RYAN’S BED
(If you have NOT read Ryan's Bed, do not read below.)
BONUS SCENE
TIJAN
RYAN
“Jensen!”
My name was loud in the quiet of the gym. Practice had ended a half hour ago, but I was still here shooting hoops. I stayed every day for an extra hour of ball-handling drills, sometimes with the coach and sometimes Mac came in to help. Today I was here alone, but that was fine.
Most of my life was crazy and hectic. Being in a gym alone countered that chaos. Only thing better was if Mac were here, but today was a therapy day. She liked the new therapist she’d found when we came to college, and I knew she took the appointments seriously—unlike the beginning of us, when she’d barely showed up for her sessions.
Yeah. A lot had changed in a year.
He called my name again, and I recognized one of the starters coming over. Fucking Cahill.
My drills were done for the day. If this prick was around, I didn’t trust myself. He’d had a chip on his shoulder since I came on, fucking thinking I’m after his position. I’m not. If Coach starts me, then Coach starts me. Not my problem. But Cahill decided not to go pro last year. That was his decision. Not my fault if he’s upstaged by a freshman. They paid big money to bring me here.
Anyway, this douche had the look on his face. He was pissed about his decision. But again, that was on him. If he’d watched ESPN, he would’ve fucking known to get his transfer papers in.
He didn’t. Said a lot about his ego.
“Dude,” he grunted, standing next to my bag on the chairs.
I headed over. “What’s up?” Not real nice, but not a real asshole comment. Guy couldn’t whine about me yet.
His eyes flicked over the ball in my hands, my bag, and the clock. “You always stick around afterward?”
Shifting the ball to my side, I tipped my head back. “How’s that your business exactly?”
His eyes flashed. “What you say?”
“You heard me.”
His nostrils flared. Eyes darkened. He jerked forward a step. “Excuse me, freshman?”
Done with this. “What the fuck you want?”
“You want to be enemies with me? I’m a vet. I’m not no rookie. Watch yourself.”
I didn’t start this. This guy had been taking shots at me since pre-season. The fucker thought I was a guy that rolled over. I rolled over for no one.
I shrugged. “I’m just calling what’s already there. You know it. I know it. What the fuck’s your problem?”
He stared long and hard. Then some control simmered back in, and he moved back that step, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I was just walking through, heard the ball, and was surprised to see you, that’s all. There’s a party this weekend. You going?”
My roommate had mentioned it to me already, and I told Cahill the same thing I told him. “I don’t know. Depends on my girl.”
Then I stared at him. Polite thing to do would be to return the question, and it wasn’t that I meant to be rude, but shots. This guy had taken too many at me to stand here and be all fake-like.
Half the guys were loyal to him. I got that. He’d helped bring ‘em to March Madness last year, but he didn’t seal the deal. That’s why I was brought in. Mac had wanted to come here, and she got in with a scholarship, so we did. But I knew it’d be a fight the day I arrived, and it had been. We were now a week away from our first game. That’s when the real war would start, I had no doubt.
Cahill snorted. “Fuck’s sakes. I’m trying, Jensen. You’re not the hot shit you were back in Twilight, Oregon.”
I just waited. No point in talking. Not with this guy.
“Look, whatever. Come, don’t come. I don’t give a fuck. But word of advice…” He started to leave, walking backward. “You’re rooming with Chavez, right? Guys like him like partying. He likes the team. He gets along. He’s already getting along. If you want to make things easier on him, try to get along with everyone.”
“Oh, you mean like with Grant and Easterly? After they kept me out of the team group chat? Because you can be damn sure I knew about that, and I know who gave them their orders.”
He stopped, staring at me.
Fine. I stared right back, just watching. Waiting.
He had his guys, but if he didn’t think there were already others watching and choosing my side, he was just plain stupid. The new guys could see what was going on. Vets might not want to see it, but even a few of them were coming around. They were testing the waters. If things got dirty, futures could be affected. A guy could get iced out. With me, with what the coaches were banking I could do, that wasn’t going to happen.
I wasn’t being cocky. That’s just how it was. I’d been around enough of the hype to know I didn’t care for it.
I didn’t care for the girls. For the publicity. For going to a coffee shop and having the baristas freak out. I didn’t care for the guys past their prime coming up, telling me how to play, how they would coach me, how they would coach the team. I didn’t care for having to deal with pro scouts already, or how the coaches were already side-eyeing me like I’d done something wrong. I wasn’t Cahill, for fuck’s sakes.
