The One & Only(103)

“Well, let’s see … I left my credit card at the bar.”

“You had a tab open?”

“Yes. Is that a problem? Isn’t it better to start my own tab than to have guys buying my drinks?”

“What guys were you talking to?”

I crossed my arms, shook my head, and stared him down, refusing to answer another question. Meanwhile, Ryan lifted the bag of ice and examined his knee, his skin red with cold. Then he tossed the bag onto the floor, sat up, and said, “Look. If you’re my girl, I need you to be my girl. And part of being my girl is supporting me the night before a game. I needed you last night. I needed to hear your voice—and you obviously didn’t give a shit—”

“Don’t say that. You know I care. Very much.”

“It doesn’t seem that way. If you cared, you would have called. Period.”

It was the closest he’d come to making a reasonable, calm point—a far cry from Blakeslee’s characterizations of his jealous rages. But I still felt unsettled. There was something off about the whole inquisition, and I could only imagine how much worse it would be if he knew Miller really was at the bar.

“You gotta be all in or all out,” Ryan said, one of Coach’s lines.

I nodded.

“Well?”

“Well, what? I heard you!”

“And? Are you in? Or out?”

I hesitated, just long enough for Ryan to shake his head, disappointed. “That’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t say anything!” I shouted, my frustration building. “Why are you doing this? I know you had a bad game … but that just happens sometimes. You’re still one of the best quarterbacks in the entire league! Don’t tell me you let your father get in your head.”

“I let you get in my head. The fact that you couldn’t take a few minutes to call me.”

I stared at him, incredulous that we were really going around in the same circle again. “Okay. Ryan. Once again, I’m sorry. I gave you my word and I didn’t follow through. You have a right to be irritated. Even mad. I’m sorry I made you feel bad. It won’t happen again.”

He stared at me for a long time, then said, “Shea. I love you.”

I stared back at him, shocked, my heart racing. I hadn’t seen that coming. Not one little bit.

“Are you sure about that?” I said, stalling, but also thinking that part of loving someone was having faith in them.

“Yes. Do you love me?” His voice was quiet, with a needy, insecure edge. It was unfathomable, a complete reversal of anything anyone in the world would imagine was happening between us.

Rather than answer, I stood up and walked over to the sofa, sitting, facing him, one hand on his shoulder, as if the physical contact might suffice as my answer.

It didn’t.

“Do. You. Love. Me?” he repeated. “It’s a very easy question.”

“Yes, Ryan. I do love you,” I said, feeling cornered, thinking that it had to be in the running for the least romantic first utterance of I love you of all time. And the worst part was, I was pretty sure I had told another lie. A whopper bigger than pretending I hadn’t seen Miller the night before. I nervously dropped my gaze to his knee and said, “Well. Now that we settled that. Do you need more ice?”

He shook his head, then exhaled. “But I do need you, babe. C’mere.” He pulled me closer to him, so that my head was on his chest, my body across his. As I listened to his heart beat, I found myself wondering what exactly he needed from me. Because I could remember to call on the nights before games. And I could avoid the Third Rail and contact with Miller. I could probably even learn to love him. But there was one thing I couldn’t change and would never give up. Not now, not ever, and I could feel myself starting to panic with every breath he took.

He finally broke our silence and said, “So my dad’s a real asshole, isn’t he?”

I turned my head so I could see his face, at least half of it. “Yeah,” I said, as there was really no way to sugarcoat it. “He sure is.”

“And by the way, you were right. He totally bought Cedric’s car.”

“I figured,” I said, relieved that he didn’t ask me my source. For the first time, I worried about the ethical implications of not chasing the story, no matter how stale it was.

“And he didn’t buy it because he wanted to help Cedric out.”

“Right,” I said.

“He controls people with his money. It’s sick.”

“He can’t control you, though. Not anymore,” I said, feeling my loyalty shift back to Ryan. Maybe I did love him. At least a little bit.