The One & Only(120)

He opened his mouth, too bewildered to reply.

“Listen,” I said, taking advantage of his silence. “For the record, I think, I know you have a problem. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your father … or the violence inherent in the game you play … or if there’s any other psychological reason … but there is no question that you do have a problem.”

He stared at me, then shocked me by nodding, ever so slightly.

“And I think you should get help. I think your ex-girlfriends would all agree with me. And I’m worried about your future girlfriends, too.”

“I don’t want anyone but you,” he said as our waitress returned, looking thrilled to see who was seated at one of her tables.

But Ryan quashed her mood by holding up his hand, announcing that he didn’t want anything. Her smile instantly faded, as she nodded, then glanced at me.

“We’re not staying for dinner,” I said, feeling Ryan’s eyes on me. “But you can bring me the check for the drinks and chips …”

“Actually,” Ryan said, skimming the menu, stalling, regrouping. “I’ll have a sparkling water and … the tacos al carbon. Medium rare.”

I rolled my eyes at his attempt to hold me hostage with a couple of beef tacos.

“So … umm … do you still want your check?” the waitress asked me, looking flustered, probably because she knew there was some kind of a disagreement in the works. And this, I thought, was how things ended up on TMZ.

“Yes,” I said, outmaneuvering him again. “Thank you.”

When the waitress left, he said again, “I don’t want anyone but you.”

“You’ll get over that quickly. You have lots of options. Better options,” I said pointedly.

“C’mon, Shea. That’s not true, and you know it. We have something really special. Are you really going to throw that away?”

“Me?” I said. “You did this. You put us here.”

“I know. And I’ll do whatever it takes to fix what I broke. Whatever it takes.”

“I’m sure you’ve said those words before.”

“No, I haven’t.”

I thought of the promise I made Blakeslee and simply shrugged, opting to keep my word.

“Coach is full of shit,” he said, his face darkening for a few seconds.

“No, he isn’t,” I said, though I was unclear how Coach fit into this part of the discussion.

“What did he tell you? Because this is the only time that anything like this has ever happened. I swear. With you, the other night … and it was an accident. A misunderstanding … I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you … You have to believe that. I love you, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, understanding with new clarity the expression skin crawling.

“But I do love you.” He cleared his throat, leaned toward me, his face as close to mine as the table would allow. Then he started talking, his voice intense, earnest. “Shea, I’m so sorry I did this to you and put us here. I take full responsibility and will do absolutely anything to repair the damage. I can see in your eyes that you don’t trust me, but I pray that there is some love left. Just a little. And if there is, we can rebuild upon it. I know we can. I love you so much. If you just give me one chance to prove that to you … Please.”

I said nothing, hating that I felt sorry for him. I didn’t want to feel anything for him, indifference being the only route to true freedom.

“You have to understand how much that got into my head,” he continued. “Everything with you and Miller …”

I started to reply, but he held up his hand. “I’m not blaming any of this on Miller. And I know there is nothing to worry about with him … But when I didn’t hear from you after you promised you’d call me … and it was the night before a big game … and I missed you so much … and then I had that disaster game … And then I let my dad—and everything—get in my head … And then Miller had your credit card, and you have to see how bad that looks … and I guess I just snapped. I’m so sorry. But you have to believe I didn’t try to hurt you. Look in my eyes and tell me you know that.”

I felt myself questioning my own version of events, seeing his side of things, at least a little bit, but I managed to stare him down and say, “You don’t get to snap in a relationship, Ryan. Not if that’s what snapping looks like.” I glanced around the restaurant to make sure nobody was watching me, then showed him the bruise, now yellow, on my left arm, closest to the window.