Roughing the Kicker

by Eden Butler

  Mrs. Glenn called Rhiannon’s name, and the girl moved, nodding to herself over something she didn’t explain. “It’s fine.” Another nod, this one followed by a deep inhale. “It’ll all work out.” She picked up the test, shoving it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Listen, you won’t say anything? To Ryder. I mean, please?” She gripped Reese again, directing her to look down at her. “Let me rephrase that.” Rhiannon turned Reese’s face, holding her still between her small fingers. “Promise me you won’t tell a soul. Not Ryder. Not your mom. Not anyone at all.” When Reese nodded, offering her best friend a smile, Rhiannon clarified. “Sister secrets, remember?”

  “Of course. I won’t tell anyone.”

  She hadn’t. Not a soul.

  That was the problem.

  Reese pounded a finger against the controls on the treadmill, gasping now as the belt moved faster. Her heart beat in double time, her lungs burning, stomach muscles shredded as she moved, too fast now to even grab her bottle of water in the cup holder.

  The waves came at her again, crashing, crowding, as Reese remembered what Rhiannon had looked like in that casket. Her secret was out by then. The world knew. They all had known it was the secret that killed her.

  “God,” Reese grunted, her entire body shaking, her balance slipping, breath in a disorganized wheeze. The memories were a torrent of guilt and emotion she couldn’t contain, and before she passed out, before she lost her balance and did real harm, Reese screamed, the physical pressure on her body almost as much as the pain crowding her heart, seeping up her throat, burning, searing until it mixed with the sweat that coated her body, dripping from her as she hopped onto the sides of the treadmill and hit the stop button.

  Reese gasped again, clear breath becoming something just out of her reach as she jumped from the machine and fell to the floor, sliding against the mirrored wall as the tears and grief finally overflowed inside her.

  “God! Oh, God!” she yelled, face against her knees, arms curled around the back of her head as she cried.

  It was too much, this loss, the reminder of it coming back to her the second she saw Ryder on the sidelines during her first practice. He’d avoided her all this time. They ran in the same circles. They had the same management team, and when she’d walked into the Steamers tryout, Ryder had watched her working out with the other kickers. He gave Ricks his opinions. She’d seen both men watching her, gawking like the rest of the crowd, but keeping their thoughts between the two of them. Ryder never spoke. He’d never offered more than a passing glance her way.

  It seemed to Reese that he’d left her behind in that graveyard, just like his sister. He’d left Rhiannon alone in that casket and Reese alone to face the pain that lay solely at her own feet.

  “Ay, coño,” she cried, her stomach curling, the exertion on the treadmill overwhelming her, flushing her skin and making her insides rebuke the treatment she’d given them. Without thinking about where she was, Reese crawled away from the mirror and right to the trash can on the other side of a row of free weights. The lid flew open then broke off as she shoved it aside, and Reese hovered above it, sure that she’d be sick. But the smell was clean, and bitter and for some reason, it calmed her. Her body still curled, and she held herself over the can, bile threatening to emerge, tears burning her eyes then spilling out, over her face and down her neck.

  When she was calmer, Reese eased away, moving back to the floor, elbows on her knees as she held her face, continuing to sob, feeling useless and broken and somehow exactly as she’d wanted when she stepped out of the elevator. It was good, she thought, to feel this, to be rid of some of what had swirled so thick inside her she thought she’d never breathe again. She was calm now, exhausted, but centered and Reese was able to grab her towel and scrub her face as the trembling that had overtaken her entire body subsided.

  “Good,” she said to herself, head shaking as she leaned back against the mirror, face covered by the towel. “This is good.”

  Then Reese forgot about the pain and the guilt. She pushed the flash of Rhiannon’s face to the back of her mind and replaced it with something else—fear and fury. Betrayal and disgust, but she put none of that on herself. It was Ryder, his face controlled, guarded at the funeral, his expression enraged at the burial, his frown heavy at the club just a few nights before.