I had my girl, and I had basketball. I loved both with a passion, and I’d seen enough bad shit, gone through enough bad shit to know what I wanted. I wanted a degree, a career, and Mac. That was it.
Cahill tensed, but raised a shoulder. “What group chat?”
Yeah, right. Fuckhead.
Then he laughed, turned, and held up a hand as he walked out. “Called hazing, Jensen. Just good, old-fashioned hazing. Might need an attitude check if you’re going to make it here if you can’t take a joke.”
It wasn’t a joke. Not the night they’d had a team hangout and purposely not told me, or when the coaches asked Cahill to tell me about a special meeting and somehow he didn’t. That fucker was doing this. Not me.
And dammit, I knew it was going to get worse.
Sighing, I dropped my ball in my bag, zipped it up, and headed out.
***
“I think you should go,” Mac said.
I was lounging on her bed in her dorm room, watching as she folded her clothes. I was technically helping, but she only let me put the socks together. She didn’t approve of my shirt-folding skills, and she really didn’t let me put her bras and panties away. I had too many questions, and I was distracted enough already.
Even just doing laundry, Mac looked fucking fantastic—like, really goddamn fucking amazing.
She had her hair up in a new braid. That’d become her thing, and I knew it was a reminder of Willow, but I always loved when she did a new braid. This one was pulled together at her nape with a bunch of flowers stuck in, so she looked like a walking, talking flower garden.
If the guys knew how much I loved Mac’s braids, they’d rip me so bad, but I didn’t care. Braids mattered to my girl, so they mattered to me, and today, she was feeling her braids. Eyes shining, her hair all pretty-looking, her face flushed, and her hands moving around because she was good—that’s all I needed. Mac and the game. That was it for me.
“You really think that?” I asked.
She was hanging a shirt up, stretching, and her shirt hiked up. I got a nice view of her stomach, all silky smooth. It would feel real good when I ran my hand over it, dipping down. She’d shudder under my touch, just like she had last night.
Just thinking about that, I started toying with the idea of locking her door and tugging her to the bed. Her roommate was cool, but the other girls on Mac’s floor were a problem. They liked a basketball guy being on the floor, and her hallway was always extra amped when I was around. Because of that, I’d taken to sneaking up the side stairs, even though there were no rules against me being here. It was just easier.
My floor was out of the question with guys everywhere, most of them from the team. Someone was always playing music, playing video games, yelling, you name it. Only got quiet during late night hours, and even then, someone was often up and making noise somewhere. We didn’t have the normal resident advisors other dorms used to keep things tight and locked down. We were on the team. Not many told us no.
She stopped and nodded at me. “Yeah. I mean, it’s your team too. Just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean you can’t get along with your teammates.” She came over, reaching for the pile of lace panties she’d put on the other side of the basket, away from me. She knew what happened if I started playing with ‘em. The laundry would be done later, much later.
Eyeing me, a smile tugging at her mouth, she took them over to her dresser.
When she came back, I caught her hand, pushed back on the bed, and tugged her down with me. As I caught her, her eyes went wide and an oomph slipped from her mouth.
She laughed. I might’ve pulled a little harder than necessary, but I caught her. I’d always catch her. My hands splayed out on her sides, over her ribs, and I bent my head to her neck.
God, she smelled good. Like cotton candy and flowers. It was those flowers in her hair, but she always smelled like this.
Opening my legs and rolling to my back, I pulled her to lay on top of me.
“Ryan,” she murmured, but I felt her body relax.
I loved that—no reservations, nothing. Just me holding her.
Kissing her neck, up her chin and jawline, and to her lips, I took them in a good, long, satisfying kiss. This girl. I loved this girl so damned much.
“You taste fucking good,” I told her.
She moaned against my mouth, shifting on my chest. She brought her leg up and over until she was almost straddling me. She was holding herself up, just a bit. I smoothed a hand over her back and pushed down on her ass.
She laughed again into my mouth as we connected.
Hips to hips. Groin to groin, and holy fucking hell, she felt good. Good good. She felt phenomenal. I began moving against her, rubbing, grinding.
Another moan left her, so small and cute.
I pulled away, but dipped back in for another nip at her lips. “When’s Maren coming back?” Her roommate. She was a music major so she was gone a lot. Another reason she was cool.
