Rush Me, Page 29

I snapped my mouth closed, pressing my lips together so tightly they ached. That was the worst profession of love in history. Anyone else would have been elegant and poised and won back their lover within a sentence, and all I had achieved were blazingly hot cheeks, a hollow, sick ache in my chest, and tears in the back of my eyes. I had messed up.

  His hand, warm and calloused, brought my chin up. I kept my gaze pointed down, blinking several times to force back the tears, until the silence became too much. I looked up, worried and afraid of what I would see, but almost instantly I met Ryan’s eyes, soft as spring, curved up at the corners, just like his lips. “Rachael,” he said again, my name coming slowly from his lips. “Did you say you loved me?”

  I swallowed and jerked my head just the tiniest bit. Yes. Somewhere in there, I had said that.

  His smile widened, growing slowly until it had touched every feature on his face, altering it into a portrait of happiness. It kindled a similar, shy warmth in my belly, which dared to blossom as his smile did. “I love you, too.”

  “Really?”

  He brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. “Even if I don’t know anyone else who would use ‘tenterhooks’ in an actual conversation.”

  I burned even redder. “I’m sorry everything spiraled out of control at the reunion. I still don’t know what to do. But I don’t want to break up.”

  “Rachael.” This time, it made me stop talking. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, where furrows had suddenly showed up. “So much of that was my fault. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have accused you of thinking like Thomas.” When he opened his eyes again, they were clear, and locked on mine. “Part of it was jealousy, but mostly I was nervous around all your friends. And I was afraid I wouldn’t live up to your family’s standards, and I just...I don’t do well when I’m uncomfortable.”

  “No.” I let out a little laugh. “But I shouldn’t have gone off like that either. I just get these knee jerk reactions and I wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry.” I darted a look up at him with a small smile. “Though, you know, we might have to work on this whole violent, possessive thing.”

  “Are you serious?” Ryan said. “I showed great restraint, didn’t I? I didn’t punch the guy.”

  I drew away and gave him a flat look. “Seriously? I believe you chewed me out and then refused to—uh—”

  He smirked. “It’s nice you still blush.”

  “Shut up. That was not okay. And—” I hesitated. “Did you think I was rejecting you? Because I wasn’t. And I got a job and I’ll come to more games and—I’m so serious about you, Ryan. I don’t want you to think that I’m not.”

  He looked away, and when he spoke his voice was strained. “You may have noticed that I don’t tend to hang on to relationships very long.”

  I called up his backlog of famous, beautiful girlfriends. “I’d noticed.”

  “Part of it—Malcolm pointed this out in great detail the other day—is because I tend to date the same girl. Over and over again. And they’re boring, and so we break up. But you were—different. And I thought you were—out of my league.”

  I stared at him. Me? Out of Ryan’s league? That was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. I was pretty sure he was the millionaire sports star.

  “Because you cared about all these other things,” he hurried on. “I’m not usually in a position of ignorance, and it scared me. Made me think you might look down on me.”

  “Ryan, I—”

  “Just let me say it, okay? This is embarrassing enough.” He took a deep breath. “So when I saw you kissing Thomas—Thomas kissing you—I kind of snapped. It sort of reaffirmed it in my mind. Because even though everything had gone really well until then, even though I’d thought your family liked me, and your friends, and I liked all of them—well, you were still choosing this other guy.

  “And that’s why I said all that. I wasn’t really thinking. I was just—flinging out all the crap in my head, all my worries. And it just spun out of control, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

  “I’ve spent the last two weeks not having a clue what to do, or how to talk to you about it, I didn’t even know you’d come by since I told the concierge that first day not to let you up again, and I’d blocked your number. It never occurred to me you’d actually try to get through. And I wrote these foolish, ridiculous letters, and tried to come up with some grand gesture that wasn’t idiotic and wouldn’t make you roll your eyes. But I couldn’t come up with anything. All I could think was that I—ruined us.

  “And here you are.” He shook his head. “Making the grand gesture. While I’m sitting back on my heels and did nothing.”

  “You can still do a bit of a gesture. You know. If you want.”

  He grinned. “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a gesture, would it?”

  He cocked his head. “All right, Rachael Hamilton. How’s this for a gesture?” And he finally, finally wrapped his arms around me and banished that space between us, until we were locked together, close as one. He tasted sweet and familiar and wonderful, and happiness rushed through my body, curling my toes, sighing through my chest.

