“Thanks, Darrell. That means a lot.”
“What a great idea you had." Matt leaned in to give me a warm hug. “Jose was one smart cookie to pass your business plan on to upper management. You know . . .” he whispered, “Tara’s not the only one in love with you.”
“I love you guys, too,” I whispered back.
Colleen glared at me as she witnessed what she hadn’t known or paid attention to—like her, my friendships were also changing. The two men near my side were a part of my new circle and I cared less and less about her jealousies.
The life in which we were about to enter wasn’t like high school.
It wasn't a zero-sum game for attention and love.
Another transition knocked.
It had been only a few weeks earlier that I was enjoying school activities, sports, and volunteering wherever I could. Now? I felt as if some other woman had lived that life.
Alex and Tara had become better friends to me than Colleen and my other cheer teammates. Sadness I couldn't deny settled over me about the changes.
I enjoyed knowing and loving women who were so accomplished, yet playful. They were inspirations, mentors, sisters, and sometimes parents—mostly they were my sweet, precious girlfriends.
The night at the ballpark turned out to be uneventful with respect to worrying about Ryan. After Ethan left me, the man over whom I was still in turmoil never looked my way.
“Congratulations, ladies,” James held out the plaque as we exited the gate. I reached for it and held only air.
Colleen had grabbed it just ahead of me. She held it close to her chest. She was obviously proud and I didn't blame her. If she'd only asked, I'd have given it to her, but I suppose there was some inner satisfaction in doing it the way she had.
Perhaps she was taking the first steps of reaching for her own independence and individuality.
“Nicky, can you get a ride home?" Colleen asked smugly. "We’re going to Mel’s so . . .”
“I’m not invited?”
“Well, you and Ethan . . . I thought—”
“I’m not busy,” I interrupted. We just had this conversation. I promised you I'd be present in our friendship. Have you checked out?
The crossroad I was standing at made me crazy.
In one moment, I wanted to react like a child and throw a tantrum because I wasn’t included. Then in another, I was an adult who wanted to rocket into her future and didn’t give a damn about cliques.
That night I learned that I couldn’t look back.
My childhood was officially over.
One of the clocks I’d watched all my life—the one of sweet moments with childhood friends—had stopped.
“Come with us, Nicky.” Lorraine reached for my hand.
I was about to accept until Colleen shot her a nasty look.
The message was loud and clear.
I wasn’t welcome as a part of their group that night.
“That’s okay.” I squeezed Lorraine’s hand. “You should celebrate with each other. This night is yours and it's well-deserved.”
My friends turned away. I walked toward the streetcar platform.
“Nicky, do you need a ride home?” James shouted.
“Thanks, James, I’m all right,” I yelled back.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone. These streets empty pretty fast. And that wind . . . feels like a blade tonight,” he observed.
“It is windy, I—" I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and stumbled to my knees. Several people stopped to offer help and James came running at full speed.
"You okay, baby?" He helped me to my feet.
"Other than horrified at the grace I've just shown to the people of San Francisco? I'm fine." Once I brushed myself off, I thanked the others who had checked on me.
"Klutz." Several teenagers kidded walking by. "Good thing the Goliaths don't play like you cheer."
"I know." I tried laughing off my embarrassment.
Always count on teenagers for their blatant honesty.
"You sure you're all right by yourself?" James still held my arm.
"It's only ten and we’re in tourist season. Thanks for asking, but I’ll be all right. ”
“You let me know,” he pushed. “My baby doll will be here in a bit and I'd love y'all to meet. That girl's the love of my life, ya know. Hang around?”
“I do want to meet her, it's just . . . I’m too tired to be sociable tonight. Plus, now I've got a tear in the knee of my pants. No disrespect, but I’m going to head home and get some rest. Let’s plan another time.”
“You got my number, right?” He walked backwards, heading toward the gate so he could close up for the night. “Maybe next week the three of us can get together?”
“Sounds good. Goodnight, James baby!” I left him laughing and waited at the streetcar stop for transportation home. In only a few minutes, I changed my mind. The last thing I wanted to do was to walk into the house and explain why Ethan had stayed over—or answer questions about Ryan.
Instead, I went to my old friend, Java House, where an uplifting crowd could be counted on after the game. As soon as I walked in, the chatter helped to relax me. Wearing my cheer uniform meant that I'd have no trouble getting into friendly conversations with fans, helping me forget my awkward display outside.
The black and white linoleum squares, bright red leather booths, and wrought iron chairs and bistro tables, were a throwback to my grandparents’ era of old soda fountains and malt shops in the city.
All I wanted was to fade into the background and enjoy the laughs and happiness of the fans. Like children, the customers talked about their baseball team with excited voices. I wished I were one of them, still thirteen, sitting with Jerry.
After saying hello to a few of the fans I recognized, I spotted an empty seat in the back corner. When the waiter came to my table, I ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of berry pie à la mode. I reached for the comfort foods of my youth without giving it a second thought. They were the “friends” I’d had as a little girl that never let me down and soothed my jagged edges.