She paused, thinking, then groaned, her head falling to my shoulder. “She wanted to do dinner tonight. If I’m thinking right, she might be heading back right now.”
Fuck. Shit. Damn.
I had to slow down and slow down hard.
“Okay,” I rasped.
She laid her head to the side, her lips on my neck, and because I knew her, I just grinned when she began nibbling there. She couldn’t help herself, but I just held her, running a hand down her hair to her hip, because I loved her so damn much. Felt fucking good.
Christ.
We hadn’t really talked about the party, or about Cahill. She’d asked how my practice went. The only thing I still wanted to discuss was her session. She didn’t always tell me how they went, but I could usually read her. Today was bothering me. She’d been reserved when I came over, and I knew she’d picked this time to put her laundry away for a reason. She wanted some space to think. That meant something had happened. She’d still needed to sort it out when I arrived.
We got another thirty minutes before Maren came through the door and we had to scramble away from each other. There’d been heavy breathing, exploring hands, and I’d ended things with my fingers inside her. It’d been quick work, but Mac was just coming down, and I had to roll over and adjust myself as that door opened.
Maren was cool. Maren was cool.
If I said it enough times I’d think it. Right?
Fuck. We weren’t even halfway through the first semester, and I was tired of sharing our dorm rooms. I’d need to figure something out. We needed privacy. Mac needed me. It wasn’t just her, though. I was addicted to her too. This time last year—before this time even—we’d already been sneaking back and forth to each others’ rooms so much that the ‘rents figured it out.
Things had been different then. Mac was grieving the loss of her twin, plus a whole other secret she didn’t let drop for weeks, and I mean months later. It hadn’t even been that long ago—recently enough that her parents weren’t sure about letting her come here for college. They wanted her home with them and seeing the same therapist she’d confided in. But a transition to a new counselor, one who was highly recommended, actually helped with the situation.
Her sessions were confidential and private, but I could tell when my girl needed to talk. I wasn’t a pushy boyfriend, but I wasn’t a pushover either. And if there was a chance she could relapse in any way, I wasn’t chancing it. No fucking way.
I’ll be polite and easy going until you try to fuck me over. Then I can be an asshole right back. Cahill was starting to learn that.
Mac and Maren were talking away now, so when my phone buzzed, I grabbed it.
Chavez: Team’s eating at Grenwich tonight. Come.
Me: Friends allowed?
Chavez: Hell yes. Bring that music roommate. She’s cute.
Thinking back to what Mac had said about dinner, I looked up. She and the roommate were laughing about something.
“Want to eat at Grenwich? Team’s heading there.”
Mac turned, love smiling back at me, so I nodded.
Me: We’re in.
Maren had a crush on half the team, so I knew her answer even if I hadn’t asked.
***
MACKENZIE
It had been bad in high school, especially at the end of Ryan’s season.
But I’d gotten used to it—the fans, the girls. He had warned me, and I did see some of it. I didn’t see it all. I knew that. Ryan protected me, but this was different. In college, even the beginning weeks of school, everyone knew who Ryan was. The girls on my floor talked about him as if I weren’t in the picture, as if he came to the floor to see them.
For freshman orientation, we had extra events scheduled, and we were put into groups or clubs. It was just for mentorship, trying to build early friendships, things like that. It wasn’t mandatory, but you could go for fun.
I went.
Ryan didn’t.
Once I told them where I came from, they asked if I knew him. Their eyes got so big when they found out I was dating him. And to be totally honest, I enjoyed it.
It was a relief.
I wasn’t getting attention because of Willow, or because of my thing. This wasn’t me. It was him, and I could handle it. I’d told Bobbi, my new therapist, about that today, and she’d asked if I thought that was healthy or not.
“I think you’re hiding,” she’d said. “It’s not Willow this time, but you’re hiding behind Ryan instead.” She’d leaned forward. “Is that helping your progress?”
My progress.
Jesus. I hated the way she talked about it, like I was sick.
Ryan thought I was better. Everyone thought I was better. And I was, but I’d gotten me here. I did it, all last year. Me and Willow. Finding my sister, seeing Willow, losing Willow—that had gotten me forward, past my stuff.
I thought about what Bobbi had said. I really did. Of everyone in my life, I was the one who didn’t want me to go back there. I wanted it the most.
