by Bella Andre
Page 32
Author: Bella Andre
* * *
The moon was still high in the sky by the time Vicki gave up on sleep. She knew Ryan wouldn’t like her driving through some of the sketchier districts at three a. m. , but she couldn’t spend one more second in his big bed without his arms around her. She’d even tried curling up on the couch, but thinking about their lovemaking on the soft cushions only made her miss him more.
What, she wondered as she let herself into the dark, empty fellowship building, was he doing right now? Was he missing her the way she was missing him? Or was he worrying about her news of a possible residency in Italy?
She hoped he was sleeping. He needed to be fresh for the first playoff game. And she would never forgive herself if his performance on the mound took a hit because he was worrying about her.
The smell of clay settled her down some, along with the promise she’d made Ryan to hold her focus on her sculpture. Before they finally put down their phones earlier tonight, he’d made her promise again. And she knew he was right, that working with clay was the one thing guaranteed to make her feel better.
Especially when her only other guaranteed cure was in Missouri.
Amazingly, once she sat down to work, the hours flew by until the sun rose and filled her studio with light. It was only when her stomach started cramping from hunger that she realized it had to be close to noon.
Which meant she had to find a TV—and fast—so that she could catch Ryan’s game.
Vicki grabbed her bag and was skidding down the hallway when Anne caught her. “I’m starved. Want to go grab something?”
“I can’t. ” She ignored her stomach growling loudly in protest. “Ryan’s first playoff game is about to start. I’ve got to find a TV. ”
“I know just the place. It’s a sports bar with the cutest bartender on the planet. Going there for lunch with you will give me a good chance to flirt some more. Especially with the street cred of hanging with the star pitcher’s girl. ” Anne grinned unabashedly. “Follow me. ”
Vicki would never have found the sports bar on her own and was beyond glad to see the game had only just started on the big-screen TVs above the bar. She slid onto one of the only two open bar stools as Ryan took his place on the mound.
“Seriously,” Anne said as she slid a menu in front of Vicki, “that man of yours is too gorgeous to be real. We can still be friends even if I can’t help fantasizing about him, right?”
But Vicki barely heard her friend’s joke as the cameras pulled in for a closeup on Ryan.
She frowned at the expression on his face. . . and how tired he looked. She knew the first playoff game was a big deal, but even under major pressure he usually looked relaxed enough for one to think it was nothing more than a pick-up game between friends on a local field.
She pointed to the first thing she saw on the menu when the bartender asked her what she wanted to eat, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite while she was watching the game.
Ryan looked down at the catcher, got the sign, went into his windup, and threw a blazing fastball over the plate for strike one. She felt some of the tension leave her body, but when his next two pitches missed the plate, she tensed right up again.
She had nothing riding on whether the Hawks won the game or not, but she knew how seriously Ryan took his job. He felt responsible not only to the team that signed his paychecks, but also to the Hawks’ enthusiastic fans.
After evening out the count at two balls, two strikes with a sharp slider, Ryan threw a high outside fastball, but the batter didn’t chase it. She watched the catcher give Ryan a sign before he threw a fastball that hit the low outside corner of the strike zone.
Only, instead of calling it strike three, the home plate umpire sent the hitter to first base with a walk.
Vicki could see how shaken Ryan was by the call. In an uncharacteristic move, he glowered at the umpire before turning to face center field as he visibly worked to compose himself to face the next batter.
But after four more pitches, the count was 3–1. Ryan missed badly on the next pitch, putting runners on first and second base with nobody out and the Cardinals two power hitters waiting their turn. The St. Louis fans were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs, trying to rattle Ryan as best they could. Clearly, they were beside themselves with joy watching the league’s best pitcher tumble into a world-class meltdown.
The TV in front of the bar was turned up loud enough for Vicki to easily hear the announcers discuss Ryan’s uncharacteristically bad pitching.
“Ryan Sullivan has always made his job look so easy. In all the years I’ve seen him pitch, I can’t recall ever seeing him choke like this. ”
Another announcer agreed. “There’s no question that he’s in his prime in terms of age and strength. Even so, the first game of the playoffs is a bad time for any ballplayer to be dealing with personal issues, no matter how talented. ”
“Looks like the pitching coach has just called a time-out to head out to the mound to have a word with him,” the first announcer told the audience.
“If they’re thinking of pulling him, it’s a good time to do it, before his arm wears out. This way they can use him three days out instead of having to wait four full days before his next start. ”
Vicki’s heart stilled in her chest as she watched the pitching coach say something to Ryan. She wished she could read lips to know what Ryan’s reply was as he shook his head and held firm on the mound.
“Sullivan just got engaged, didn’t he?” the first announcer asked.
“Sure did. The story I’ve heard is that they’ve known each other since high school, but only started to date again recently. Sounds like something right out of a fairy tale, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately,” the other man replied, “it doesn’t look like he’s living a fairy tale right now. ”
It wasn’t just the announcers who were trying to figure the problem out. The fans who had gathered in the bar to cheer on the Hawks were grumbling about Ryan loading the bases within five minutes of hitting the mound. Fortunately, Anne was too busy flirting with the young bartender down at the other end to have heard anything the announcers said.
