by Julie Kriss
Saturday was my day off. I had a Saturday class at the college and a lecture in the afternoon—my course was structured on weekends, for working people. I was in the kitchen at eight in the morning, groggily drinking a glass of juice, when Ryan came downstairs, freshly showered, wearing jeans and a dark gray Henley.
“Your face!” I said when I saw him.
“Yeah.” He gently touched the left side of his face, which was peppered with little red scuffs. He hadn’t shaved this morning, probably because it stung too much. He had a shadow of dark scruff on his jaw that looked almost unbearably sexy. “Dex and I got into it last night.”
I put down my glass. “You got into it? What does that mean?”
He sighed and opened the fridge. “We may have rubbed each other’s faces in a gravel parking lot.”
I stepped closer, checking out the purpling bruise on his temple. “And he punched you.”
“And he kneed me in the balls.” He pulled the orange juice container from the fridge. I bit my lip, and he smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Kate. They’ll recover.”
And there it was—that crazy, crazy arc of sexual energy that always showed up between us. I wanted to touch him. My palms practically itched with the urge. But it was eight o’clock in the morning, and I had to get to class while Ryan had to go pick up his son.
“Okay,” I said after we smoldered at each other for a long minute. “Um. Did you end up with a criminal record?”
“Nope.” Ryan took a glass from the cupboard. “They sweated us a bit and let us go. Turns out it isn’t illegal to have a fistfight with your brother in the parking lot of a hand job parlor.”
“A hand job parlor?”
Ryan winced. “We didn’t go in. Dex wanted to and the rest of us didn’t. That’s how the fight started.”
Oh, my God. If Luke even breathed the air in a hand job parlor, Emily would kill him. And if Ryan went in there, I’d kill him, too.
Except that Emily and Luke were getting married, and Ryan and I were casual.
Right.
“So you don’t make a habit of paying for hand jobs?” I couldn’t resist saying.
“Jesus, no,” Ryan said. “I get that I’ve been living like a monk since Dylan showed up, but my own hand works just fine. I haven’t stooped quite that low.”
I felt myself blushing. It made no sense—we’d been naked together a number of times now. I shouldn’t get all hot and bothered at the idea of him masturbating. “So I guess you hate Dex more than ever,” I said to change the subject.
Ryan took a long drink of juice, then put his glass down, his expression thoughtful. “No, I don’t,” he said finally. “Turns out I don’t hate him at all.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. “Really? That’s new.”
He scratched his chin. “Did you ever hear about the time I punched a guy in the middle of the game?”
“Yeah,” I said, picking up my own glass and leaning against the counter. “I watched it on YouTube.”
He looked at me. “Do you want to know why I did it?”
I nodded. “I do. Amanda said something about anger management therapy. But you didn’t look angry to me.”
“That’s because I wasn’t,” he said. “When we were growing up, Dex had this trick he’d pull whenever he got into a fight. He’d punch the other guy at exactly the right angle, hard enough that he’d make the guy’s nose bleed with one shot. If you can do it, you’ve just gained the advantage in the fight. It’s mostly over. Dex fights dirty, and he was a master at that move. He called it the Dexbleed.”
I felt myself smirking.
“I know,” Ryan said. “It’s pretty good. Anyway, when we were fifteen, Dex offered to teach me how to do the Dexbleed. We went to the schoolyard after dinner and he taught me the whole thing. The angle you have to hit at, how to position your hand—everything. He showed me how to position your arm and your wrist, get power into it from your legs. It was fucking masterful.” He sipped his juice, then put the glass down again. “We finished and we turned to leave. Then he turned back around and gave me a Dexbleed right in the face. It was a perfect shot. My nose bled like hell.”
“Oh, my God,” I said.
