17. Ryan
17
Ryan
Yes, I am speechless. No, it’s not a feeling I’m used to, but after Emma’s words, all I can do is gawk at her. My mind is spinning as I think about what she just said, and eventually, all I can say is, “I didn’t know.”
“Clearly,” she huffs.
But I’m not just surprised that I didn’t know.
I was a jock back then, and an arrogant one at that. There were always girls hanging around the team, and sure, I certainly had my pick. But I’m shocked that she had a crush on me at all. Stunned, in fact, that Emma Carter, the quiet girl with the glasses, would see anything in me that appealed to her. When I look back at the idiot I was back then, even I hate myself.
And now, the more I think about what I said—and in front of all my teammates, too—I feel awful. I mean, truly awful.
Taking her hand, which surprises her, I look at her carefully. “I’m so very sorry, Emma. Truly, I am. I was a jerk at the best of times back then. To me, it was a joke. A stupid joke by a stupid kid. But that guy’s gone now, and I would never hurt you. Not now, not ever.”
She’s looking at me intently, absorbing every word. I don’t know what’s going on in her head, but I can only hope she understands that my words are entirely genuine. They’re not just genuine. They kind of express how I feel about her now, but I don’t think this is the time or place to elaborate on that. This is about her. Not me.
For a minute, she doesn’t say anything. My heart is thumping in my chest, worrying that this might be the last function we attend. And not because of the media and the trouble I’ve gotten myself into. But because I’ve loved spending this time with her over the last few weeks, and I don’t want it to end.
I mean, ever.
“We should go,” she says softly.
“No.” I shake my head. “They can wait. I need to know that you truly understand how sorry I am.”
She gives me a small smile and nods. “I do. Thank you.”
“For what?” I shrug.
“The apology,” she says simply.
I sigh and shake my head. “It doesn’t really cut it after what I did, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything else,” Emma says. “It’s enough.”
When we walk across the parking garage, there is so much more I want to say, but again, I don’t think this is the right time. These last couple of days have opened a Pandora’s box of confusion for me, and if not for the fact that I get talking to the guys, my head might be in more of a mess than it already is.
After three sessions with Emma, where she hardly said a word or was so distant it felt like the Grand Canyon separated us, I meet the guys for a drink. I need their help to figure out what I’m supposed to do.
“You can’t blame her,” John says after I explained what is going on. “Megan is making waves.”
Steve nods. “But we knew she would the minute we all saw her.”
“I get all that,” I say. “What I don’t get is why Emma is bothered so much. Our relationship isn’t real.”
John and Steve both look at me like I’m an idiot, and then they look at each other and laugh.
“What?” I blurt.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” Steve says, lifting an eyebrow. “You denying to us how you feel, or you denying it to yourself.”
I look at John then, who shrugs and nods knowingly. “It’s written all over your face, man. And the other night at the bar—”
“Before Megan turned up and ruined it,” Steve jumps in.
“Yes, definitely before that,” John agrees. “You and Emma were carrying on like you’d been together for years. Are you seriously going to sit there and tell us you don’t like her?”
“Of course, I like her,” I reply.
John lifts an eyebrow. “You know what I mean, man.”
I pause a beat and then admit defeat.
“That obvious, huh?” I say.
“Oh, yes,” Steve and John say in unison.
The thing is, I’ve been well aware of my feelings for Emma of late. I just didn’t realize they have been so out there for everyone else to see. Okay. Well, maybe not everyone else. Steve and John have known me most of my life, so there is that.
After we talk some more, all three of us come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, my feelings are not unrequited. It would explain why Emma has been so weird since Megan’s arrival. She’s the one who put together that contract, right? She’s the one who wanted no emotional attachments.
And as Steve says a little later on in the evening, “If she wasn’t into you, Megan being here wouldn’t be a problem.”
He’s the only one of us who’s married, so it makes sense to go on his knowledge of the females of the species on this one.
I couldn’t have known at the time, though, that I had hurt Emma so badly back in high school, and now, as Emma and I are welcomed into the building via a side entrance, the guilt is still eating me. Mainly because I’m replaying exactly what happened that night after we’d won our match. I really was such an arrogant ass.
Emma and I are led to a private function room. Inside, there must be two hundred people milling about, all talking, drinking, and socializing together.
Beside me, Emma takes in a quick breath, and I swiftly sense her overwhelm. Dropping my hand, I take hold of hers and give it a light squeeze, pulling her in closer to me. She flashes me a glance, a timid smile, and we carry on inside. Me still holding her hand. Her not letting go.