So no, I wasn’t hiding behind Ryan. I had never hidden behind Ryan. If anything, he was the one standing behind me, supporting me.
As we crossed the parking lot to go to dinner at Grenwich with his team, people turning around to look for him, I decided: No more Bobbi.
My hand twitched in Ryan’s at that decision.
He slowed, glancing back, a question in his depths.
I squeezed his hand again, reassuring him. I was fine. I smiled, and he nodded, seeming to accept that.
Bobbi saw me as a patient. She saw my file from last year. She saw the fact that I’d lost my twin sister to suicide. She didn’t see Mac. Ryan did. Some days, I thought he was the only one who did.
We entered the restaurant, which seemed to be a nice place—lots of families and other college students. Word had spread that the basketball team was inside. Ryan was the incoming star, and they were waiting for him to show up. As soon as we moved toward the team’s tables, people were heading for him.
Not a lot, but enough to slow us down.
A few girls flirted, asking for pictures and autographs. A couple dads did the same. The best fans were the younger kids just starting out. They approached Ryan with stars in their eyes, hope too. It was the hope that got to me. A set of twins had stopped us outside a Nike store one time, and I’d just wanted to tell them to hug each other, stay with each other, and love unconditionally. Love is most important. Just love.
Ryan had realized immediately that I was struggling, and as soon as he’d signed their items, he’d whisked me home. I’d allowed myself time to cry, but then I allowed myself to feel his love, and by that night, I was fine. I’d thought about Willow that night too.
I was thinking about her now, as I did so often. I looked over to see Ryan was winding down the autographs.
We were going to college, and this was a big fucking deal, but I was here with Ryan. Not Willow. As soon as I had that thought I could hear her snort. As if, bitch. I heard her laugh, smelled her vanilla perfume, and I knew. I just knew.
She was here, and she was with me.
Ryan handed the autographed paper back to the last kid, caught my hand, and tugged me to his chest. The waitress waited to lead us to where the team was sitting. Maren had already gone inside. She had no problem flirting.
Ryan bent close. “You okay?”
I smiled and squeezed his hand once more. “I’m good.”
He looked at me carefully. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
I meant it. Last year had been for me. This year was going to be for Ryan.
And everything would be just fine.
“Jensen!”
My name was loud in the quiet of the gym. Practice had ended a half hour ago, but I was still here shooting hoops. I stayed every day for an extra hour of ball-handling drills, sometimes with the coach and sometimes Mac came in to help. Today I was here alone, but that was fine.
Most of my life was crazy and hectic. Being in a gym alone countered that chaos. Only thing better was if Mac were here, but today was a therapy day. She liked the new therapist she’d found when we came to college, and I knew she took the appointments seriously—unlike the beginning of us, when she’d barely showed up for her sessions.
Yeah. A lot had changed in a year.
He called my name again, and I recognized one of the starters coming over. Fucking Cahill.
My drills were done for the day. If this prick was around, I didn’t trust myself. He’d had a chip on his shoulder since I came on, fucking thinking I’m after his position. I’m not. If Coach starts me, then Coach starts me. Not my problem. But Cahill decided not to go pro last year. That was his decision. Not my fault if he’s upstaged by a freshman. They paid big money to bring me here.
Anyway, this douche had the look on his face. He was pissed about his decision. But again, that was on him. If he’d watched ESPN, he would’ve fucking known to get his transfer papers in.
He didn’t. Said a lot about his ego.
“Dude,” he grunted, standing next to my bag on the chairs.
I headed over. “What’s up?” Not real nice, but not a real asshole comment. Guy couldn’t whine about me yet.
His eyes flicked over the ball in my hands, my bag, and the clock. “You always stick around afterward?”
Shifting the ball to my side, I tipped my head back. “How’s that your business exactly?”
His eyes flashed. “What you say?”
“You heard me.”
His nostrils flared. Eyes darkened. He jerked forward a step. “Excuse me, freshman?”
Done with this. “What the fuck you want?”
“You want to be enemies with me? I’m a vet. I’m not no rookie. Watch yourself.”
I didn’t start this. This guy had been taking shots at me since pre-season. The fucker thought I was a guy that rolled over. I rolled over for no one.
I shrugged. “I’m just calling what’s already there. You know it. I know it. What the fuck’s your problem?”