If Vicki had never come back into Ryan’s life, he wouldn’t be suffering now. And yet, she still couldn’t make herself wish away the past week they’d had together. . . or the unexpected love they’d found with each other.
The pitching coach was still conferring with Ryan, but when she looked more closely at the screen, she realized something was different.
Her body recognized Ryan’s determined look, the dominance in it, first. Probably because it was the same one he gave her in bed that always turned her insides to goo.
Even though the announcers were surprised when his coach returned to the dugout, while Ryan stayed right where he was, Vicki wasn’t.
“Looks like he’s staying on the mound for at least a few more pitches. I don’t know about that decision, given the fact that the Cardinals just sent in their cleanup hitter. He slammed forty-nine homers during the regular season. ”
“This is do or die for Ryan Sullivan and the Hawks,” the announcer said in a hushed voice. “Another walk will force in a run. A home run and this thing is practically over in the first inning. ”
Ryan waved off the first two signs from the catcher until, finally, he got the sign he wanted. His face was a picture of perfect concentration—and beautiful determination—as he took several deep breaths, went into his windup, and uncorked a fastball that caught the inside corner of the plate at the knees. Two great pitches later and the umpire barked, “Strike three!” giving the out sign with his hand and arms.
After Ryan struck out the fifth-place hitter on five pitches, a mix of fastballs and change-ups, the stadium became eerily quiet. And then, one more time, three straight blazing fastballs hit the corners with precision. Ryan didn’t give
the batter even a hint of a chance.
The inning was over. Ryan had climbed out of a deep hole. And the Hawks were back in the game.
Big time.
Vicki cheered along with the rest of the crowd in the bar as one of the announcers said, “Looks like the Ryan Sullivan we all know and love is back. ”
Throughout the rest of the game, Ryan’s determination and strength of will never wavered, to the point where the announcers agreed that it might have been his best pitching ever. Though she knew he wouldn’t get her message until the game was over and he’d finished dealing with the press, Vicki pulled out her phone to text him.
That was when she finally saw his message to her: I love you. Remember you promised to kick butt in the studio today.
She smiled at his sweet, yet tough, message. She texted him back: I love you, too. Looks like we’re both kicking butt today. I’m so proud of you.
Anne had returned happily to the studio awhile back with the bartender’s phone number programmed into her cell. Even though Vicki hadn’t had so much as a bite of her burger, she was too amped up now to eat. She put a twenty down on the bar and practically ran back to her workroom.
Most artists claimed that the end of a project was the easiest for them, but it had always been just the opposite for Vicki. The final days on a sculpture usually felt like they dragged on forever while she second-guessed and endlessly refined and then triple-guessed the whole damn thing from top to bottom.
But, amazingly, instead of flailing in these final important moments, she suddenly felt like she was mining a whole new bottomless well of inspiration.
Love.
Much as she hated to admit that her ex had been right about anything he’d said in that horrible interview, the truth was that Ryan’s love had completely changed her.
To actually know such a big love when she was in his arms and they were laughing or kissing or talking was so monumental that she could truly feel the energy of that love pouring from her fingers.
Vicki couldn’t believe she was actually smiling at her ex getting something right. Had she finally managed to move beyond her past. . . and into a beautiful future with Ryan?
She looked down at her sculpture. One hand was utterly masculine, the other feminine yet strong. She’d worked hard to make sure that neither hand grasped at the other and that there was no desperation in their hold. Only love, pure and sweet and real.
It hit her, suddenly, for the very first time, that she didn’t need to fiddle or worry over or doubt this sculpture anymore.
It was done. And it was good.
Really good.
She had Ryan to thank for all the beautiful inspiration he’d given her this week. . . and hopefully for a long, long time to come. He was her anchor, there to keep her safe and grounded when she needed him, but always ready to rise up to explore new journeys and adventures with her.
Yes. That was what she’d call her fellowship sculpture: ANCHOR.
One after the other, new ideas for future sculptures came to her. A baby’s hand held so gently in her father’s. A mother and son holding hands as they walked through a field of wildflowers instead of water. Another of the girl and boy, older still, siblings as bonded to each other as Ryan and his siblings were.
Needing to share her joy and excitement with the person who meant everything to her, Vicki reached for a rag to clean her hands off so that she could call. Hopefully, Ryan would be done with his post-game interviews by now. When she realized all of her rags were too filthy to make a dent in the clay on her hands, she got up and went into her supply closet to grab a clean pile.
She was on her tippy-toes reaching for the top shelf when she heard footsteps come down the corridor.
Figuring it must be Anne, back to dish over the bartender, and still giddy with the knowledge that she’d made something truly beautiful, Vicki turned around to greet her friend with a smile.
Too late, she realized it wasn’t her friend who had come to see her.
James Sedgwick closed the studio door behind him.
