The One & Only: A Novel (43 page)

“You really
are
your mother,” I said.

Lucy beamed; this was her favorite compliment.

“Seriously,” I said. “How are you so efficient with a child
and
a business to run?”

She shrugged modestly as I told her that I hadn’t even begun mine. I remembered the Cowboys gear that Ryan had given me for my family and made a mental note to drop it all off with the Community Partners of Dallas, a charity for abused children.

“So how excited are you for Pasadena?” Neil asked, referring to the venue for the BCS championship game. The question sounded stilted, and it occurred to me that, as the only guy in the group, he might have the most stressful assignment tonight, especially because he had clearly looked up to Ryan. We all had, really.

“Very,” I said flatly.

“Wait. I thought teams weren’t picked until Selection Sunday? This weekend?” Lucy asked.

I nodded, proud of her for knowing this detail but explaining that it was only a technicality this year. There were only two undefeated teams left in the country, and we were one of them. We would definitely
be deemed either number one or number two in the final BCS standings, along with Alabama, both teams earning their way to the championship game.

“I wish Mom could be there,” Lucy said, licking salt from the rim of her glass. “She’d be so thrilled …”

Neil put his arm around her and said, “This is all happening
because
of your mom, sweetie.”

“Do you really think that’s true, Shea?” she asked, turning to me.

“Yes,” I said, running my hand over the cold glass and finally taking a long drink. “Our guys are playing their hearts out for Coach. You can feel it in every win. And he is coaching for her. So … yeah. She has a lot to do with our success.”

Lucy swallowed, looking somber, and even more so as she switched gears and said, “It’s almost seven. Is there anything left to strategize?”

“No,” I said. “It’s going to be a very short conversation.”

“Well, get ready to have it,” Neil said. “He just walked in.”

I braced myself but did not look toward the door, gathering strength by looking at Lucy’s face as Ryan descended upon us, looming over our booth in baggy jeans, a crew-neck sweater, and a plain navy baseball cap that was lowered enough to hide his eyes from most anyone who might be watching us. From where I was sitting, though, I could see them, and could tell he was disappointed that I wasn’t alone.

“Hey, y’all,” he said, his voice low.

Lucy and I said quiet hellos back as Neil stood, shook Ryan’s hand, and said, “Hey, Ryan. How ya doin’, man?”

“Fine, man. Thanks,” Ryan said. He looked glum and ashamed. Or maybe it was an act, part of his strategy. I reminded myself that anything he said or did or felt was now irrelevant. My mind was made up.

As planned, Lucy stood, nudged Neil, and said that they would be at the bar. As soon as they were out of earshot, Ryan said, “So? May I join you?”

“Yes,” I said, motioning toward the vacant side of the booth. Ryan sat across from me and immediately reached for my hands, now clammy. I drew away and wiped my palms on my jeans.

“Shea,” he said, exhaling. “Please. Please forgive me.”

“Okay,” I said, a flippant edge in my voice. “I forgive you.”

Grossly misinterpreting my meaning, Ryan’s face instantly relaxed, regaining some of its usual glory. “Oh,
thank
you, babe. That will
never
happen again. That wasn’t me … The next time, we’ll both just take a moment … regroup … not let a silly misunderstanding escalate.”

I shook my head. “No, Ryan. There isn’t going to be a next time.” I took the velvet box out of my purse and extended my arm across the table, handing it to him. “Here.”

He stared at the box and said, “Are those your earrings?”

“Not anymore. I’m returning them.”

When he still wouldn’t take the box, I put it between his forearms, resting on the table.

He pushed it back over to me. “No. They were a gift.”

“I can’t keep them.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Because I got upset one night?”

My mind raced with strategic replies. I had prepared extensively for this, as I knew he wouldn’t make it easy, but he was good. Clearly practiced.

“I don’t want to discuss it, Ryan,” I said, pushing the box back toward his side of the table as if playing a contentious game of chess. “It’s over with us. And I don’t want these earrings.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” I said, incredulous. “What do you mean no?”

