“I mean kids are mean and not very creative.” I try to backtrack.
“Goalies are asshole. Obreski knew it’d piss me off, but he didn’t expect the left hook.” Now his lips turn up like he’s told his own joke.
The room goes quiet around us until I can’t stand the silence. “So what is your plan now?”
He rubs his smooth jaw for a moment. “Hmm, right now I will get you an ice pack and pain pill.”
“Will you plug my phone in?” I’d try and get up to do it myself, but I still haven’t seen my crutches and I’ve given up my bravado. My ankle hurts. I’m ready for another dose of meds.
Ryland wanders around my apartment more and I don’t fight it. I’m not capable of stopping him anyway. I’m a little shocked and confused about the man. On the one hand, he's a jerk soccer player with such an attitude and temper problem he gets kicked off his team. He has a list of outrageous commandments for living in his apartment because he didn’t want anyone here. And let’s not forget he left me a slew of sticky notesdocumenting my every transgression.
Yet he’s also helped me immensely the last two days. He didn’t need to tuck me into bed. And then breakfast and allowing me to use his elevator until I’m healed. He's gone above and beyond. He doesn’t come off as a super nice guy. It’s easier to believe he took pity on the crying girl than the fact he might not be a douche. I’m sure once I’m walking again he’ll forget and we’ll go back to sticky notes on the door for communication.
“Here you go.” He hands me the pill and I turn my head when I swallow so he won’t see the effort it takes me to get the horse pill down.
Ryland sits on the couch and moves my foot and pillow to rest on top of his legs. He places a large professional-looking ice pack over my ankle and foot. This isn’t a cheap bag of ice wrapped in a white towel, the frozen bright green square is shaped in a half circle, perfect for wrapping around a leg or foot.
“Where’d you get that from?” I point toward the ice as he repositions it to cover more of my foot, the cold biting into my skin as it seeps past the wrap.
With an upraised eyebrow he shakes his head at me. “I’m an athlete. I buy them in bulk. I stuck a few in my freezer last night. Now get comfy. I’ll hold this until you fall asleep."
Now it’s my turn to shake my head at him. “I’m not going to fall asleep.” He’s crazy. I’ve barely been up half an hour.
“Uh-huh.” It doesn’t sound as if he believes me.
“For real. Tell me about soccer. What position do you play?”
On top of my pink pony pajama pants, Ryland rubs my shin above the bandage. His hand is moving the playful ponies as he talks. It seems a subconscious reflex, but my eyes won’t stop watching. Up and down his hand travels until my head falls back on the arm of the couch and the room goes dark as my eyes close.
