Fuck!
I grip my hair, wanting to tear it all out. I have no idea what the hell is happening. Absolutely nothing makes sense. All I can see is my life swirling down the drain at a rate I can’t keep up with.
When I finally open my eyes, Ryder stares at me, her arms crossed over her chest but not in irritation.
“Where is he from?” Her voice is softer.
I take a second. He’s my best friend. The only one I have, but I have no idea what just went down in my kitchen.
“Cole.” Ryder’s arms fall to her sides. “I just need to know where he’s from.”
I rub my jaw, which might actually crack. “Detroit.”
Ryder lets out a long, slow breath, apparently not liking that answer.
“He’s my best friend. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but he’s a good guy. He’s got—”
I stop. Nick’s life and background are his own. He doesn’t share it openly with just anybody, and I respect that.
“I have to make a phone call.” She surveys the room for a moment longer as if she’s also trying to figure out what happened.
I nod, needing a few minutes to myself. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of all of this. My fingers dig into my palms, and it takes everything in me not to slam my fist into the wall.
If I wouldn’t find myself in more trouble with a broken hand, I’d do it. I’d probably tear the entire wall down and enjoy every second of it.
I fling the sliding door open and step outside. I inhale and exhale, trying to calm down, and needing the fresh air to help expand my lungs.
I’ll give Nick time to cool off and hope that when he does, he’ll see this was just a misunderstanding.
I sit, letting my head fall into my hands.
I need these threats to stop. If T-Bone and his gang would shut the hell up and work, I could get back to winning. I’m lying to my family by omission, and that’s not something I ever thought I would do. Now, my best friend thinks I chose a chick over him. But Ryder isn’t just some chick. I don’t know what she is or what I want her to be. I just know I like having her with me, way more than I should.
I lean back, staring out at the ocean. Everywhere I turn, I’m losing. I need this to end before I find myself in deeper shit than I’m already in. The kind I might not be able to climb out of, and if by some chance I do, it’ll be worse than where I’ve always been. Alone.
The thing is, this time, I’ll wish I wasn’t. Nick might be right. I’m learning what it feels like to not be alone, and that might be the most frightening thing of all.
ME: I need you to see if there’s any possibility of a trade or getting me out of here next season.
ROB: Will do, son. Hang tight.
______
I climb the stairs to the rapid beat of Ryder’s fists punching the heavy bag. Her music is loud, but it’s not “Uptown Funk” this time. It’s still Bruno Mars, and I wonder if he’s all she listens to.
She pauses, wiping the sweat from her brow on the back of her hand wrap as her attention shifts to me.
Her stance relaxes, and she taps her phone. “Hey,” she exhales, trying to catch her breath.
I drop onto the weight bench. “I’d really like to beat the shit out of that.”
One eyebrow raises. “Do you want to borrow a pair of wraps?”
I huff. “I’m pretty sure that would violate my contract.”
“Huh.” She wipes her nose, letting her arms fall at her sides.
Everything about Ryder is understated. She’s raw and natural. Her defined muscles are formed through repetition and precision.