“Even if you never want to see me again, they’re still yours.”

I drew a deep breath and audibly exhaled. “Fine,” I said, scooping up the box and dropping it back in my purse as I caught Lucy glancing over her shoulder at us with a worried look. “But just so you know, I’m going to sell them and give the proceeds to charity. There’s a great organization that helps abused women and children.” I emphasized the word
abused
and stared him down.

He opened his mouth, too bewildered to reply.

“Listen,” I said, taking advantage of his silence. “For the record, I think, I
know
you have a problem. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your father … or the violence inherent in the game you play … or if there’s any other psychological reason … but there is no question that you
do
have a problem.”

He stared at me, then shocked me by nodding, ever so slightly.

“And I think you should get help. I think your ex-girlfriends would all agree with me. And I’m worried about your future girlfriends, too.”

“I don’t want anyone but you,” he said as our waitress returned, looking thrilled to see who was seated at one of her tables.

But Ryan quashed her mood by holding up his hand, announcing that he didn’t want anything. Her smile instantly faded, as she nodded, then glanced at me.

“We’re not staying for dinner,” I said, feeling Ryan’s eyes on me. “But you can bring me the check for the drinks and chips …”

“Actually,” Ryan said, skimming the menu, stalling, regrouping. “I’ll have a sparkling water and … the tacos al carbon. Medium rare.”

I rolled my eyes at his attempt to hold me hostage with a couple of beef tacos.

“So … umm … do you still want your check?” the waitress asked me, looking flustered, probably because she knew there was some kind of a disagreement in the works. And
this
, I thought, was how things ended up on TMZ.

“Yes,” I said, outmaneuvering him again. “Thank you.”

When the waitress left, he said again, “I don’t want anyone but you.”

“You’ll get over that quickly. You have lots of options.
Better
options,” I said pointedly.

“C’mon, Shea. That’s not true, and you know it. We have something really special. Are you really going to throw that away?”

“Me?” I said. “
You
did this. You put us here.”

“I know. And I’ll do whatever it takes to fix what I broke. Whatever it takes.”

“I’m sure you’ve said those words before.”

“No, I haven’t.”

I thought of the promise I made Blakeslee and simply shrugged, opting to keep my word.

“Coach is full of
shit
,” he said, his face darkening for a few seconds.

“No, he isn’t,” I said, though I was unclear how Coach fit into this part of the discussion.

“What did he tell you? Because this is the only time that anything like this has ever happened. I swear. With you, the other night … and it was an accident. A misunderstanding … I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you … You have to believe that. I love you, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, understanding with new clarity the expression
skin crawling.

“But I do love you.” He cleared his throat, leaned toward me, his face as close to mine as the table would allow. Then he started talking, his voice intense, earnest. “Shea, I’m so sorry I did this to you and put us here. I take full responsibility and will do absolutely anything to repair the damage. I can see in your eyes that you don’t trust me, but I pray that there is some love left. Just a little. And if there is, we can rebuild upon it. I know we can. I love you so
much.
If you just give me one chance to prove that to you …
Please.
”

I said nothing, hating that I felt sorry for him. I didn’t want to feel
anything
for him, indifference being the only route to true freedom.

“You have to understand how much that got into my head,” he continued. “Everything with you and Miller …”

I started to reply, but he held up his hand. “I’m not blaming any of this on Miller. And I know there is nothing to worry about with him … But when I didn’t hear from you after you promised you’d call me … and it was the night before a big game … and I missed you so much … and then I had that disaster game … And then I let my dad—and everything—get in my head … And then Miller had your credit card, and you have to see how bad that looks … and I guess I just snapped. I’m so sorry. But you have to believe I didn’t try to hurt you. Look in my eyes and tell me you know that.”

I felt myself questioning my own version of events, seeing his side of things, at least a little bit, but I managed to stare him down and say, “You don’t get to
snap
in a relationship, Ryan. Not if that’s what snapping looks like.” I glanced around the restaurant to make sure nobody was watching me, then showed him the bruise, now yellow, on my left arm, closest to the window.