He stared long and hard. Then some control simmered back in, and he moved back that step, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I was just walking through, heard the ball, and was surprised to see you, that’s all. There’s a party this weekend. You going?”
My roommate had mentioned it to me already, and I told Cahill the same thing I told him. “I don’t know. Depends on my girl.”
Then I stared at him. Polite thing to do would be to return the question, and it wasn’t that I meant to be rude, but shots. This guy had taken too many at me to stand here and be all fake-like.
Half the guys were loyal to him. I got that. He’d helped bring ‘em to March Madness last year, but he didn’t seal the deal. That’s why I was brought in. Mac had wanted to come here, and she got in with a scholarship, so we did. But I knew it’d be a fight the day I arrived, and it had been. We were now a week away from our first game. That’s when the real war would start, I had no doubt.
Cahill snorted. “Fuck’s sakes. I’m trying, Jensen. You’re not the hot shit you were back in Twilight, Oregon.”
I just waited. No point in talking. Not with this guy.
“Look, whatever. Come, don’t come. I don’t give a fuck. But word of advice…” He started to leave, walking backward. “You’re rooming with Chavez, right? Guys like him like partying. He likes the team. He gets along. He’s already getting along. If you want to make things easier on him, try to get along with everyone.”
“Oh, you mean like with Grant and Easterly? After they kept me out of the team group chat? Because you can be damn sure I knew about that, and I know who gave them their orders.”
He stopped, staring at me.
Fine. I stared right back, just watching. Waiting.
He had his guys, but if he didn’t think there were already others watching and choosing my side, he was just plain stupid. The new guys could see what was going on. Vets might not want to see it, but even a few of them were coming around. They were testing the waters. If things got dirty, futures could be affected. A guy could get iced out. With me, with what the coaches were banking I could do, that wasn’t going to happen.
I wasn’t being cocky. That’s just how it was. I’d been around enough of the hype to know I didn’t care for it.
I didn’t care for the girls. For the publicity. For going to a coffee shop and having the baristas freak out. I didn’t care for the guys past their prime coming up, telling me how to play, how they would coach me, how they would coach the team. I didn’t care for having to deal with pro scouts already, or how the coaches were already side-eyeing me like I’d done something wrong. I wasn’t Cahill, for fuck’s sakes.
I had my girl, and I had basketball. I loved both with a passion, and I’d seen enough bad shit, gone through enough bad shit to know what I wanted. I wanted a degree, a career, and Mac. That was it.
Cahill tensed, but raised a shoulder. “What group chat?”
Yeah, right. Fuckhead.
Then he laughed, turned, and held up a hand as he walked out. “Called hazing, Jensen. Just good, old-fashioned hazing. Might need an attitude check if you’re going to make it here if you can’t take a joke.”
It wasn’t a joke. Not the night they’d had a team hangout and purposely not told me, or when the coaches asked Cahill to tell me about a special meeting and somehow he didn’t. That fucker was doing this. Not me.
And dammit, I knew it was going to get worse.
Sighing, I dropped my ball in my bag, zipped it up, and headed out.
***
“I think you should go,” Mac said.
I was lounging on her bed in her dorm room, watching as she folded her clothes. I was technically helping, but she only let me put the socks together. She didn’t approve of my shirt-folding skills, and she really didn’t let me put her bras and panties away. I had too many questions, and I was distracted enough already.
Even just doing laundry, Mac looked fucking fantastic—like, really goddamn fucking amazing.
She had her hair up in a new braid. That’d become her thing, and I knew it was a reminder of Willow, but I always loved when she did a new braid. This one was pulled together at her nape with a bunch of flowers stuck in, so she looked like a walking, talking flower garden.
If the guys knew how much I loved Mac’s braids, they’d rip me so bad, but I didn’t care. Braids mattered to my girl, so they mattered to me, and today, she was feeling her braids. Eyes shining, her hair all pretty-looking, her face flushed, and her hands moving around because she was good—that’s all I needed. Mac and the game. That was it for me.
“You really think that?” I asked.
She was hanging a shirt up, stretching, and her shirt hiked up. I got a nice view of her stomach, all silky smooth. It would feel real good when I ran my hand over it, dipping down. She’d shudder under my touch, just like she had last night.
