“I understand that, professor.” She smiles sadly. “But I need to believe this is going to work. I have to believe he is going to be okay.”
We leave the office, and I drop Scarlett off on Jake’s floor. She’s still in shock. Her final words to the professor are playing over and over in my head.
“I can’t believe I’m going home tomorrow.”
“I can’t either,” I mumble.
I’m not used to the empty feeling that I have in the pit of my stomach. I’m trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter. This—whatever it is—cannot go anywhere. We are too different. We have completely different lives. We live in different countries, for God’s sake.
“The good news is he was approved for the trial, right? That’s the most important thing,” I say. And I mean it. It feels good that I was able to help them in some way.
“Right,” she smiles. “Want to meet me later?”
“Do you even need to ask?” I grin.
Chapter Fifteen
Saying goodbye is hard.
It’s even harder when you’re like me and you have major commitment issues that make Charlie Sheen seem like the settling down type of guy. We’re standing at the international departures gate. Every time I fucking look at her I feel the lump in my throat grow. I can’t believe this is it for six weeks.
Six whole fucking weeks.
“Will you call me?” she asks.
“You couldn’t stop me,” I reply. I reach for her hand, mindful of Jake’s presence and her not wanting to give him any reason to think something is going on between us. “I’m glad we got to meet.”
“Me too.” She glances down and smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “I’m really going to miss you.”
“We’ll speak every day.”
“And then what? Where is this supposed to be going?” She laughs and shakes her head. “God, don’t answer that. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us, Ryder. I can’t . . .” Her voice breaks.
I pull her into my arms and hug her. I can see that she’s struggling and I want to give her answers, but I don’t know how to when I don’t have them myself. “Go,” I say gently, squeezing her hand. “We’ll work it all out. Text me when you get home, okay?”
“I’ll Facebook you. I keep telling you that you’re wasting money with all your unnecessary calls and texts.” She rolls her eyes as if my ‘who cares’ attitude about money really frustrates her.
I laugh and crouch down gingerly next to Jake, careful not to aggravate my back. “Nice meeting you, Jake.”
“I liked meeting you too, Ryder. Thanks for this,” he smiles, holding up his game console.
I laugh and ruffle his hair.
“And you’re not a butthead anymore. You’re cool.”
I wave as they walk through customs. I keep waving until they are no longer in my line of sight. I can’t help but smile, thinking about what a week it has been. The best thing about it all was the kid no longer hates me.
I’m cool now. I like being cool to Jake.
**
Arriving back at my house, I collapse onto the bed and sigh. My house. Not a hotel, not Mum and Dad’s . . . my house. Mum had wanted me to stay with them for longer, but for the sake of our relationship, I knew I had to get out.
I glance around my room. It feels like forever since I’ve been home. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed my bed and my space, but the same time I already hate the silence. I know what that means and it scares me. I miss her. She’s been gone for a fucking hour and I miss her already. What the fuck is wrong with me? Again—I already know the answer to that.
Chapter Sixteen
“Ryder, have a seat.”
I sigh and ease myself into one of the two armchairs that face the doctor’s desk. No good ever came from a conversation starting with you needing to sit down. I wait as he walks around the desk and sits next to me. My mind is buzzing. This has to be bad news.
It’s Friday, one day shy of a month since the ‘incident’, and I’m at the checkup that is supposed to give me some insight as to how long I’ll be out.
“Your fracture is healing well, but the muscles in your lower back are still showing significant tears. You’re unlikely to be back on the court in time for the US Open.”
I snort. The Open is still three months away. How long can a fucking strained muscle take to heal?
“If you play before you are fully healed, you might tear the muscle even more. And if it tears anymore, you will need surgery. I’ve already sent my report to Matt. I’m sorry.”
“So, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Can I train? Walk? Or do I just sit on my arse all day and watch shit TV?” I growl. I’m frustrated and pissed off, but I’m not even sure what I’m angry about anymore.