A look of anguish crossed his face. “Aw, Shea. I’m so sorry.”

“Look,” I said. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re a guy with a problem. A big problem … And I do forgive you for what you did … But I don’t feel right about this relationship. I just don’t. I don’t want to be in it anymore, Ryan. And you have to accept this as my final word. It’s not going to change no matter what you say or do or promise.”

He stared at me, his jaw resting in his large hand, and for a second I thought he was finally hearing me, understanding that it really was over. But then he shook his head. “I can’t accept that.”

“You have to.”

He took a breath and blinked rapidly in the way that people blink when they’re about to cry. Then he looked up at the ceiling and blinked some more until I could see that the rims of his eyes were turning watery, red. I told myself not to cave. It was pitiful—seeing someone that strong on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I care about you. I always will. And I want you to get help and change for
you.
But this relationship just isn’t right for me. And in some ways it probably never was,” I said, feeling a little bit guilty for letting him think that this was all his fault. “I’m not sure we were ever really right for each other … I’m really sorry.”

He nodded, then dropped his gaze from the ceiling to me and said, “Will you at least keep the earrings? Please?”

I stared into his eyes for a long few seconds, then said, “Okay. If it means that much to you—”

“It does. It really does.”

“Okay. I’ll keep the earrings.”

“And you won’t sell them? Or give them away? Promise me.”

“Okay,” I said again. “I’ll keep them. I promise. I do love them.”

“I wish you loved
me
, too,” he said. “But at least you’ll always have something from me. Something good.”

I gave him a small, genuine smile.

“I really am a good person, Shea.”

I nodded, believing that to be true—or, at the very least, believing that he
wanted
to be a good person.

“Get some help, Ryan. Will you?”

“I will, baby,” he said, looking into my eyes.

This time, I let him call me
baby
, but I stood up, put a twenty on the table, and said goodbye.

“Goodbye, Shea,” he said, stoic acceptance on his face.

L
ater that night, I made plans to visit Coach at his office, relieved to find the parking lot at the athletic complex virtually empty. As I entered the football wing, I glanced nervously over my shoulder, wondering how much longer we’d have to creep around and lie. It was still a necessity, but I didn’t like it, and could feel myself starting to imagine a different reality.

“There she is,” Coach said when he opened his door, breaking into a dazzling smile. He took my hand and pulled me inside, nudging the door closed behind me.

I smiled back at him, both of us frozen for several seconds before he put his arms around me in a proper hug. I hugged him back, tentatively at first, then more tightly, deciding that if he didn’t make a move soon, I was going to. I
had
to kiss him.

He pulled away just enough to be able to gaze down at me with an intense stare. It was the way he watched a play in progress, one that
pleased him, one that was going exactly as planned. Sometimes when he had this look on his face, he’d say
yesss
with a couple of hard claps or a clenched fist pump. He didn’t do that tonight, but I could tell he was feeling that way because I knew him that well, inside and out, all his tics and moods and expressions.

He cupped my cheeks in his hands, our faces at the perfect intimate distance. Feeling drugged and dizzy, I stared at the stubble on his jaw, his half-closed lids, the crescent shape of his top lip. He slid his hands back past my ears, lacing his fingers behind my head, tugging slightly on my hair. It was as if he were controlling me without trying to, making my lips part, my eyes close, my breathing shallow and rapid. I waited another few agonizing seconds, aching to be kissed. When he still didn’t do it, I put my hands on his neck and made a little moaning sound, too overwhelmed to speak. Then, finally, his lips brushed against mine, lightly at first, then more urgently. It was like looking into a bright light that didn’t hurt your eyes. Everything felt warm and right and complete until I stopped thinking altogether. I forgot where we were and what had happened to lead us to this moment and just focused on kissing him. I tasted him and touched him, feeling his close-cropped hair and his warm neck and the muscles in his shoulders and back straining through the thin material of his Dri-FIT shirt. I inhaled the scent of his skin and aftershave mixed with that familiar salty smell of practice. I listened to his breathing, could hear his excitement, mirroring my own.