Just thinking about that, I started toying with the idea of locking her door and tugging her to the bed. Her roommate was cool, but the other girls on Mac’s floor were a problem. They liked a basketball guy being on the floor, and her hallway was always extra amped when I was around. Because of that, I’d taken to sneaking up the side stairs, even though there were no rules against me being here. It was just easier.
My floor was out of the question with guys everywhere, most of them from the team. Someone was always playing music, playing video games, yelling, you name it. Only got quiet during late night hours, and even then, someone was often up and making noise somewhere. We didn’t have the normal resident advisors other dorms used to keep things tight and locked down. We were on the team. Not many told us no.
She stopped and nodded at me. “Yeah. I mean, it’s your team too. Just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean you can’t get along with your teammates.” She came over, reaching for the pile of lace panties she’d put on the other side of the basket, away from me. She knew what happened if I started playing with ‘em. The laundry would be done later, much later.
Eyeing me, a smile tugging at her mouth, she took them over to her dresser.
When she came back, I caught her hand, pushed back on the bed, and tugged her down with me. As I caught her, her eyes went wide and an oomph slipped from her mouth.
She laughed. I might’ve pulled a little harder than necessary, but I caught her. I’d always catch her. My hands splayed out on her sides, over her ribs, and I bent my head to her neck.
God, she smelled good. Like cotton candy and flowers. It was those flowers in her hair, but she always smelled like this.
Opening my legs and rolling to my back, I pulled her to lay on top of me.
“Ryan,” she murmured, but I felt her body relax.
I loved that—no reservations, nothing. Just me holding her.
Kissing her neck, up her chin and jawline, and to her lips, I took them in a good, long, satisfying kiss. This girl. I loved this girl so damned much.
“You taste fucking good,” I told her.
She moaned against my mouth, shifting on my chest. She brought her leg up and over until she was almost straddling me. She was holding herself up, just a bit. I smoothed a hand over her back and pushed down on her ass.
She laughed again into my mouth as we connected.
Hips to hips. Groin to groin, and holy fucking hell, she felt good. Good good. She felt phenomenal. I began moving against her, rubbing, grinding.
Another moan left her, so small and cute.
I pulled away, but dipped back in for another nip at her lips. “When’s Maren coming back?” Her roommate. She was a music major so she was gone a lot. Another reason she was cool.
She paused, thinking, then groaned, her head falling to my shoulder. “She wanted to do dinner tonight. If I’m thinking right, she might be heading back right now.”
Fuck. Shit. Damn.
I had to slow down and slow down hard.
“Okay,” I rasped.
She laid her head to the side, her lips on my neck, and because I knew her, I just grinned when she began nibbling there. She couldn’t help herself, but I just held her, running a hand down her hair to her hip, because I loved her so damn much. Felt fucking good.
Christ.
We hadn’t really talked about the party, or about Cahill. She’d asked how my practice went. The only thing I still wanted to discuss was her session. She didn’t always tell me how they went, but I could usually read her. Today was bothering me. She’d been reserved when I came over, and I knew she’d picked this time to put her laundry away for a reason. She wanted some space to think. That meant something had happened. She’d still needed to sort it out when I arrived.
We got another thirty minutes before Maren came through the door and we had to scramble away from each other. There’d been heavy breathing, exploring hands, and I’d ended things with my fingers inside her. It’d been quick work, but Mac was just coming down, and I had to roll over and adjust myself as that door opened.
Maren was cool. Maren was cool.
If I said it enough times I’d think it. Right?
Fuck. We weren’t even halfway through the first semester, and I was tired of sharing our dorm rooms. I’d need to figure something out. We needed privacy. Mac needed me. It wasn’t just her, though. I was addicted to her too. This time last year—before this time even—we’d already been sneaking back and forth to each others’ rooms so much that the ‘rents figured it out.
Things had been different then. Mac was grieving the loss of her twin, plus a whole other secret she didn’t let drop for weeks, and I mean months later. It hadn’t even been that long ago—recently enough that her parents weren’t sure about letting her come here for college. They wanted her home with them and seeing the same therapist she’d confided in. But a transition to a new counselor, one who was highly recommended, actually helped with the situation.
Her sessions were confidential and private, but I could tell when my girl needed to talk. I wasn’t a pushy boyfriend, but I wasn’t a pushover either. And if there was a chance she could relapse in any way, I wasn’t chancing it. No fucking way.
I’ll be polite and easy going until you try to fuck me over. Then I can be an asshole right back. Cahill was starting to learn that.