Fragmented, irrational thoughts churned in my mind about the people in my life: Mom, Ethan, Jenise, Ryan, Tara, Matt, Alex, Dad, Jerry . . . distorted, circling, gray, blurred, swooping in, coming close and then flying away.
Would I need to take my meager savings and perhaps answer an ad on Craig's list for a roommate, work somewhere for a few years and save money, and then reapply to Stanford? Maybe it was easier to move away and go to a junior college.
Everyone would be gone soon, spreading like the white fluff of a dandelion in the wind.
Maybe if I did something drastic like . . . move to Hawaii? Would that be enough of a change or would I repeat the same fearful patterns there? Perhaps then I could make lasting relationships. No one would know about my twisted past and I wouldn't know theirs.
In a few minutes my dessert and coffee arrived. I poured a little cream in the mug and blended it with a well-used, dull spoon. Its round edges were grooved and scratched.
After a couple of bites of pie, I heard a commotion at the door.
What now?
I leaned out from my table.
I stretched to see around the people in front of me.
Customers had gotten up to surround the person who had just walked in the front door.
When his head lifted, I saw him.
My heart pounded.
His fans encircled him.
He looked directly at me.
Ryan.
Chapter 11
Is The Ground Shaking?
Ryan’s presence seemed to take up the entire front of the diner. The scene reminded me of the first night we’d spent together. I'd wondered how he had fit through my bedroom doorway because his body seemed so big.
His intense eyes focused on me.
I didn’t want to look at him, let alone talk to him.
Where’s the other exit? Maybe I can slip out while his fans swarm around
him. Crap, the other door is alarmed. I don’t want to make another scene. Guess I have to sit here and wait for him to make his move. Maybe he just wants to pick up his jacket.
I kept my head down and sipped my coffee while he took his time signing autographs and posing for pictures with his fans. He knew he had me cornered and could bide his time until he finally excused himself.
Is the restaurant shaking with his every step?
“Hi.” Ryan slid in across from me.
“Hi,” I looked down at the table. “What do you—” Before I could finish, I knocked over my cup, spilling coffee across the table. "Shit." I put my napkin down to soak up the spill, but it wasn’t enough to get all the liquid. “Watch your clothes.”
“I’ll get a towel,” he offered. He went to the counter and returned with a damp cloth. “Do you want another cup?” He dabbed the coffee from the table.
“Please,” I requested timidly.
He exchanged the coffee-soaked cloth for another mug of java, shaking hands with people along the way. When he sat down, I knew I was about to experience his relentless questioning.
“What happened?” he asked bluntly.
I blended the cream into my coffee, stirring, stirring, stirring, as if trying to create a vortex into which I could escape. I didn’t want to look at his eyes—those eyes that always captivated and stayed me, waiting to draw me in.
“I don’t know, Ryan. You were there, so . . .”
“How come you’re by yourself?” He pushed forward as always.
“I felt like being alone.”
“You’re not meeting Jerry? Oh wait, I get it. Ethan is meeting you this time.” He crossed his arms. “How long until you slice them from your life?”
“Excuse me? Do I owe you an explanation?” The dark clouds gathered. "Weren't you the one who went cold?" Force yourself to say what you need. End this now. "You've got some nerve coming in here and pressuring me. This is my domain, not yours. And I can meet anyone I please. What’s it to you? I got your message loud and clear back in Yountville. Believe me, I got it.”
“Why aren’t you with your friends?" His expression and voice remained neutral. “James told me they left without you tonight.”
“They," my voice cracked with pain. "They left me alone. It's okay, though," I fibbed. "I felt like being alone, but . . . just . . . can you please leave.”
“What’s going on? You didn’t go into the clubhouse, either. That's not like you, passing up an opportunity for your college resume.”
“I don't know.” I looked up from my coffee. “How did you find out I was here?”
“I asked Manny follow you and make sure you were all right. He let me know that you wouldn't come to the clubhouse and that you seemed . . . off. I’m worried about you.”
I'm off? No kidding, I'm off. What kind of statement is that?
“Don’t be concerned,” I outlined the handle of my coffee cup with a finger. “I always land on my feet.”
“Regardless," he sighed. "I’m going to stay with you and make sure you get home safely.”
“What do you care?” I lashed out. “Isn’t your only focus getting laid?”
Ryan picked up his chair and moved to my side of the table.
Oh, no. Stay away from me.
“Please leave me alone.” I was rapidly losing steam. “You wound me up and made me believe you cared. I don't want to go through all that again." I looked away. The silence made me even more nervous. "I don’t blame you. This is my fault. I led you on. Not on purpose. I didn't mean for you believe I was ready for sex. I thought I was clear about where I stood on a physical relationship. I'm sorry I—we actually—let each other down. I tried hard not to do that, but the people I lo—I . . . care about . . ."
"Go on," he encouraged.
"Obviously we both . . . I'm no good at having relationships, Ryan. I understand you need sex and now you understand I don’t want any more seduction. We're smart to end this. All I want is for us to be friends that volunteer together—if we even can do that. We're both hurt so let's give each other space so we can begin recovering, okay?”
Don’t cry, Nicky. Fight to stay in control and show him you’re a strong, rational woman.