“You can do normal activities as much as you can handle, but no training for at least another month. If the muscles continue to show improvement, then we can look at some light training after that.”
Another month? Fuck.
I’ve already had one month of doing nothing. There is no way I can handle another. I lean over and cradle my head. I can hear the doctor talking but I’m not listening. All I can think about is how my life is going to shit. The funny thing is I’m not even sure I want to play tennis anymore.
So why is the thought of losing it so fucking depressing?
**
The highlight of my day, like every day lately, is talking to Scarlett. I relay to her what the doctor said. Stretching myself out on the couch, I balance the laptop on my stomach. Seeing her brightens my mood.
“You can’t let it get you down, Ryder. Trust me, once you fall into depression it’s really hard to crawl your way out.” She sounds like she’s speaking from experience.
“I’m just not sure what to do. I can’t handle any more nothing,” I groan.
“So do something,” she laughs. “You have the opportunity to do anything you want.” She makes a face. “Well—apart from playing tennis, but you know what I mean. Don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You weren’t even really happy when you could play tennis, were you?”
“No,” I grumble.
She nods smugly. “Exactly. Anyway, you’ll have us back over there in five weeks to keep you company.”
I smile. That was the one shining light in my life at the moment.
“Look, I have to go. But think about what you want. Look at this as a chance to try something new,” she suggests.
“Yeah, maybe,” I mumble. “I’ll speak to you later, okay?”
“Okay. ’Night, Ryder,” she says with a smile and I laugh. “What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” My face reddens. “You said ’night Ryder, and I thought of the Hoff. You know, that old TV show Knight Rider?”
She giggles. “You’re an idiot.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Ticket, sir?”
I smile and hand over my ticket and passport. Her eyes widen as she reads my name but she recovers quickly, tapping my details into her computer. I smile, ignoring the small crowd of paparazzi trying to get a picture of me.
She hands my ticket and passport back to me. “Enjoy your flight, Mr Stevens.”
It was actually Matt’s idea—not that I go to the States to surprise Scarlett and Jake—that was all mine, but to do some work with my sponsors while I was injured.
For three weeks starting on Monday, I’ll be helping kids at a tennis camp for young elite athletes. The camp is conveniently located in Chicago, where Scarlett happens to live.
Her advice for me to do something different had hit a nerve. Mentoring kids isn’t something I’d ever really considered doing, but the chance to be close to her—even only for a few weeks—was too good to pass up.
I walk through departures and into the first-class lounge, stopping at a newsstand on the way. I pick up a copy of The Saturday Mail and hand the attendant some change.
She smirks at me. “Your girlfriend not with you?”
<
br /> “Pardon?” I ask. For a moment I think she’s confused, but then I see it. I pick up the magazine and groan. “Bad Boy’s New Romance” is splashed across a photo of Scarlett and me kissing. I recognize the setting from our walk along the river. I look at the date on the magazine and realize it’s been out for nearly a week.
I snatch up my paper and stalk off. Has she seen this? No. She would’ve said something if she’d seen it. I’m nervous because I have no idea how she is going to react to being an international news story. I sit down for less than five minutes when my flight is called for boarding.
On the flight I try to sleep. The people who can afford to travel first class tend not to give a shit about me, which is good because I’m not in the mood to socialize with fans.
“Sir, wake up.”
I stir and open my eyes.
The flight attendant smiles at me. “It’s time to disembark,” she explains.
Huh. I slept through not only the entire flight, but also the landing. Grabbing my carry-on, I exit the plane. I’m the last person to leave, so when I reach customs, it’s almost empty.
I’m out of the terminal with my luggage in record time. Flagging down a taxi, I give him Scarlett’s address. I should go to my hotel so I can shower and change, but I don’t want to wait another second to see her.
I chuckle to myself, which earns me an odd look from the driver in the rear view mirror. I’m amused because this is so unlike me. This woman has me whipped—and bad, at that.
My heart begins to pound as we near her house. I know it’s close because I have it plugged into the GPS on my phone—I don’t even trust cab drivers in my own country, let alone when I’m travelling.