The dinner is a fundraiser for a charity I support: Young Athletes Together. The charity helps young athletes from less affluent parts of the city, those whose parents can’t afford to buy them the best gear or shoes or equipment, to make their way into the careers they dream about.
Not only do they provide them with the right equipment, but they also get the players sponsorships so they can move up in their chosen sport. I’m very proud that I’m an advocate for the charity, and of course, I donate a large sum every year as well as get other affluent businessmen and women to do the same thing.
So most of these people are here for that. Those not in that category, and the journalists lingering amongst them, are probably here because of my flourishing new romance with Emma.
We’re just getting to our table when Phil emerges from somewhere.
“Hey, you guys,” he says, beaming a grin. “How’s it all going?”
He gives us a kind of conspiratorial look as he waits for our answer while we take our seats.
“Good,” Emma says, sounding more relaxed than I think she is.
Phil looks directly at me. “It’s working. The media is slowly drifting off your story. In fact, it’s turning in your favor. Darius Crib is now under the microscope. They’ve got a lot of commentators re-examining clips of his play, talking about his dives and how often they happen. Besides, they have bigger fish to fry now. It’s just come out that a few NFL players have been juicing.”
“So, where does that leave us?” I hear Emma say.
When I glance at her, I can’t quite read her expression. Does she look hopeful that this will soon be all over, or is that disappointment? I know which one I want it to be, but I just can’t tell.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Phil says.
And, where that ought to fill me with dread, instead, it’s like music to my ears. Which is nuts, I know. But I don’t want this to be over yet. I need more time.
“This is the media, Emma,” Phil continues, “and they’re as fickle as they come. They can turn at any time. One minute you’re front-page news; the next, you’re at the bottom of some wastepaper basket. But either way, you guys need to keep this going. If there’s one thing they don’t like, it’s being lied to.” He rolls his eyes. “The irony, but hey, that’s the way it is. When we bring this to an end, it needs to be long and slow and quiet.”
After dinner, there’s an auction. It brings me great joy to hear the amounts of money being donated to young athletes who will, one day, skate in my boots, so to speak. If you’d have asked me as a kid about philanthropy, I would have struggled to spell it— kidding— but now, it just gives me this great sense of accomplishment.
When the auction is over, the music begins, and standing, I lead Emma onto the dance floor.
“Now, darling,” I say, flamboyantly mimicking Madame Amour’s voice as I take her hand and wrap my arm around her waist, “you must let go. Trust is the foundation of all things.”
Emma begins to giggle, a beautiful sound that trickles from her lips. “I don’t know how I’m not experiencing a trauma response, hearing that again.”
“Ah, she wasn’t that bad.” I grin. “I just think she belongs on Broadway rather than that tiny island.”
“For sure,” Emma says, nodding eagerly.
We sway to the music, my nostrils inhaling the sweet, musky smell that emanates from the beautiful redhead in my arms. My heart thumps in my chest as her body moves against mine, and my thoughts go back to earlier.
I don’t want this to end.
Afterward, we mingle, and I have the delight of introducing Emma to the patrons who have supported the charity for many years. As usual, she has them hanging on her every word, and I watch as she amazes them with the work she does and the athletes she puts back together so they can play their sport once more.
There are photographers mingling about the place, and as always happens at these functions, I am beckoned upon for the obligatory photographs with board members and the like. When they come over, one of the photographers then points to Emma.
“Can I get one with you and Emma, please, Ryan?”
“Sure,” I say, slipping my arm around her waist.
“How about a nice kiss?” she asks.
I’m now terrified but try not to show it as I gaze down at Emma. But she’s smiling and as relaxed as could be.
“It’s okay,” she says.
Bending to reach her, my lips meet hers. They’re soft and warm, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I don’t want to leave them. That might have something to do with the fireworks going on in my stomach at this moment in time. That, and my heart pretending it’s a bass drum.
Breathlessly, I pull away, and the photographer nods and turns from us. But I look back at Emma, who looks at me. Her eyes are like pools, swirling in the moment. Pools I want to fall into and lose myself in.
Another photographer grabs our attention, and the second is lost.
I’ve done a lot of thinking on the drive back to Maple Springs, and when I pull the car up outside of her house, I turn to Emma and say, “I think we should elope.”
Emma’s mouth drops open. “What?”