The One & Only(121)

A look of anguish crossed his face. “Aw, Shea. I’m so sorry.”

“Look,” I said. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re a guy with a problem. A big problem … And I do forgive you for what you did … But I don’t feel right about this relationship. I just don’t. I don’t want to be in it anymore, Ryan. And you have to accept this as my final word. It’s not going to change no matter what you say or do or promise.”

He stared at me, his jaw resting in his large hand, and for a second I thought he was finally hearing me, understanding that it really was over. But then he shook his head. “I can’t accept that.”

“You have to.”

He took a breath and blinked rapidly in the way that people blink when they’re about to cry. Then he looked up at the ceiling and blinked some more until I could see that the rims of his eyes were turning watery, red. I told myself not to cave. It was pitiful—seeing someone that strong on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I care about you. I always will. And I want you to get help and change for you. But this relationship just isn’t right for me. And in some ways it probably never was,” I said, feeling a little bit guilty for letting him think that this was all his fault. “I’m not sure we were ever really right for each other … I’m really sorry.”

He nodded, then dropped his gaze from the ceiling to me and said, “Will you at least keep the earrings? Please?”

I stared into his eyes for a long few seconds, then said, “Okay. If it means that much to you—”

“It does. It really does.”

“Okay. I’ll keep the earrings.”

“And you won’t sell them? Or give them away? Promise me.”

“Okay,” I said again. “I’ll keep them. I promise. I do love them.”

“I wish you loved me, too,” he said. “But at least you’ll always have something from me. Something good.”

I gave him a small, genuine smile.

“I really am a good person, Shea.”

I nodded, believing that to be true—or, at the very least, believing that he wanted to be a good person.

“Get some help, Ryan. Will you?”

“I will, baby,” he said, looking into my eyes.

This time, I let him call me baby, but I stood up, put a twenty on the table, and said goodbye.

“Goodbye, Shea,” he said, stoic acceptance on his face.





Thirty-seven





Later that night, I made plans to visit Coach at his office, relieved to find the parking lot at the athletic complex virtually empty. As I entered the football wing, I glanced nervously over my shoulder, wondering how much longer we’d have to creep around and lie. It was still a necessity, but I didn’t like it, and could feel myself starting to imagine a different reality.

“There she is,” Coach said when he opened his door, breaking into a dazzling smile. He took my hand and pulled me inside, nudging the door closed behind me.

I smiled back at him, both of us frozen for several seconds before he put his arms around me in a proper hug. I hugged him back, tentatively at first, then more tightly, deciding that if he didn’t make a move soon, I was going to. I had to kiss him.

He pulled away just enough to be able to gaze down at me with an intense stare. It was the way he watched a play in progress, one that pleased him, one that was going exactly as planned. Sometimes when he had this look on his face, he’d say yesss with a couple of hard claps or a clenched fist pump. He didn’t do that tonight, but I could tell he was feeling that way because I knew him that well, inside and out, all his tics and moods and expressions.

He cupped my cheeks in his hands, our faces at the perfect intimate distance. Feeling drugged and dizzy, I stared at the stubble on his jaw, his half-closed lids, the crescent shape of his top lip. He slid his hands back past my ears, lacing his fingers behind my head, tugging slightly on my hair. It was as if he were controlling me without trying to, making my lips part, my eyes close, my breathing shallow and rapid. I waited another few agonizing seconds, aching to be kissed. When he still didn’t do it, I put my hands on his neck and made a little moaning sound, too overwhelmed to speak. Then, finally, his lips brushed against mine, lightly at first, then more urgently. It was like looking into a bright light that didn’t hurt your eyes. Everything felt warm and right and complete until I stopped thinking altogether. I forgot where we were and what had happened to lead us to this moment and just focused on kissing him. I tasted him and touched him, feeling his close-cropped hair and his warm neck and the muscles in his shoulders and back straining through the thin material of his Dri-FIT shirt. I inhaled the scent of his skin and aftershave mixed with that familiar salty smell of practice. I listened to his breathing, could hear his excitement, mirroring my own.