“I was pissed. I shouted at him, What the fuck did you do that for? And Dex said, The most important part of the Dexbleed is surprise. That’s the final lesson.” He shifted his weight, leaning a hip against the counter. “It sounds like he’s an asshole, and he is. But you know what? I used the Dexbleed to get out of every fight after that. That move saved me from getting the shit beat out of me more than once. And since I’d been on the receiving end, I knew how much it hurt. So in a weird way, Dex taught me something I needed to survive. And he was right. It only works when you surprise the other guy.”
“It sounds like you grew up getting in a lot of fights,” I said.
Ryan shrugged. “Everyone knew the Riggs brothers were badasses, so sooner or later most of them tried to take us on. But you can’t use Dexbleeds in baseball.
“Anyway. One day I was on the field in the middle of a game, and I realized that I didn’t want to be there. Dylan had the flu, and I’d had to leave him with a paid babysitter, and I was exhausted. I just didn’t give a shit. And all of these guys, they take this game so fucking seriously. Like whoever hits the ball around a field is life and death. Baseball, to me, was a means to an end, and that was it. And Bennett Harding is talking to me about some play like it’s so important, and I’m thinking, This guy’s name is Bennett Harding, and I haven’t punched him for it. And I want to get off this field, out of this moment, and go see my kid. Right now. What would Dex do?”
I bit my lip and waited.
Ryan shrugged. “So I gave him a Dexbleed. And they gave me a six-game suspension and sent me home.”
I looked at his handsome face, his dark eyes so deep in thought. “Ryan,” I said.
“I played one game after that,” Ryan said. “Then my shoulder froze up so hard I could barely move. I haven’t played another game to this day. And you know what? Last night I realized something. I played baseball for a while, and it was fine, but it was never really who I am. I’m a Riggs. That’s who I am. It’s my blood. You have to look at who you are, the good and the bad, and you have to face it or you’re never going to get anywhere—that’s what I think. And like it or not, Dex is my blood. He’s more me than baseball ever was.”
I couldn’t say anything. There was a tight, breathless feeling in my chest.
Ryan looked away. “I guess that’s a stupid story, right?”
I realized I’d been quiet so long I’d made him uncomfortable. “No,” I said. “No, not at all. It’s a great story.”
“Yeah, well.” He rinsed his glass and put it in the sink. “I have to go get Dylan before he has a panic attack. And you’re going to be late for class.”
He was right. I got ready, and I left the house and got in my car, heading for class. But the tight feeling never left my chest. I was almost all the way there before I figured out what it was.
Ryan was flawed and messed-up.
I still thought he was amazing.
I was completely in love with him.
And he had absolutely no idea at all.
When I got home after classes, I could hear Ryan and Dylan in the living room upstairs. Dylan laughed about something, and then Ryan said something I couldn’t hear—it sounded like a groan of pain—and then Dylan laughed again. I stood in the middle of my small apartment, listening to the happy trill of Dylan’s laugh, and every cell of my body wanted to go upstairs. I didn’t want to stay down here by myself, listening to them have fun. It suddenly seemed like the loneliest way in the world to pass the time.
I was still standing there, undecided and kind of sad, when Ryan said something to his son in a low voice and Dylan came thumping down the basement stairs. “Kate!” he said, knocking on my door. “Come up!”
I was already at the door before he got the words out. “Hi,” I said.
&n
bsp; He was basketball shorts and an oversized T-shirt, his dark hair in spikes like he hadn’t combed it today—which he likely hadn’t. “We got a new video game!” he said. “Come watch me and Dad!”
I followed him upstairs to find Ryan sprawled on the living room floor, pillows behind his shoulders and a game controller in his hand. His long, muscled body was gorgeous and relaxed, and his jaw was still scruffy. He glanced at me and smiled, making my knees turn to hot wax. “How were classes?”
“They were good,” I said, taking a seat on the couch so I honestly couldn’t stare at him. This was awkward, but it was still better than sitting downstairs by myself.
“Okay, well, Dyl and I are going to storm the castle and get the treasure, but we have to cross the river first.”
“I know how to do it,” Dylan said, sitting next to his father and picking up his own controller. “There’s a boat downstream, remember? We have to steal it.”
