Chapter 24 #2
I rest my forehead against the cool tile, needing the peacefulness that used to exist when it was only football and me.
But I think that’s just it, the thing sitting at the bottom of this pool of absolute frustration.
Football shouldn’t be all I have. And it.
. . might not be the only thing I want anymore.
A vision of my mom and dad slow-dancing in the kitchen while Maggie and I ate our dinner flashes through my mind. They took their time as if they were the only two in the entire world. It’s one of the few clear memories I have of them.
I witnessed my dad’s greatest achievements, but he never failed to remind me that his best moments were those with my mom, holding Maggie on his lap as he studied, and watching me learn to navigate the game he loved.
Those are the moments I live for.
It’s what he’d tell me after a disappointing loss or when I screwed up and fell short.
It’s the moments I’ve avoided collecting, unwilling to let myself have. Never letting anyone close enough to create them because, in the blink of an eye, they could be gone. Then, all you’re left with is fuzzy memories, a whisper of words, and a longing for something that will never be again.
But now, I’ve had a moment like that. One that, for the past twenty-four hours, I’ve wanted to relive over and over again, and I don’t ever want to forget. A moment that, despite my achievements, made me long for something more, and it scared me. A whole lot.
I turn off the shower and dry off, knowing I’m here, and I can’t go back.
When I was young and afraid of the monsters in my closet, my mom would swing the door open, telling me the only way to squash the fear was to face what was hiding inside.
I guess the theory holds true. In this case, I may have to inch it open carefully.
I throw on a T-shirt and shorts, determined to eliminate the strained awkwardness that’s lingered between Ryder and me from last night.
I stop at the end of the hallway. Ryder is standing in front of the freezer with the door open. I lean up against the wall, watching her. I know what she’s doing. I’ve known for a while, but the little thief has been caught red-handed.
Gotcha.
“Umm, what are you doing?”
She spins, the evidence fisted in her hand. “Nothing. I was just. . .looking for a snack.”
“A snack, huh?” I cross my arms, leaning against the island.
She bites her lip but quickly shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah.” She holds the gallon-size baggie, which contains only one cookie and a bunch of crumbs.
“Seems you’ve had no trouble finding snacks lately.”
Her head tilts as eyelids droop. “What? Are you monitoring?”
“Only when it comes to those,” I point to the empty bag.
She holds it out. “You had an entire bag shoved in the back of the freezer. These would not be part of your strict dietary requirements. I wasn’t going to let them get freezer-burnt and go to waste. Someone went through a lot of work to make these.”
“Those,” I take a step closer, “are specially made for me. They’re my winning cookies.”
One shoulder sags a little. “Your. . .winning cookies?” Her eyes narrow, evaluating my seriousness.
This is so much better than where we’ve been today. I like these cookies even more for it.
“Yes, if I win a game, I get one of those delicious, homemade, personally crafted cookies.”
“You mean they’re like a treat. You do good, you get a cookie.”
I nod. “Sure.”
“Sounds kind of like rewarding a dog.”
There’s playfulness behind that smart-ass comment, and I freaking love it. I’d have ten dozen of them made for her if she’d continue teasing me.
She peers in the bag at the lone cookie, stuffed with oatmeal, chocolate, and peanut butter.
“You’ve eaten the entire bag of my cookies.”
“Not the entire bag. There’s one left,” she clarifies innocently.
“We have a problem.” I take another step closer, and she watches me. “I plan to win the rest of the season, and I’ll have earned that.”
She evaluates the baggie and then me, her lips moving to the side in contemplation.
“Well, seeing that there’s only one left, I should probably help break your habit now and eat it.
Just one isn’t enough, and I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your potential winning streak by suffering symptoms of withdrawal. ”
I cock one eyebrow. I’ve watched the cookies dwindle, bit by bit, knowing damn well how good they are, but I want to hear her say it. “Withdrawal?”
She stands a little taller, her shoulders shifting back. “These are laced with something. A pound of butter, lard, and chocolate imported from the finest chocolatier in the world. I don’t know, but whatever it is can’t be good for your highly sensitive diet, so I’m just doing my job.”
I move closer, resting up against the counter opposite her. “Your job is to eat my winning cookies?”
She shrugs. “It’s a real sacrifice, but I am being paid to ensure you remain safe and in tip-top playing shape.” She says it so casually, but that glimmer of a smile awakens a desire in me I’ve never known.
“Hmm. That’s an interesting job requirement.”
“There’s been all sorts of those recently,” she mumbles.
I want to push her to elaborate, but I won’t ruin another moment.
“How about you hand over the bag?”
She glances at the clear plastic and then at me. She shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t do that. I’m saving you from. . .a stomachache.”
I laugh as she dips her hand in and pulls the cookie out, slowly bringing it to her mouth. I never want this to end.
“Jones,” I warn.
She eyes me. “Matthews, this isn’t good for you. I can’t let you have it.”
I slide closer to her. “Don’t do it. You clearly have a problem. Think about what happens when it’s gone.”
She takes a small step back. “I need this. I’ve had a hell of a day, and these cookies kind of make everything better for the two minutes I nibble and savor them.”
It’s almost a whine, and I’d get her a thousand more if she asked.
Her eyes grow wide. “Where do you get them? I’ll buy two dozen. I’m convinced they’re laced with crack. I have no idea how you just eat one or let them sit in the back of the freezer this long. It’s like they call to me. You must have the self-control of a man made of steel.”
I do, but she’s testing every ounce at the moment. I’ve never had an issue with self-control, but I’ve also never been challenged in the ways I’m beginning to understand a man can be.
“I can’t just order more. They’re specially made. For me.” All it would take is a phone call, but there is no way in hell I’m telling her that. I want to see if she’s really going to eat it.
