Chapter 22 #2
“I’ll see you next week,” Mindy says through a forced smile before turning on her heel and stomping away.
“Man, she has it bad for you,” Ryder says quietly.
My hand unconsciously moves to her lower back, attempting to shield her from Mindy’s dagger eyes.
“Let’s try to stay along the edge where there are fewer people,” she directs.
I lead, but Ryder forces herself between the crowd and me. Further in, groups gather around tables, laughing and dancing in front of a small stage where a DJ mixes music.
I scan the space for Nick, even though I’m certain he isn’t here.
“What now?” Ryder asks, doing the same thing I am. Only she’s looking for threats, not her best friend.
Before I can answer, I hear my name above the music.
“Matthews,” is bellowed across the room, and I see Ricketts with a group of guys and their dates crowded around a small high-top table.
I turn to Ryder. “We good?”
She inhales a deep breath and then nods.
We squeeze through the crowd, and I make sure to stay close to her.
“It’s the man of the hour!” Ricketts throws his hands in the air as we approach.
I slap hands with him and a few other guys, all of whom I played with or against at some point.
“Where’s Pierce?” Ricketts frowns, expecting Nick to have been with me.
“Uh, he had something come up,” I say, as all eyes zero in on Ryder while hers bounce around the masses encircling us. “Guys, this is. . .Rylee.”
Her head rotates in my direction, and the look on her face says she wants to punch me, but not in the way that would actually knock me out.
“Hey, Rylee,” Ricketts says, his eyes lingering on the strong woman beside me.
I shift closer to her, needing him to knock that shit off.
“What do you do, Rylee?” A petite dark-haired woman asks, leaning against the table and holding a glass of wine.
Ryder doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m in social work.”
“Oh, really. With what organization? We love to support where we can.”
“All of them,” Ryder answers sharply and to the point.
The woman frowns, but Ryder doesn’t notice, still scanning.
Someone bumps into her from behind, and she spins as the man holds out his hand in apology.
My arm instinctively slips around her, pulling her to me. Her body is forcefully rigid, and I release her just as quickly.
It only takes a few minutes for the topic to shift from our current stats to my dad and the desire to relive his greatest moments.
It’s all it takes for me to realize I don’t want to be talking to this group. I’d much rather be sitting on my couch, watching tape with Ryder, while she accuses me of being a lousy teacher.
As I contemplate leaving, knowing full well my promise has gone to shit, I hear it. It’s difficult with the guys carrying on, but I still catch it.
I step away from the small circle. “Sorry, guys, but we’ve got to move on.” My gaze shifts to Ryder. “I have a promise to keep.”
Ryder’s brow creases, but I don’t even try to hide my excitement for what we are about to do. She may hate me. No, she might kick my ass, but my entire career has been built on calling plays and taking chances when the odds are stacked against me.
I hold out my hand, and Ryder only looks at it. The entire group watches us, but I don’t care.
I’ll wait as long as it takes. “I don’t break promises, remember?”
Her eyes move around us and then flick between mine, deciding if she’s willing to trust me. This is big, so I’ll give her all the time she needs.
She exhales as her hand slips into mine, and I know I won something major.
“Come on.” I grip her hand, knowing it’s a huge risk.
“Where are we going?” she hisses.
I aim for the center of the room, ignoring her question. “Do you hear that?”
“Matthews.”
I hear the warning, but I’m not backing down. I want it. This one thing.
I’ve not seen it, but I imagine this woman could drop my ass to the ground, possibly in a hundred different ways, but I don’t care. Some things are worth the danger.
“Are you out of your mind? We are not. . . ”
I sense her panic, but I’m dead serious.
I spin, stopping in the middle of the room where couples are dancing all around us. It’s not a slow song, but it’s Bruno Mars. Her favorite.
I lean in a little. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Not about football, how great my dad was, or anything else. So, I’m going to put my arm around you now.”
I give her a moment. Her wide eyes flick between mine so fast, then at all the people around us having fun.
“And lucky for you, I can dance.” I smile, trying to reassure her.
She doesn’t move. She might not even be breathing, and I need that to stop.
“Ok?”
Her chest moves in and out a little more quickly. “This isn’t a good idea. I can’t—”
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time, and they happen to be playing your favorite guy.”
I move into her carefully, giving her enough time to know what I’m doing, but not so long that she has a chance to second-guess it.
I slip my arm around her, and she lets me, her toes bumping mine. Her arms hang loose as if she doesn’t know what to do with them, but then one hand moves to my shoulder, and the other falls into my open palm.
I keep it simple, swaying us back and forth. “Is this ok?”
“Do I have a choice?” Her eyes are everywhere but on me.
“Always, but I like to dance. I’m pretty good, actually.”
After a few moments, her stiff posture eases a bit. She tosses me a look of complete boredom that makes me grin, but her following my lead tells me she doesn’t completely hate it.
“Rylee?”
There’s the hint of smartass I was waiting for.
I breathe in relief. “I didn’t want to blow your cover.”
Her shoulders stand down a little further, so I take another risk.
“Tell me what you see.”
Her body tenses again, and I see the request surprise her.
I want to know what goes on inside her head. I’m pretty sure she’s on high alert ninety-nine percent of the time, and I want her to trust me enough to tell me what that’s like.
She doesn’t answer right away, her heels still shifting slowly back and forth between my feet.
“I see, hear, and feel. . .everything.” Her gaze travels to our hands locked together, and I’d give anything to know what she feels.
After a moment, her eyes land on mine. I want whatever she’ll allow me.