I watched them for a few minutes. It seemed to be a team-playing game in which Ryan and Dylan worked together instead of competing. It was a medieval setting, and they were both knights who had to get into a castle. It was long on strategy, low on violence. Dylan was already totally into it.
“If we steal the boat, we’ll wake him up,” Ryan said as the two knights circled a sleeping guard.
“Should we swim?” Dylan asked.
“We have armor on. We’ll sink.”
“What does this do?” Dylan moved his knight to a wooden plank and shoved it, revealing a gleam of gold. “I found coins!”
“Nice going,” Ryan said. “Maybe if we find more money we can buy the boat off him?”
“No, look,” I said, chiming in. “There’s a rope. Over next to that barrel. See? I bet you can pull it and steal the boat without the guard waking up.”
We sat like that for a while, talking and playing. Ryan gave me his controller while he went to the kitchen to pop popcorn, and I took over being a knight alongside Dylan. When Ryan came back I gave the controller back, not because I didn’t want to play, but because I really wanted the popcorn. So I curled up on the couch and ate and we played some more.
I want this, I thought. Just this. Hanging out with these two, being a part of this.
I remembered Lauren’s words: You can be his nanny, or you can date him. You can’t do both. She was right, I realized. And now I knew which one I wanted. I didn’t want to be the nanny anymore, the paid help. I wanted to belong here because they wanted me. Because Ryan wanted me.
So, I decided: I’d get Ryan alone later, after Dylan was in bed. I’d give my notice. And I’d ask him if he wanted to go out with me. For real—a date.
He might say no. But I’d felt how he touched me, how he’d curled himself around me that first night we were in his bed. I had a feeling he might say yes.
I’d said just last night that I wasn’t ready, but what if I could make it work? What if Ryan and I took it slow while I went to school? How would we broach it with Dylan? There was no script, no set of instructions to follow for us. We’d have to make it up. But what if we tried? What could we do if we both wanted it badly enough?
I was silently hyperventilating on the sofa, watching them play with my stomach in knots, when the doorbell rang.
Ryan paused the game and frowned. “What the hell?”
“I can get it,” Dylan said.
Ryan aimed his frown at his son. “No way. What did I tell you about answering the door?”
“I’ll get it,” I said. I got up and walked to the front door, pulling it open.
A woman stood there. She was about my age, tall and willowy, wearing hip-hugging jeans, a dark sweater, a leather jacket, and low-heeled boots. Her hair was caramel-colored, in long, loose curls flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown and somehow slightly familiar. She wore very little makeup, but she didn’t need it because she was naturally, ravishingly beautiful.
She looked a little surprised to see me, but then she smiled politely. “Oh, hi,” she said. “I’m here to see Ryan.”
I was so surprised I had no words. “I’m sorry?”
“Is he here? I need to talk to him.”
I looked at her again and my stomach fell. Dropped down, down, down. Because I knew why I recognized those eyes. And I knew what she was about to say before she said it.
“My name’s Amber,” the woman said. “I’m Dylan’s mother. And if he’s here, I’d like to see him too.”
Twenty-Three
Ryan
* * *
This was not happening. This was not fucking happening.
I hadn’t heard that voice in eight years. To be honest, I hadn’t heard it very much at all. Just some drunken conversation at a party, and then her moaning in my ear. And now: “I’m Dylan’s mother. And if he’s here, I’d like to see him too.”
My kid went pale and his eyes went wide. I leapt up from the floor and walked to the front door. There was Amber, looking the same as she had the night I knocked her up, except a little older. She looked at me and smiled like we were friends. Like I should be fucking happy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I said to her. “You can’t just show up here.”
Amber’s smile faded. I was seeing red. I didn’t care about me, or about anyone. But this woman had just dropped a bomb on Dylan, and I had no idea how he would take it.
A hand touched my wrist, quickly and gently. Kate. She was reminding me that losing my temper and shouting wasn’t going to make this go over better with Dylan. I took a breath. “You need to leave,” I said to Amber.