Mac and Maren were talking away now, so when my phone buzzed, I grabbed it.
Chavez: Team’s eating at Grenwich tonight. Come.
Me: Friends allowed?
Chavez: Hell yes. Bring that music roommate. She’s cute.
Thinking back to what Mac had said about dinner, I looked up. She and the roommate were laughing about something.
“Want to eat at Grenwich? Team’s heading there.”
Mac turned, love smiling back at me, so I nodded.
Me: We’re in.
Maren had a crush on half the team, so I knew her answer even if I hadn’t asked.
***
MACKENZIE
It had been bad in high school, especially at the end of Ryan’s season.
But I’d gotten used to it—the fans, the girls. He had warned me, and I did see some of it. I didn’t see it all. I knew that. Ryan protected me, but this was different. In college, even the beginning weeks of school, everyone knew who Ryan was. The girls on my floor talked about him as if I weren’t in the picture, as if he came to the floor to see them.
For freshman orientation, we had extra events scheduled, and we were put into groups or clubs. It was just for mentorship, trying to build early friendships, things like that. It wasn’t mandatory, but you could go for fun.
I went.
Ryan didn’t.
Once I told them where I came from, they asked if I knew him. Their eyes got so big when they found out I was dating him. And to be totally honest, I enjoyed it.
It was a relief.
I wasn’t getting attention because of Willow, or because of my thing. This wasn’t me. It was him, and I could handle it. I’d told Bobbi, my new therapist, about that today, and she’d asked if I thought that was healthy or not.
“I think you’re hiding,” she’d said. “It’s not Willow this time, but you’re hiding behind Ryan instead.” She’d leaned forward. “Is that helping your progress?”
My progress.
Jesus. I hated the way she talked about it, like I was sick.
Ryan thought I was better. Everyone thought I was better. And I was, but I’d gotten me here. I did it, all last year. Me and Willow. Finding my sister, seeing Willow, losing Willow—that had gotten me forward, past my stuff.
I thought about what Bobbi had said. I really did. Of everyone in my life, I was the one who didn’t want me to go back there. I wanted it the most.
So no, I wasn’t hiding behind Ryan. I had never hidden behind Ryan. If anything, he was the one standing behind me, supporting me.
As we crossed the parking lot to go to dinner at Grenwich with his team, people turning around to look for him, I decided: No more Bobbi.
My hand twitched in Ryan’s at that decision.
He slowed, glancing back, a question in his depths.
I squeezed his hand again, reassuring him. I was fine. I smiled, and he nodded, seeming to accept that.
Bobbi saw me as a patient. She saw my file from last year. She saw the fact that I’d lost my twin sister to suicide. She didn’t see Mac. Ryan did. Some days, I thought he was the only one who did.
We entered the restaurant, which seemed to be a nice place—lots of families and other college students. Word had spread that the basketball team was inside. Ryan was the incoming star, and they were waiting for him to show up. As soon as we moved toward the team’s tables, people were heading for him.
Not a lot, but enough to slow us down.
A few girls flirted, asking for pictures and autographs. A couple dads did the same. The best fans were the younger kids just starting out. They approached Ryan with stars in their eyes, hope too. It was the hope that got to me. A set of twins had stopped us outside a Nike store one time, and I’d just wanted to tell them to hug each other, stay with each other, and love unconditionally. Love is most important. Just love.
Ryan had realized immediately that I was struggling, and as soon as he’d signed their items, he’d whisked me home. I’d allowed myself time to cry, but then I allowed myself to feel his love, and by that night, I was fine. I’d thought about Willow that night too.
I was thinking about her now, as I did so often. I looked over to see Ryan was winding down the autographs.
We were going to college, and this was a big fucking deal, but I was here with Ryan. Not Willow. As soon as I had that thought I could hear her snort. As if, bitch. I heard her laugh, smelled her vanilla perfume, and I knew. I just knew.
She was here, and she was with me.
Ryan handed the autographed paper back to the last kid, caught my hand, and tugged me to his chest. The waitress waited to lead us to where the team was sitting. Maren had already gone inside. She had no problem flirting.
Ryan bent close. “You okay?”
I smiled and squeezed his hand once more. “I’m good.”
He looked at me carefully. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
I meant it. Last year had been for me. This year was going to be for Ryan.
And everything would be just fine.