  He drew back. “I love you, Rachael Hamilton.” His lips brushed mine. “I love your humor and intelligence and the way you narrow your eyes and get flustered and blush and how you get so serious and your enthusiasm and the way you plot ways for the NFL to take over America and make me ride carousels and that you like that guy from Iowa, and that I think you would even if I wasn’t a quarterback.”

  “Of course I would.” I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his jawline. “And just to make it clear, I don’t like that guy. I love him.”

  “I love you, too.” Then he looked up and away, and I followed his gaze to find the dozens of Leopards hooting while flash bulbs went off and journalists shouted questions. “But not in public,” he said, laughing, and he drew me into the private enclosure, and away, and home.

  Epilogue

  “Okay.” Ryan sounded nervous as we drove up the long driveway. “This is it.”

  So far, it looked just like the rest of the ride from the airport: rolling hills, agricultural pastures, and tall grasses sprinkled with light snow. If we had a white Christmas, it would arrive with very short notice. Still, the temperature hovered around freezing, and even in the heated rental car, Ryan stayed as stiff as though the cold had frozen him through and through.

  The drive meandered past a low-lying pond, along fences, and finally up to the rambling white farmhouse that stood up against the horizon. To my delight, it did have a wrap around porch, but no one sat on the swinging bench. We pulled the car up at the end of a long line of cars and truck. We were the last to arrive—Ryan’s schedule had kept us in New York until the twenty-fourth.

  After he took the key from the ignition, I took his face in my hands. His eyes, soft and bright and hopeful, focused on me. “Ryan. Relax. It’s going to be fine.”

  “Yeah.” Ryan blew out a breath of warm air. “You’re right. I know.”

  He still looked as though we were walking toward a firing squad as we knocked on the door.

  Half a second later, it swung open. A brief wash of impressions gave me a diminutive woman standing before several giants with Ryan’s coloring. “Oh, Ryan!” his grandmother cried, stepping forward to hug him. His older brothers—Luke, Rich, Scott, and Tim—grinned at me before stepping forward to pound Ryan on the back. He barely had time to introduce me to his grandmother before he’d disappeared under swinging arms.

  I’d imagined Ryan’s grandmother to be of the Iron Lady mold, with a stiff-spine and steely gaze. To my utter surprise, she blinked rapidly, saying “It’s so good to meet you, my dear,” as she embraced me. She smelled like lavender soap, and I could swear she murmured, “And you look so normal.”

  I chose to take that as “compared to Ryan’s other girlfriends” rather than because Ryan had described me as exceedingly weird.<
br />
  “Thank you for having me.” From my bag, I presented her with a box of peppermint bark that Eva and I had made two days ago, and violet tulips. “Ryan says so many good things about you.”

  She looked fondly at her grandson. “He’s an angel.” She was still looking at him when she said, “He’s never sounded happier than in the last few months. Thank you.”

  That day and night we spent with his brothers and their wives and girlfriends, with his uncles and his father, a large, laughing man with an entire wall done up with Ryan’s old awards. Late in the evening, we retreated to Ryan’s old room. I stood in front of a picture of a teenage Ryan sitting next to his mother, overlong hair falling into his eyes.

  “What are you looking at?” Ryan came over to my side. “Ah.”

  “I’m sorry she’s gone. She would have been so proud of you. I mean it, Ryan,” I said when he remained silent. “Even though she wanted you to be a teacher. After all, she can’t have hated sports more than I did, could she? And you were her baby.” I took his face in my hands. “She would have been so amazed by everything you’ve done, by all the effort and courage and thought you’ve put into it. She would’ve come to every game. I have no doubt.”

  Finally, he nodded. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too,” I said, and we fell into bed.

  Christmas morning, we woke to the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls. Snow still hadn’t fallen, but one or two clouds hovered in the bright sky. Ryan zipped me into a red and black dress and I straightened his red tie, and then we went to mass where the family took up two rows amidst a room full of old friends and neighbors.

  Later, after presents were opened and lunch consumed, after the credits of It’s a Wonderful Life had rolled, we stole away, wrapped in coats and scarves, gloved hands intertwined. The barn wasn’t far, but the air was cold, and we pressed against each other for warmth.

