaning.”
“Fine,” she grunts and holds out the jersey. “Now put this on and smile.”
“You just want Kyrie back.” I blow a kiss on her chubby cheek and swap my baby sister for my fiancé’s jersey. Pretty sure there’s something wrong with this equation.
With a quiet huff, I walk into the bathroom and throw the door closed behind me, then strip out of my shirt and slip into his jersey.
Beneventi is stretched across my shoulders and ninety-six is stitched in big, white numbers.
I try tucking it in, but it swallows me whole.
When that doesn’t work, I knot it at my waist and watch as one sleeve falls off my shoulder.
Oh well. It’s going to have to do.
My fingers dance along my neck, skimming over the nearly non-existent bruising there— finally—and the ring catches in the light as I move. It really is beautiful, even if it is a constant reminder of what this is and what it isn’t.
Pretty sure the lines between the two are starting to blur.
But not today.
Today is for show.
Time to make social media my bitch.
I flip my head upside down and fluff my hair, then stand up and add a touch of gloss. If we’re posting this stuff on my social media, I might as well try to look good.
“Okay.” Lexie grins, pursing her lips. “You look . . . really good.”
“I look like I’m playing dress-up,” I laugh and cross the room.
“No.” Kaleigh jumps up and moves next to me. “You look like you belong to Ryker.”
My stomach flips. Hard.
“I don’t belong to anyone.” The words are out before I even think them through, and the room around me quiets.
Ashton waddles next to me and tucks her arm in mine.
“Relax,” she says gently. “No one is trying to take your independence away, Lane. But tonight?” She straightens the jersey and fixes my hair.
“Tonight, you’re his, and we’re going to make sure every single one of your followers and Ryker’s knows it. ”
She hands her phone to Dillan. “Would you take a picture of us, please?”
“Of course,” Dillan snags Ashton’s phone and holds it up, one brow lifted as she stares at Ashton’s belly stretching the jersey she’s wearing. “Maybe angle a little, Ash.”
“Watch it, Dillan,” Ashton snaps, and the rest of us laugh, breaking the tension in the room.
Okay. Maybe I can do this.
Newsflash.
I can’t do this.
Watching the game? That I can do.
Cheering for the team? I’ve been doing that for years.
But faking it for the camera? I hate doing that.
I sit on the floor with Kyrie between my legs as the second half starts, doing my best to ignore the girls every time someone decides to try to catch a candid pic. The Kings defense lines up, and Ryker takes his position.
“He looks good,” Ashton murmurs.
“He always looks good,” Kaleigh adds, and I don’t say anything, refusing to acknowledge the way her words cause a flash of possessiveness to surface.
Watching Ryker do his thing on the field is like watching fluid in motion, smooth, and sleek, and deadly. But this time when he hits his mark and takes down his guy, he goes down with him. Hard. Too Hard.
One second, he’s moving, and the next—Jesus. The next, he’s down, the receiver’s down, and everything in me locks up.
“Jesus,” someone breathes out behind me, but I don’t look back, too busy moving closer to the TV because Ryker isn’t moving.
I hold my breath for one minute. Then one turns to two as the trainers move onto the field. But before two turns to three, one of the trainers holds out a hand for Ryker and pulls him up. And I swear to God, my heart finally beats again.
I watch as he shakes it off with a tiny limp that’s gone by the time he gets to the sidelines.
And that’s when I take my first full breath.
Ashton laces her fingers with mine. “You okay?”
I nod. It’s a lie.
“I’m fine.”
I’m nowhere near fine, but I’m not about to tell her that. Not now. Not yet.
And an hour later, as the girls celebrate the Kings win, their fifth this season, my eyes are glued to Ryker. To the way he seems to be moving a tiny bit slower, and I wonder how long it will be before he gets home.
“Text him,” Ashton says softly as she hugs me goodbye.
“I will. What time do you think they’ll be home?”
“Probably not before midnight. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she asks, but Kyrie’s already asleep on her shoulder.
“No. I’m fine. Be safe getting home.” I kiss Kyrie’s head and wave to the girls before throwing every lock behind them and setting the alarm.
Delaney
Good game, Beneventi. Maybe try not to get hurt next time.
Three dots appear right away, and my heart does a stupid little dance.
Ryker
I’ll work on that just for you, Rousseau.
Delaney
You do that.
You looked good out there.
I hesitate, then add—
Delaney
But you scared me.
Ryker
Sorry, Bambi. I’ll try not to do it again.
Thank goodness because I’m not sure my heart can take it.
Ryker
You wore my jersey?
I glance down at myself.
At his number on my chest and his ring on my finger.
And ask myself the question that’s been bouncing around my mind all night . . .
Would being his be such a bad thing?
Delaney
The girls made me.
Ryker
You look good. Wish I could have seen it in person.
And there goes my heart.
Delaney
You still can.
I don’t overthink it.
Don’t stop myself.
The phone rings immediately, and my thumb shakes as it swipes across the screen to answer.
His face pops up first, the black eye paint smeared under his eyes.
“Show me.” his low voice echoes through the screen.
No hello. No hesitation.
Just . . . that.
And for some reason I’m sure I’ll stress over later, I walk into the bathroom, stand in front of the mirror, and flip the camera around, suddenly very aware of everything.
The jersey.
The way it hangs off my shoulder and drapes over my chest.
My bare legs barely covered by my cut-off shorts.
The way it still smells like him.
“Damn, Bambi . . . Ninety-six looks good on you. Now turn around.”
My breath catches. “So bossy.”
“Yeah well, I want to see my name on my wife.”
Okay. Not sure if that should sound as hot as it does, but it really does.
I can’t believe I do it, but I turn around and lift my phone so Ryker can see the reflection in the mirror.
“Fuck,” he breathes, barely audible, but I catch it.
And that might be even hotter.
“Lane . . .” My name is a plea. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?”
My pulse spikes, leaving me unsure how to answer.
Do I know what I’m doing to him?
“Maybe,” I answer.
Do I know what he’s doing to me?
Oh yeah.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because if you didn’t . .” he trails off. The unfinished thought hanging heavy between us.
“Ryker—”
“Don’t, Lane. Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.” There’s a devilish grin on his handsome face.
“I’m not starting anything,” I answer with a hint of teasing, maybe letting myself have a little fun.
“Yeah,” he groans. “You are.”
Jamie bumps into him as the level of chaos in the locker room intensifies. He grins and waves. “Hey, Delaney.”
“Hey, Jamie. Good game,” I tell him but watch Ryker.
The silence between us so much louder than the celebration surrounding him.
Jamie disappears, and I suck in a breath. “I should go.”
Even if I don’t want to.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “You should. But you should leave that jersey on, Bambi.”
“Why? I ask as butterflies take flight in my belly.
“Because I think it’s time for your first lesson, Lane. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
The FaceTime ends, and the screen goes dark, and I just . . . stand here. Alone.
Wearing his jersey and his ring,
Wondering, for the first time, if maybe this doesn’t have to be completely fake.
Ryker
Not sure I knew it was possible for your dick to be hard for four fucking hours. But I guess when you lock-in, anything is possible. And seeing Lane in my jersey . . . yeah, that was a whole new level of locked-in.
The lights are off in the apartment when I let myself in. Delaney and Tori are asleep on the couch, the television illuminating their faces. And damn . . . she kept the jersey on.
I drop my bag to the table and lock us back up before moving to the couch and watching her sleep. She’s curled up on her side with Tori at her feet. Tiny little bootie shorts I’ve never seen her in before peek out from under my jersey, and my mouth waters at the sight before me.