She grazes the edge with her teeth, nibbling.
I move forward a yard from her, and she stops. “Don’t you even dare.” I stare her down. “When I win the next game, I expect that to be tucked safely in the back of the freezer where it belongs.”
She doesn’t move, the cookie poised and ready to be devoured.
I take another little step forward, but she eases away, watching me. “Put the cookie back in there, and nobody gets hurt, Ryder.”
“Matthews, you have absolutely nothing sweet in this place. I’ve been robbed and starved of all the best sugary things in life while I’ve been making sure your ass doesn’t get popped.
” Her eyes bore into me. “I’m eating this cookie.
You can get more from wherever these came from, but make sure you order extras next time. ”
She brings the cookie to her lips, and I rush her. She laughs but slides out of my reach.
She steps back slowly as she carefully takes a bite.
I rush her again, and she darts away, but not quick enough. I catch her waist, hauling her against me and off the ground, reaching. . .
Before I realize what’s happening, the cookie shatters on the floor, and I find myself right next to it, staring up at the ceiling, trying to suck air into my lungs.
I can barely make Ryder out through the blur and stars clouding my vision. Her shadow towers over me, her hand over her mouth, and her eyes wide.
Pain radiates from the place right under my left ribs and behind my knees, where she swept my legs out from under me.
When I can finally breathe again, I moan. “Ssshhiiiittt.”
She remains still, only staring at me. I blink, staring back. Her dilated pupils begin to retract, and her fists drop to her sides.
“I. . . I’m sorry.” Her voice is almost a whisper. She takes a step closer but keeps her distance. “Are you ok?”
I evaluate my body, filling my lungs with air to be sure I can. “I’m fine. I think.”
She takes another hesitant step and kneels on the tile beside me. “Are you sure? Did you hit your head?” Her fingers carefully glide over my scalp, and I let them, my pain momentarily relieved by her closeness.
“Uh. . . I haven’t been sacked that hard in a while.”
Fuck, maybe ever.
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to hide a small smile. Her hands fall from my head, moving to my ribs, but she stops before touching me and tucks them in her lap. “Are your ribs ok?”
I move a little, and there’s a twinge of pain, but they’re good. “Yeah.”
“Your back?” She offers me her hand, and I take it, grunting as I sit up.
“It took the brunt of it.”
I press my fingers to the spot below my ribs where she slammed her elbow into me with enough force to definitely break something.
“I’m good. I can’t let the guys see the massive bruise that’s sure to be there.”
“Cole,” her eyes drop to the floor. “I’m sorry. I. . . ”
I see it all over her face—the shame and remorse. I can’t stand it.
“Ryder, don’t.” I realize she hasn’t pulled her hand from mine, and I grip it a little tighter, wanting her to look at me. It takes her a second, but her eyes drag up to mine. “Don’t apologize.”
I think back to her first night here when I found her upstairs in the gym. “You told me to never surprise you. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”
I watch her inhale and exhale.
What does this to a person?
There’s a flash of her splattered with blood and then running off last night to chase down whoever was waiting for us.
My stomach twists into a tight knot as I resist grabbing her and tugging her into my lap, wanting to protect her from whatever it is.
Her gaze drifts from our joined hands and peeks at me again, stirring the conflicted place in the center of my chest that burns and aches at the same time.
She slips her hand from mine, and I instantly want it back. She stands, offering it again to help me up. I take it, and she tugs me to my feet, then bends to pick up the broken cookie.
“I guess I’ll let you have that one,” I tease. “You can eat it while we watch tape, so I don’t get knocked on my ass again this weekend.”
She peers up at me from her crouched position, blinking twice. “Maybe you should join me at the gym sometime and learn how to defend yourself.”
It takes a second, and then her lips curl upward before sweeping up the crumbs.
Damn.
This is going to be one hell of a terrifying challenge because the only thing I want to do is kiss that little half-smirk right off her face. But I can’t. If that ever happens, it’ll be Ryder’s move. All the way.
“In the off-season, you’re on.” I press my fingers to the sore spot under my ribs.
I see her mouth creep into a grin.
“Just so we’re clear, you owe me,” I say.
Her head pops up. “Fine. You’ll have to tell me where to get these.” She holds out the crumbs.
“I don’t want cookies.”
Her brow scrunches. “What do you want?”
Oh, I know what I want, but I’m not telling. “To be determined.”
She stares at me.
“I’ll turn the game on. You find us some snacks.”
As she cleans up the rest of the crumbs, I drop onto the couch.
“Snacks?” I hear her grumble. “I’ll get you a carrot stick.”
I laugh. “Popcorn and cereal are in the cabinet above the fridge.”
I hear her suck in a breath. “Seriously? You’ve been hiding those all this time?”
“Nah.” I flip on the TV. “Come on, 007. I was seeing how long it would take you to find them.”
“Matthews, I’m ordering groceries next time. You suck at it.”
I rest my sore ass on the couch. Fine by me. She can order whatever she wants, but I’ll be putting in a call and requesting a lot more cookies.
______
ME: Hey, man. Call me. I need to explain.
NICK: Can’t talk now. A kid who got picked up for possession.
NICK: I’m sorry I lost it. I don’t understand what happened.
ME: I’m not exactly sure what happened, either.
ME: You’d have stuck up for any woman who freaked out like that.
NICK: Yeah. Who is she?
ME: She’s like Ryder’s sister. I don’t know anything else.
NICK: That’s all?
ME: Ryder asked me where you were from. I told her you were from Detroit and got the impression that she didn’t love the answer. That’s it.
NICK: I’m sorry for being a dick. We good?
ME: Yeah. We’re good.
NICK: I’ll call you later.
ME: Good luck, man.