  Very nearly a duplicate of the face, all hard and scrutinizing, she spotted staring at her from the doorway.

  7

  Ryder

  Ryder didn’t like feeling helpless. It had happened once before, in that hospital waiting room, not knowing what happened to his little sister or where the day would lead. Turned out it ended badly. It had shaken everything Ryder thought he knew about strength. He had none that day. Standing in the gym doorway, watching Reese exert herself until she was sobbing and vomiting on the floor, he had a reminder of what helplessness felt like.

  But then, he knew better than to believe Reese was helpless.

  She watched him as he walked toward her, eyes round, expression wary, but Reese did not ask Ryder why he’d shown on a Sunday and why he stood there watching her. She waited until he knelt in front of her, offering his full Thermos of ice water to her. Reese didn’t take it or do much else but watch him, unblinking, looking cynical, doubtful that there wasn’t something vile and deadly in that bottle.

  “You know,” he started, flipping the top open when she ignored him, “a lot of rookies overdo it.” Jaw clenching, Ryder shifted his gaze from her hand, still balled into a fist in her lap, then right at her face. “You know better than to overwork yourself. Especially on a treadmill.” He picked up her wrist and put the bottle between her fingers. “Especially on your own.”

  “What is this?” she asked, her voice clogged, sinuses stuffed. She didn’t mean the offer and advice—that much he knew. “Why are you here?”

  He shrugged, waiting for her to drink, forearms on his thighs. “I can’t run in my neighborhood or on the trails anymore. The fans caught on to my routine. I come here to get my run in on Sundays.”

  “You don’t have a rest day?” she asked, wiping the back of her hand over her forehead.

  “Not with my salary.”

  Reese took a sip from the bottle, likely to hide the shake of her head at Ryder’s admission. “Right,” she said, crab crawling to her feet, ignoring his offered hand to steady her when she stumbled. “I got it.”

  But he knew she didn’t have a damn thing. She was exhausted. Her complexion had gone pale, something he’d only seen happen to her once, when she caught the flu during the Thanksgiving holiday her junior year. Not much of her father’s Irish DNA showed itself in her skin tone or body. She normally looked all Cuban, with that shape and hair and smooth skin. But her temper was Coach’s, her blood boiled just as quickly as his always had.

  “You okay?” he tried, reaching for her again, catching the water bottle when she shoved it at his chest. “Hey…”

  “What are you doing?” Reese held onto the handle of the treadmill, lifting her shirt up to wipe sweat from her neck. “And why the hell are you helping me?”

  “I told you,” Ryder started, grabbing a clean towel from the metal shelf to his left. She took it but kept her gaze on him as she dried her face. “In here, on the field, around the kids—I’m your captain.”

  “My captain.” He nodded, earning another head shake that he was sure he didn’t deserve. “Captain pendejo.” The insult was spoken low, under her breath as she started to walk away, but Ryder had caught it.

  “I’m trying here, Noble,” he told her, hating that she made him feel exactly like a pendejo. “Isn’t that what Gia wants? For us to stop acting like kids?”

  “Yeah,” she said, stopping near the free weights, her walk still a little uncertain. “That’s what the boss lady wants.”

  “Good.” He followed behind her, worry inching higher in his chest as Reese rested against the column separating the weight room from the indoor track on the other side of the
gym. “What were you thinking?” Reese mumbled, but he couldn’t hear her answer and he stepped closer when she covered her face with the towel in her hand. “Noble…you can’t exert yourself for no good reason. You have to be a professional. You have to think of someone else, the team. You aren’t in this on your own anymore. You can’t be selfish.”

  Reese went still, pushing against the column with the flat of her palm, and as she moved her head, the gesture slow, Ryder realized he’d said something to piss her off.

  “Selfish?” she asked, turning fully to face him.

  There was sweat matted around the crown of her head and at her temples. Droplets poured down her neck and her black tank stuck to her like oil. But it was her eyes, those normally hazel eyes, like amber glinting in the sunlight, that stopped Ryder from answering her. The temper rose in her, and it came through those eyes, now the color of driftwood, fierce and flaming as though something lit her from the inside.