Even as I tried talking to myself, the tears flowed. I wasn’t over him—not even close.
Ryan's big hands brought me gently to his body. The longer he held me against his chest, the more I relaxed.
Why am I so emotional with him?
I almost sighed in relief.
I could have stayed on his magnificent mountain for hours, but I couldn't let on that he made me melt so easily. I jerked away from his body, afraid we might be destined to repeat the pattern if I didn't do something. Falling in love and then pulling back again would mean the next time our heartbreak would be so much worse.
We needed to be over.
"You think you can take advantage of me because you know I’m weak; it's the way you've made yourself feel good. I know because I've done it with food. You're scared. I'm scared. We can't give in. I confess that I'll always be attracted to you, but you need a woman who can play the same games you like to play. You must understand by now I'll never be open to you like they are.”
I just can’t risk it, even though I want to . . . I want to . . . I want . . . you.
His arm came around my shoulder and his hand rubbed the back of my neck. My muscles automatically loosened underneath his gentle massage. Once again he pulled me into his chest—this time, closer, his embrace tighter.
Mmm, bear hug.
My will faded fast.
His bulging forearms and beautiful biceps were firm, masculine, and strong against me. I felt his sweetness covering me like buttery caramel—hot, bubbling, and smooth.
“You hurt me, Nicky.” His voice carried the sounds of quiet confusion. “You stabbed my heart. What did I do to deserve your withdrawal? And in front of my family."
"Because I didn't reach for you when you put your hand on my shoulder? I tried to cover you so your brother wouldn’t make any of his sarcastic comments or get pleasure out of this.” I tried to lift my head, but he held me to his chest. I don’t want your hugs anymore, I don’t want them, I don’t want them, I . . . want them. “You threw me away because I wasn’t ready to have sex."
"No." His heart started to pound.
"You’re the one who withdrew when I didn’t give in after you pushed your way into my life, making me question everything . . . and for what? Why do that? How could you possibly be hurt?" I struggled to free myself but he kept his grip firm. "You turned your back on me, remember? You're hurt because I wouldn't give you sex? Too bad." Oh shit, here come the tears again. Damn him. “I believed all the wonderful things you said and you just—
“You promised you wouldn’t let go of me. You said you’d wait for me! After only a few dates, that’s supposed to be enough? You’re no better than a high school kid.” My sobs and tears spilled into his chest. I felt as if I were being sucked into his body. “In fact, you’re worse. What happened to all your so-called patience?”
He continued to hold me within our distorted wreckage, perhaps fearing if he let go, we’d fall apart and the Band-Aids that held our fragile hearts together wouldn’t be enough.
“You drew me in with your golden words—and I fell for it. I knew better! What an idiot I was to trust you.”
He finally let me lift my head. When he looked at me, I could see he was searching for the right thing to say and do.
“Idiot?” he asked sarcastically. "You? Aren’t you the woman who’s on the fast track to Stanford? Everything is under your control and no one is getting in your way, are they?”
“Let me go," I commanded. “I get enough sarcasm bullshit at home. I want to be by myself.”
When I saw his tears my heart ached. Part of me wanted to continue attacking him with all the force I had and the other wanted to hug him. I couldn't help it. I looked deeply into his eyes. I saw hurt there. I was frantically
trying to analyze what was happening. Were the same fears seething within Ryan, rekindling the feelings of helplessness from his childhood?
Were they closing in on him?
He lashed out at me the same way as he’d done to his father, who he never saw again. Now, was he afraid that like his dad, I might disappear?
In fact, I had even told him, many times, that I was going to leave when I went to college. Did he finally hear the way sarcasm sounded, when spoken face to face and he didn’t run away?
Maybe I finally heard it's vicious tone differently when the man I loved used sarcasm on me. Cutting me in a different way than when my family used our twisted words of defense, that night at Java House, I found the pain to be unbearable when part of a serious discussion.
“I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice and rested his head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I teased you about Stanford. And I’m sorry I made you feel bad.”
“It’s too late for apologies,” I warned. “I’m sick of taking everything in stride. I’ve played it safe for years, nurturing everyone’s needs instead of my own—all so I wouldn’t be abandoned. I suppose Dad will lose his job now, even though you promised to help him, but I can’t stay with someone who won’t have a relationship with me unless I have sex. I might as well get used to junior college and start earning a living, huh?”
My airplane had sped down the runway, and my emotions were taking off.
“Maybe I’ll work in some little diner where no one knows me. I've been thinking about moving away. Yeah. I’ll go to college far away from here,” I declared recklessly. “I tried us and we didn’t work, so—”
“Are you finished?” he interrupted.
“No.”
Ryan searched my eyes.
The longer he looked, the more I felt the strength of his stare.
“For now,” I relented, giving in a little.
“Can you look at me?” he asked softly.
“I don’t want to.” Please don’t explain or go into a long conversation. I don’t want to be another woman dazzled by your glittery words. “I don’t want to see your looks and smiles. Just go. Leave me like you did the other day. Now I understand your expectations . . . and your disappointments.”
Jagged Heart (Broken Bottles Series Book 3) Page 8
