CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I will not turn into a major dork with Ryland. I will keep my cool regardless of my feelings for the tall blue-eyed soccer forward. With a deep breath I walk to the front of Ryland’s condo door. My chant on repeat with each step.
It’s been a few hours since we returned after his first session at the youth center, but I’ve spent most of my afternoon locked away in my apartment. With dinner looming I’ve decided to make the first move and invite myself over for what’s become our Saturday evening ritual of video games and food. It’s part of my act natural game plan.
His door’s unlocked as it’s been since the first day I used his elevator, but I should still knock. A friend would knock, right? Of course I’ve never knocked before. If I start now, he might figure out something is off with my behavior.Shut up, Marissa.Don’t overthink shit again. I’m going in… no knocking.
I crack his door and slide in through the opening. When I lift my head ready to do my obligatory call out of his name, I stop short.
Ryland watches me from a spot in his kitchen, his back resting against the stainless steel refrigerator. With a phone to his ear, he tracks my walk to the island counter lifting an eyebrow in my direction when he realizes I’m without my crutch. My foot barely hurts when I put weight on it and I’m tired of being a pirate.
I smirk at him and raise a shoulder with a shrug, but rather than laugh as I expected, Ryland’s face falls into a scowl.
The hand not holding the phone squeezes into a fist and he lets it fall hitting the fridge behind him. “Yeah, I hear what you’re saying.”
My steps halt and I cringe at his tone and aggressive behavior even though it’s not directed at me. Besides the first time I met him when he was pissed about the hallway boxes, I can’t remember ever seeing Ryland this angry.
“Yes, sir. I’ll work on it,” he says through gritted teeth.
A few more seconds pass before Ryland yanks the phone from his ear and hurls the small device in front of him. It connects with the counter on the kitchen island and skidders across the top, dropping off the other side to land screen first on the hardwood floor.
“Well…” I pick up the phone and shake my head at the cracked screen. “What did the phone do to you?”
His answering sigh fills the room as he slumps against the refrigerator door. “The phone connected my father’s call because after a fantastic morning I wanted to spend the last hour hearing how I’m a fuck up,” he says with thick sarcasm.
He starts to pace in the area between the kitchen island and back counter with the sink and fridge. His reflection catches on each stainless steel appliance as he passes, so I track that rather than his coiled tight body letting him work out his feelings.
“How does he always know? Every time I think I’ve made a decision, he calls with hisadvice,” he says with scorn, “and what I’m expected to do to fix things. To live his perfect idea of what my life should be.”
He’s agitated and his words come in hasty sentences to the point I only catch his thoughts here and there, but I get the idea of what this phone call entailed.
Stopping in front of the counter, he leans over it closing the space to where I’m perched on my stool. “What if I don’t want to do it anymore, Marissa?"
“Listen to your dad? Why do you?” It’s not my place to question his family situation, but I’ve wondered more than once.
His eyes glaze over as he looks to the ceiling. “I don’t know. Carl, my overbearing father, has been there my whole life. I’m not sure I know how to not do what he says. When you’re raised that his word is law, it’s hard to move away from, even at twenty-eight.”
“What does he want you to do?” I ask even though I know the answer. Go back to playing soccer.
“What everyone expects. Give a news conference where I give a bullshit apology and then get back to soccer where I occasionally get into trouble to keep the ratings up.”
I lift an eyebrow to mimic his earlier expression of slight disbelief and tap a finger on the counter.
“Don’t give me that look. It’s true. My agent and even a few sponsors loved it when I’d get into some kind of minor trouble. Brought up publicity. The more publicity you get, the higher your asking price as long as you maintain the right level.”
“Let me guess, punching the goalie went over the right level.”
He laughs a little. “That and he’s the great nephew of the team’s rich general manager.”
“So what kind of player do you want to be?” I ask.
“I don’t know, maybe not a player at all.” He pauses, but his eyes widen and he leans back over the counter, his face inches from mine. "What would you do if I retired tomorrow and said fuck it to everyone?”
I lean back a little iffy about the manic excitement in his eyes. “Um, tell you to find a legal place to kayak?”
Ryland sighs and rubs the top of his head not disrupting any of his short hair. “Carl has a plan to get me back on a team before the end of the month because he’s worked too hard for me to throw it all away.”
“The media portrays you differently from who I’ve seen you be.” I’m thinking of the articles about his drinking, fights, bad attitude, and women, but it’s best not to approach those topics head on.