God, I hope she’s happy to see me.
Not telling her I was coming was a huge fucking deal. Fuck, flying halfway across the world to see a woman is a huge deal. Because let’s face it: we all know the camp bullshit is just a cover, an excuse for me not to look like the desperate sap that I am.
The cab pulls up outside a brownstone house with a white picket fence. I glance around as I walk down the path, taking in the manicured gardens, the identical houses, and the wide, tree lined street. It was much nicer than I’d been expecting. The way she’d described it, it had sounded like the ghetto.
I take a deep breath and knock on the heavy wooden door.
It opens and there she is. My heart races as I stand there, waiting for her to say something. Her eyes widen in shock, but not the good kind. She’s terrified. I’m confused, because this is not the reaction I’d been playing over in my mind.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is low. She’s trembling as she steps forward and pulls the door over, blocking my view inside.
I’m so stunned I don’t even know how to answer. “I…I wanted to surprise you.” I feel like an idiot, because it’s obvious I’m not welcome. She is not happy to see me.
“You need to leave. Now,” she hisses. Her green eyes are glassy, like she’s been crying.
I can’t figure this out. I feel like I’m missing some major piece of the puzzle. “What the hell is going on, Scarlett?” I ask, confused.
What the fuck is this?
“Who is it, Scar?” a voice calls out. A male voice.
Her eyes meet mine just as a tall, clean-shaven man walks up and wraps his arm around her waist. My jaw twitches as he kisses her on the cheek and she lets him.
My eyes meet hers and I laugh. She’s about to burst into tears and I find that fucking hilarious. She’s fucking upset? I shake my head, trying to control my rage. I feel so fucking betrayed. I’m beyond angry. I’m fucking livid.
“Nobody,” I mutter. I laugh and run my hand through my hair.
This is un-fucking-believable.
I shake my head and turn to walk down the footpath. I turn around and look at her one last time. “I’m just a guy trying to sell something she obviously doesn’t want.”
End of Volume One. Volume Two releasing on the 22nd September.
Other books by Missy Johnson
Out of Reach (See next page for an except)
Wicked Innocence
The Tease Series
Beautiful Rose
Provoke
Always You
Desire
So Many Reasons Why
Out of Reach
Available now on all major online retailors.
Prologue
Andy
Death. It is the only certainty in life.
It’s such a small word that holds such a powerful message. We avoid talking about it and we fear it, because we’re taught to do so, because nobody really knows what happens when you die. It’s that uncertainty that is so terrifying.
It’s amazing how being told you’re going to die puts things into perspective.
How being told your body is going to slowly give up on you makes you reevaluate everything you thought you once knew. Things you take for granted suddenly seem so fragile. The worst part isn’t the thought of dying itself, it’s everything you’re going to be leaving behind.
My name’s Andy Grayson. I’m twenty-six, and I’m dying. God, saying that still freaks me out. I don’t know how long I have left. A month—maybe two, if I’m lucky. For a long time, I was angry: I’ve been fighting this fucking disease since I was seventeen and it’s finally going to win. I have nothing else to fight with because it has taken everything.
Then I realized that this is no longer about me. I can’t save myself, but I can make sure the people I love are taken care of. This became less about what I was losing, and more about what I could gain.
That’s when I decided I was going to do this on my terms.
Em is my girlfriend and I love her with everything I have in me. She isn’t just my girl, though; she’s my one of my best friends, my lover, my confidante, my partner in crime, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.
And then there’s Seth: we’ve been best friends for so long he’s like a brother to me, and I know he feels the same. As kids we got into more trouble than I care to mention, and before I die I intend on getting him into some more—for old times’ sake and all that shit.
Without them by my side, I wouldn’t have fought for this long. They sacrificed so much for me and now it’s time for me to return the favor.
I can’t leave them without knowing the two people closest to my heart will be okay. I need that assurance before I settle back and let this fucking disease take me—finish me off for all eternity…
Wildcard Page 8