  “I’m selfish? I have no good reason?”

  “I just mean…”

  “You pendejo! You can…ay… vete al diablo!”

  “Why the hell are you cursing at me?” he asked, voice lifting above her high screech. “Calm the fuck down…”

  Reese lifted her hand, waving him into silence, and Ryder stepped back, not eager to be close enough for her to smack him if her temper got the better of her. If she was anything like the girl he’d known ten years ago, that was an almost certainty.

  But Reese didn’t clamor for him, trying to smack or slap at him. It seemed, in fact, that her temper had dimmed, and the only expression he could read right was the frustration she felt at whatever offensive thing he’d said. He didn’t know what it was…honestly had no clue.

  “I’m trying here,” he told her, voice low, sounding irritated to his own ears. “It’s just stupid for you to be careless.”

  “I am not…” She pressed her lips together, looking away from him, hands now on her hips as she scanned around the room. Reese inhaled, still swatting at the sweat on her face before she continued. “This is a ritual. Something I do once a year. I need the exertion. I need the effort.”

  “For what?” he asked, frowning when Reese jerked her attention to him. He didn’t get the look she gave him or understand what fresh sin he’d committed in the past five seconds that brought on the glare pulling down the muscles of her mouth. “Fuck’s sake, Reese, what?”

  It took her several moments to compose herself, seconds she spent rubbing her hands over her face, into her hair, while she readjusted the elastic holding up her messy bun. Then, Reese sidestepped him, walking toward the exit like he hadn’t asked her a single question.

  “This isn’t going to work if you don’t at least attempt to be professional.”

  She stopped, feet from the doorway and whipped around, hands tight and fisted at her sides. “This is me being professional. This is me walking away from a pendejo who only seems able to pick fucking fights with me.”

  Ryder took three long steps, holding himself back from her by several feet as he looked down at her. “I’m offering advice. It’s what a captain does, Noble. You know that. You should remember that.”

  “Yeah?” Her voice went high, anger pumping through her tone. “Well, you should remember a few things, too!”

  There was a look in her eyes Ryder hadn’t seen from anyone in a long time. Reese looked hurt, like whatever he’d said to cause this reaction didn’t make her angry. It wounded her. Like he’d forgot something special, something that should have never left his mind.

  Reese shifted where she stood, her stance changing, becoming defensive as she crossed her arms, holding herself when Ryder only continued to watch her.

  He hadn’t forgotten. He’d never forget what this day was. It was a splinter that had only grown wider, thicker inside his heart since his little sister died. But Reese? He couldn’t believe it still wounded her.

  “Rhiannon?” he asked simply, surprised when he spotted the moisture in her eyes growing heavy. It amazed him, her reaction, because he’d convinced himself for so long that Reese hadn’t felt anything about her part in his sister’s death. She’d never called. She’d never visited his parents or gone to see her grave, as far as Ryder knew.

  This? This was something that astounded him, and the longer he watched her, and the thicker those tears got, Ryder realized that not all the moisture on her face had been sweat.

  “You…remembered?”

  Reese took a step, curling her arms tighter across her chest as she looked up at him. “You honestly believe I could ever forget?”

  Ryder’s mouth fell open, and his chest grew tighter than it had been in years. Shock and confusion battled for dominance in his head. This wasn’t how he’d ever expected her to be, so broken up, racked with enough guilt that she spent a half-hour on the treadmill doing her level best to exorcise whatever ate her up inside over his sister’s death.

  When she closed her eyes and her chin wobbled, the muscles in her face spasming as she fought back her tears, Ryder had to hold himself back from touching her. “But you…you walked away. You didn’t…”

  “I…what?”

  “You never called or visited my folks or…”

  “You didn’t want me to! Ay dios, Ryder, are you serious? You hated me. You blamed me, and you think…” She dropped her arms, walking backward, and Ryder moved after her, steps away before she hurried down the hallway.