“He’s my son,” she said. “Is he—Oh, my God.” Her eyes went wide. She was looking past me, and I knew who was standing behind me.
“Dad?” Dylan said.
Oh, Jesus. This was the worst thing that could happen. I had never thought about how Dylan would meet his mother, because she was always on the other side of the planet, doing whatever stupid shit she did to avoid her responsibilities. I hadn’t prepared him. I hadn’t talked to her about it—I hadn’t talked to her at all. Amber was gone, and Dylan was mine. That was as far as I’d planned it.
Now I realized that was a mistake. I hadn’t been vigilant enough. I should have thought that this could get sprung on him without warning. But now it was too late.
“Dylan!” Amber pushed past me and Kate and knelt in front of him. When they were face to face, I could see the ways he looked like her, just like I could see how he looked like me when we stood in front of a mirror together. She put her arms around him and hugged him tight. He looked stunned. I knew the feeling.
Amber pulled back, though she didn’t let him go. “I’m your mother,” she said, smiling like this was all a happy reunion. “I’ve been away for a while, but now I’m back! What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Dylan said in a small voice.
“You’re so big!” she said sweetly. “And so handsome! Oh, my goodness. What a wonderful boy you are! I’m so happy!”
Dylan was getting that look on his face, like he was about to puke. I wouldn’t be surprised if, in his seven-year-old mind, he thought I’d tell him to pack his bags and go live with this strange woman from now on.
“Why are you here?” he asked her.
“Because I’m back now,” Amber said. “I want to be friends with you. Does that sound like fun?”
I had to do something. I couldn’t shout at her, and I couldn’t move in and physically pull her off him—both of those would freak him out. So I stood next to Dylan and touched the top of his head. “I’m sorry about this, dude,” I said to him. “I had no idea she was coming. I would have warned you. I’m gonna tell her to leave and come back some other time.”
Amber let him go, offended. Dylan moved closer to my leg. “It’s okay,” he said, being polite. This fucking kid. I’d never seen anyone try so hard.
I touched his head again in reassurance. “Amber,” I said, “Come back some other time.”
She stood from where
she was crouched on the floor. “He’s my son,” she said. She glanced briefly at Kate, dismissing her, then looked back at me. “Ryan, he’s our son.”
Something cold crept down my spine. That was a coded message, and I had no idea what it meant. I had no idea what Amber’s play was. I didn’t know her at all.
What did she want? Money? Custody? Or was she really just this stupid?
I needed intel. “All right,” I said to her. “Why don’t you and I go talk for a while? Just us. There’s a place up the street we can go.”
That surprised her. She thought it over, shot another glance Kate’s way. Then she turned back to me and smiled. I remembered that she was good-looking, which was what I’d thought at nineteen. She probably thought her looks were helping her now.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
I grabbed my coat and turned to Kate. I had to get Amber the hell out of here. “Sorry,” I said. “Can you hold the fort for a little while?”
“Sure,” she said. Her face was blank, like a canvas with nothing painted on it. Her voice was flat.
I paused. “Kate?”
Her gaze met mine, and something flashed there, something that looked a lot like pain. “Go,” she said, her voice harsh. “Everything is fine here. Go.”
Fuck. I’d done something wrong. I had no idea what it was. I had no idea what was the right option in this situation. But I had to work this out. I had to go.
So I did the last thing I wanted to do, now or ever.
I turned back to Amber, and I left.
The place down the street was a dingy pub, and Amber didn’t want to go there, so we had to get in my SUV and find somewhere else. We ended up at the Fire Pit, which was Westlake’s teen hangout, serving sandwiches and no alcohol. I’d spent my share of time here while I went to Westlake High, picking up girls a million years ago. At nine o’clock on a Saturday night there were gaggles of teens in here, tall lanky dudes with cracking voices and giggling girls. But Amber didn’t want to go anywhere that served alcohol, so we took a booth and sat down.