  “Here we are.” We entered the big red building, and the air changed from the scent of winter to that of hay and horses. Giant heads with long noses and perked ears poked out of stalls and tilted toward us. I almost stopped, but Ryan tugged me along until we reached a brown-coated beauty with a white streak running down her snout. “Her name’s Bailey. Say hello.”

  I followed his actions and lifted my hand to touch her cheek. She turned her nose, snuffling my palm, and I drew back with a startled laugh.

  “She’s looking for a treat,” Ryan said, a smile in his voice. He gave me a small carrot. “Here, give this to her. Keep your hand flat.”

  After Bailey had charmed me by deciding we should be best friends, Ryan pulled me into the tack room, and tossed riding boots, gloves, and a helmet at me while he pulled down a saddle. “Put those on,” he said, and disappeared.

  When he came back, he grinned widely, adjusted my helmet, and then handed me Bailey’s reins. I swallowed as Bailey turned her head and regarded me with huge, liquid brown eyes. “She’s really, really big.”

  He smiled. “That’s because she’s real.” He led us outside under the darkening sky, and then knelt, looking up with me with bright humor, his face flushed with good health. “Ready?”

  I slipped my foot into the stirrup his hands formed and he tossed me up. “Whoa!” I shouted as my right leg swung over the horse’s rump, and then I was sitting high above, tucking my feet into the real stirrups. “Okay,” I breathed once I was settled. “Wow. This is high.” Much higher than I’d realized, actually. I shifted, looking down at Ryan. “And this stretches my legs much further apart than I’d expected.”

  He raised a brow and smirked.

  “Shut up. So. What do I do now?”

  “Press your heels into her side.”

  I did. Lightly. Bailey didn’t move.

  He grinned at me. “She’s a big girl. You can press a little harder. Don’t kick, but a little more. Show her you mean it.”

  “You know, at the carousel I would already be halfway through the first circle.”

  He laughed. “Come on. You can do it.”

  A little less tentatively, I pressed my heels in, and Bailey set off at a happy walk. My jaw dropped open, white air puffing out before me, as she carried me across the ground, her ears quirking about attentively. “Aren’t you a sweetheart.” I reached forward and stroked her mane. She let out what could only be a nicker of agreement, and then decided it would be a smart idea to go faster.

  As we trotted around the track, the world whirling by, snow started to fall. I couldn’t help it; I laughed and leaned my head back, catching melting white stars on my tongue. We came to a stop before Ryan, who had snow glistening like diamonds in his hair, and he lifted me down with steady, sure hands.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I told him as we led Bailey back to her stall, taking off her tack and brushing her down. “There’s something almost magical about riding a real horse.”

  “Mmm, I thought so.” He reached out and stroked his hand down my hair. I leaned into him. “You’re beautiful, with snow in your curls.”

  “You’re always beautiful.” I rested my hand on his chest as I leaned up to press my lips to his. His arm went around my waist, and I fit snugly against him. “So what now?”

  “Now?” he murmured, twirling a length of my curls around his finger. “Now...you publish Alexa’s book and make a name for yourself, and I go on and win the Super Bowl again. And then after a while I’ll retire and we’ll go travel around Egypt and Greece and maybe we let Eva redecorate the apartment, because last time she was there you both spent the entire time talking about how it wasn’t me or green. And then when we come back I’ll become a history teacher and I’ll coach on the side, and you’ll sweep in a new era of snarky academia, and we’ll go to your parents’ for Passover and my family’s for Easter, and then we’ll go home and make love until the sun rises over Central Park.”

  “I meant right now.”

  “Oh,” he said, eyes dancing. “Well, soon, I suppose we should go in and let Mimi fuss at us and feed us hot chocolate. But right now—right now, we should do this.”

  And he leaned down and kissed me.

  And that’s what happened.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

  Allison Parr grew up in small-town New England, where she developed an incurable case of wanderlust. After graduating with degrees in archaeology and creative writing, she spent the next several years living in San Francisco, Paris, Boston and New York. When she’s not traveling or writing, she’s making a mean chocolate cake or bad historical jokes. She’s also amassing enough books to rival the library in Beauty and the Beast, though she is still looking for a permanent castle in which to store all of them.

  To learn more about Allison’s books and travels, visit her at www.allisonparr.com.

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  ISBN: 978-14268-9533-3

  Copyright © 2013 by Hannah Reynolds

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