She moves into me just a little closer, but not so close that our bodies touch.
“Five photographers were out front. Three had two assistants, the others only one. Megan, the editor, was staked out fifteen feet from the entrance, waiting for you, and would’ve kept you there until you agreed to do the article.
Mindy smelled you no less than three times and cataloged your every move.
That guy, Jared, has been twenty steps behind us the entire night.
He’s on your nine, pretending to fit into a group huddled around a table.
There are six exits. One on each end, two on each side, but a door to a kitchen would lead to a seventh.
There are two storage rooms, which are dead ends. ”
She sucks in air. “The man in the back corner over my left shoulder with an iPad is directing staff. There are about a dozen servers. Five security guards are roaming the room. Your GM has been standing in the same spot since we joined your friends, letting people come to him while he sips his drink. The woman, three o’clock in the pink dress, doesn’t realize the man she’s with is feeding her drinks, likely hoping she’s drunk before she realizes it.
And. . .there are two jokers at the bar desperately trying to get the attention of the tall blonde who’s smart enough not to be the least bit interested. ”
Well, shit.
That’s a lot, and I suspect that’s only half of what she sees.
I scan the room, only noticing these things because she pointed them out.
“Where’d you learn to dance?” Her gentle voice pulls me from my astonishment.
I’m willing to match her courage. “My mom was a dancer. A ballerina, actually. I’ve been dancing my whole life.”
Her eyes drift to something over my shoulder.
“My sister is a dancer and would threaten to show videos of me in tights and ballet shoes if I didn’t partner with her.”
“I’d like to see that.” A small smile tugs at her mouth, the first I’ve seen since we entered this space.
“Please don’t ever tell her that. She’ll send them immediately.”
“I think she and I might get along.”
“You two would be dangerous together.”
Ryder glances at me, something skirting across her face. I wait for her follow-up questions about my mom, but they never come.
“Do you ever talk to anyone who doesn’t bring up your dad in the first few sentences of conversation?”
I slide my arm around her a bit more, holding her a little tighter. Her body brushes mine, and she doesn’t stiffen or fight it.
“It’s rare. He was a legend. People want to relive that kind of greatness.”
Her eyes stay trained over my shoulder. “It doesn’t leave a lot of room for you to be great all on your own.”
The tenderness of those words is a blow straight to my chest. A truth that no one else has ever seen.
It’s my turn to stare at her. Her eyes are focused in the distance. I release her hand, taking another chance and linking my arms behind her back. She doesn’t flinch.
“It’s all I’ve known since I first held a football. People expect and want me to be him. He only wanted me to be myself.”
I think about the last game he attended. Tears in his eyes as I jogged off the field.
“He never compared my game to his. He offered advice and helped when I asked, but he was my dad first. He was careful never to put himself in a coach role.”
“He sounds like an amazing dad.” The sincerity of her words causes the ache of missing him to flare.
As we sway, I realize I want this to last. Just me and Ryder, sharing truths.
“Cole.” I’m startled by her use of my first name and the tension I hear in it. “In a second, you’re going to slowly turn us 180 degrees, and I need you to tell me if you know the man talking to your GM.”
I begin to turn us, but she goes rigid, stopping me. “You need to be slick.”
“Ok.”
I take my time, shifting us slowly. I lower my head, pretending to whisper something in her ear, but let my eyes drift upward to three men conversing. One of them is Greg.
“Which one?” I whisper.
“The one in the light gray suit.”
I give it a second before I take another look. In the dim light, it’s hard to see his face. I only catch his profile. He’s tall, probably at least in his fifties, with a lean build, short-styled grayish-white hair, and, like almost everyone here, dressed in a designer suit.
I spin us ninety degrees. “I’m not sure. Why?”
She shakes her head slightly. “I just. . . ” She doesn’t finish her thought, but her body has seized up, and something is happening.
“Was he watching us? He could’ve known my dad or . . . I’m with you. He might be curious. Pictures of us will be everywhere tomorrow.”
Her body freezes between my arms. “No, I’ve seen him before.”
“What? Where?”
She pulls free of my arms and takes my hand, leading us toward the edge of the room. She slips her phone from her clutch, draped over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“We need a selfie.” She holds out her phone, but I see exactly what she’s doing. The man is in the background of the picture.
“You think he’s the—”
She shakes her head. “No, but he’s. . . ” She glances at me, something in her eyes I don’t understand.
She begins tapping out a message.
“Ryder.”
“Can we go?” she asks as she presses send.
“Ryder, I don’t understand.”
When her eyes lift to mine, there’s pleading in them for me to stop asking questions, so I do. For now.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Ryder follows me through the crowd, and when we hit the parking deck, the fresh air mixes with my confusion about what exactly just happened.
We walk side-by-side through the poorly lit garage, Ryder’s head swiveling in all directions.
I went from her in my arms, dancing, to this. Whatever this is.
I wasn’t ready for it to end—those moments of holding her close.
As we approach my Range Rover, disappointment eats at me, along with frustration at myself for allowing all the thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
“Shit!” Her steps halt as her arm jets out to stop me. She spins, taking in the surrounding area.
There’s a loud clang, and Ryder bolts in front of me.
“Get down.” Her voice is tense as she shoves me between two parked cars.
The pound of footsteps echo in the garage and then the loud bang of a door.
“Stay down and don’t move,” she orders, carefully peeking over a trunk in the direction of the sound.
I stare across the space at my white Range Rover sitting twenty yards away, covered in bright red spray paint.
I WARNED YOU.