CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The grey haired doctor pulls down the leg of my jeans and lowers my foot patting my ankle twice. “Everything looks great Ms. Melrose. You’re clear to go.”
“Thanks.” I jump off the little office bed glad to be cleared so Ryland can stop lecturing me every time he feels I put too much weight on my foot. I’ve been fine the past week, but he refused to let me use the stairs. It’s four flights or a short elevator ride. I didn’t put up too much of a fight.
“Good luck.” He shakes my hand and turns to Ryland. “And to you too, Mr. Bates. I hope you find a new team quickly.”
Ryland pulls on the brim of the same black Giants baseball cap he wore to the movies yesterday, but shakes his hand. “Thanks, I’m hopeful for the same.” He flashes him a smile I’ve never seen him use. It’s practiced and forced.
“Well of course, now I understand why you’re in no rush to get back on a team after meeting this lovely lady.” He scribbles on a small sheet of paper handing it to me. "For your check out.”
“Um…thanks.” I grab the paper and keep my eyes to the floor not wanting to see how Ryland feels about this random doctor thinking I'm the reason he hasn’t signed with a new team. I’m not, am I? What about those conversations with his dad?
I bend over to put on the shoe I took off for the doctor and address Ryland when I’m not required to look at him. “You didn’t need to come with me."
“What if you needed a second opinion? I have experience with injuries.”
“Well you didn’t need to come into the room with me.” We walk out the door together, me leading the way to the checkout desk.
He waits to speak until I’ve handed over the half sheet of paper and we’ve started toward the main door. “Marissa, don't do this.”
“Do what?” I ask.
“Get pissy with me because someone mentioned soccer.”
“I’m not pissy.” I stop and scowl at him when the words come off harsh. “What team will you pick Ryland?” I don’t have the right to demand an answer from him, but I want one anyway. I can’t handle the anxiety of this huge unknown between us any longer. I keep asking the same question expecting a different answer than what I’ve been given in the past. What does that say about me?
He doesn’t answer until we’re both in the car. “Well right now I’m going to buy you a celebration dinner for a healthy ankle.”
“Ryland…”
“I prefer Tiger if I get to pick.” He sighs when his joke isn’t met with a laugh. “I don’t know, Marissa. It’s up in the air right now. I don’t have all the answers.”
We ride in silence for a few minutes both of us lost in thought. Well, I’m lost in thought. He could be singing Beyoncé in his head for all I know.
By the time he’s parked the car a few blocks away, I have to ask the second question that’s been clawing at me. My stomach’s twisted and tight in fear I won't like his answer. “You’ll tell me right? Before you go, I mean… you'll tell me before you leave.”
He stops in front of the car’s hood and takes my hand, spiking my anxiety. “Of course I would. I’m not going to sneak out in the middle of the night." In front of a brick building with Jimmy’s Pizzeria written in cursive font across the large business window, he draws me into his arms. When our eyes connect I envision a whole span of possible futures with Ryland. “I don't know what I’m going to do, but I promise I won’t up and leave. We’ll figure it out."
I still have more questions than answers, but for now I decide this is enough. The topic ends as we order from the large menu boards behind the front counter. Exposed brick is on the wall to my left, and pictures of famous people who’ve eaten here line the walls in a haphazard fashion. In the far right corner, closer to the register than where I stand, there's a picture with four guys I’ve seen before. Ryland, Finn, Trey, and Grant stand in a line, a short beer bellied older man in the middle of the group. The photo was taken right in front of the counter we’re at now, but the prices in the picture are lower than they are now.
I elbow Ryland in the stomach and use my head to point toward the frame. When he figures out what I’m excited about, he shakes his head at me to stay quiet and lowers the brim of his ball cap again. It’s a minimal disguise, but it's done the trick the last two nights so at least it’s effective.
Ryland pays and leads me to an area far away from the large picture window at the front of the restaurant. Instead we settle into a back booth, the dark green olive seat covers ripped in one area on the side I sit on.
Two bites in, Ryland puts down his piece of pizza using free hand to grab on to the edge of the worn wooden table. “Would you come with me?”
“Where? To England?”
“Wherever I end up. Mexico, Brazil, Portugal, France… maybe, Italy.” He ticks off fingers with each country.
“They play soccer in Italy?”
He rolls his eyes and sends up a silent prayer to the ceiling. “They play soccer pretty much everywhere, Marissa, but I’d prefer to go to a higher paying country.
Man, when did this conversation get serious? I almost follow my gut reaction and say no, but then Simone’s whole embrace life speech comes to mind and I glance up. Emotions are plastered over his face, but in his eyes I find vulnerability, desire, and hope. My answer holds important meaning to him, maybe more than I realize. It makes my reply a simple one. "Yeah I’d come with you, but if it’s Italy I need to buy lots of leather.”
He’s quick to follow it up. “And if I decide not to go back to soccer, you’ll help me find a place to kayak?”
