The One & Only(92)
A few seconds later, we pulled in to my complex. “Which unit are you?”
I pointed straight ahead. “That one.”
He parked in a guest spot but let the song end before he turned the ignition off, staring straight ahead, his face serious. Then he got out of the car, came around to my door, and opened it. Still sitting, I looked up at him, our eyes locking. “What?” I asked, without moving, just staring.
He reached down, took my hand, and gently pulled me out of the seat.
“I don’t think Luce would like this very much either,” I said.
“Me giving you a safe ride home?”
“No. You taking me by the hand.”
“She’d understand that it’s for your own drunk good,” he said, leading me over to the cement path lined with trodden-down white and purple pansies.
“I’m meeting Ryan’s parents tomorrow,” I offered, out of the blue. “And he’s meeting mine.”
“And you’ll be hungover.”
“Worth it.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because you’re here,” I said. “Holding my hand.”
He smiled but dropped my hand, moving his arm around my waist, guiding me toward the open-air staircase, then up two flights to my door. I fumbled in my purse for my keys, found them, and slowly unlocked the door. Then I walked in, holding the door open, hoping he’d follow me. He did, and, before he could change his mind, I closed it behind him, then dead-bolted it. Amused, he shook his head, then peered around my dark living room, his eyes resting on the framed article he’d given me, leaning on my mantel.
“Looks good,” he said.
“I love it,” I said.
“I’m glad.”
“I love that it’s from you.”
Coach nodded. “Good. Now go to bed.” He pointed down the dark hall toward my bedroom.
“I’m not sleepy,” I said.
“Count sheep.”
I made a face.
“But first drink some water and take a couple Tylenol.”
“Okay,” I said. “But one question first.”
“One question.”
“Why do you think Lucy doesn’t want us to spend time together?”
“I don’t know what makes Lucy tick.”
“Take a guess. Or I’m going to ask another question.”
He smirked, looked up at the ceiling, then reached out and took my hand again.
“Because,” he said, squeezing it, taking one step closer to me. “Because I think she knows.”
“She knows what?” I said, inhaling his aftershave. My heart swelled, and I felt dizzy—dizzier than I already was—as I imagined how easy it would be for me to lean in and kiss him.
“Nope,” he said, pulling back his hand and shaking his finger at me. At first I thought he meant no, I couldn’t kiss him, but then he said, “You said one question. And I answered it. Now. To bed. Go.”
His face was in a shadow, but I heard in his next deep breath that he was feeling something. We both stood frozen, staring, waiting, for a long few seconds, before he turned around, undid the dead bolt, and opened the door.
“Goodbye, girl,” he breathed, now standing in the doorway.
“Goodbye, Coach,” I said as the door closed behind him.
I exhaled, pressed my cheek and palm against the metal door, and closed my eyes. His voice came back from the other side. “Lock the door and go to bed.”
I opened my eyes and smiled, then did what I was told.
Twenty-eight
I never called Ryan.
It was the first thought I had when I snapped awake the next morning. Followed by: How am I going to get my car? Followed by: I’m never going to drink again. I reached up for my phone on the nightstand, my temples throbbing and my heart sinking as I saw six missed calls and seven texts, all from Ryan, each progressively more agitated.
8:30: Heey babe. Just called u. Hit me back.
8:42: Going to bed in a few. Miss u. Call me.
9:05: Where are u?? Why aren’t you picking up?!
9:38: Worried. Hope u r ok?
10:07: You must be out. Turning phone off. GN Shea.
10:43: Nothing? Wow. Ok …
11:21: Can’t sleep. This sucks. Hope it was worth it.
I stared at the screen as I tried to form my defense. I was drunk? I lost track of time? I forgot? I fell asleep? Poor cell reception … dead battery … lost phone? The truth? What was the truth? That he hadn’t crossed my mind except to field a few questions about him from old classmates? That Coach had been the one I wanted to call—and did call?
I forced myself to dial Ryan’s number now, having no idea what I’d say if he answered. It rang once and rolled right to voice mail, as I began my rambling message. Hey, Ryan. I’m really sorry about last night. Will explain what happened when we talk … but obviously I know you’re only focusing on the game at this point. Good luck … I can’t wait to watch with your parents … I’m sorry.