  “Not once, in ten years. You never…”

  “What?” She turned, and Ryder stepped back, eyes rounding as he spotted the tears running over her face. Something heavy, something bitter, curled and rumbled in his gut at the sight of them, and Ryder stood frozen.

  “I…” He didn’t know what to say or how to explain himself.

  He’d been angry. He believed the hatred he felt for her had been justified, but that had been between them. That had been the betrayal he felt. He may have hated Reese, but he knew she never felt that way about his family. He’d left Durham and never looked back. She’d finished Duke, worked in the Canadian league coaching and training others until news broke about Gia landing the team manager gig with the Steamers. That opened doors that had never existed before. It was the door Gia created that Reese walked through at the general manager’s invitation.

  Ryder had always assumed she’d gone on with her life and never looked back either. His folks never mentioned her, and Ryder had stopped speaking with Coach Noble after he left Duke. He didn’t want any connection to Reese. He assumed, because of her own distance, she wanted the same. It had added fuel to the fire that kept his hatred for her burning.

  “You never acted like…”

  “How in God’s name would you know how I acted?” She shot forward, the tears thicker now, and Ryder didn’t move, not even when Reese shoved him. “You walked away. You hated me and never looked back.” Another shove and Ryder stumbled against the wall. “You left me.”

  “That’s not how I remember it,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “Yeah? Well, then you’ve been sacked one too many times, cabrón.” She took a half step back, looked ready to shove him again, and Ryder reacted, grabbing hold of her wrists, turning her so that her back was to the wall. She closed her eyes, wetting more of her face in the process and Ryder held his breath, hating the tremble that had started in his fingers. “You left me there,” she said, voice lower now, cracking with emotion. “You left me alone with…with her. Just walked away…from us.”

  Ryder’s stomach dropped, and the tremble worsened, making it hard for him to hold her hands together. She was talking about that day at the graveyard. He had left her alone…with Rhiannon’s casket. He released her, moving his right hand to her face when two more tears welled and spilled from her lashes. He caught them with the pad of his thumb, the move forcing her gaze to him.

  “What are you…”

  He didn’t know what he was doing. All Ryder knew was that he wanted her tears to dry up. He wa
nted, for once, not to be alone in his grief on this day. Without thinking, without anything other than instinct and real desire, Ryder lowered closer, breath fanning across her lips. He moved her chin toward his and felt the breath from her open mouth still as she held it.

  “I…I’m sorry,” he said, frowning when she shook, tightening his grip on her face before he moved closer, gaze to hers, his own breath held as Ryder kissed Reese.

  He wanted to go on hating her. He wanted that sharp rage that fueled him for a decade to stay lit and burning within him. Ryder knew that would be easier. It would give him the excuse for keeping Reese at a distance. But that kiss took away his worry. The slip of her tongue against his was a honeycomb taste, all memory, all sensation—it was sunlight and grass, the tickle of her hair against his neck as they curled together on his parents’ sofa. It was twilight and the sound of her soft, sweet hums anytime he pressed his lips to skin or flesh, on wet, soft spots of her that no one else had ever touched. All those memories flooded through him as he held Reese close, taking that mouth like it still belonged to him, holding her to him as though the slightest pant would pull them apart and eradicate the sensation having her close and there and perfect.

  For one sweet second, Reese was his again, and Ryder had never been happier.

  She moaned, fingers at the back of his head, leg slipping against his, and his body changed, his dick hardening, excited at the memory of what being inside her had felt like, how they’d find places to touch and be and feel. Rhiannon had caught them once and swore she’d gone blind from the sight. She hadn’t, and it had been worth it, just to feel Reese so open and wet and willing to give Ryder anything he wanted.

  Rhiannon.

  The memory of her smoldered all the heat working between them, and Ryder tensed, hovering close to her mouth, but still pulling away.

  “I…”