Anxious Love (Love Sick #1) (27 page)

Sophie returned to the room around twelve o'clock. I pretended I was asleep. Either she had a great night or her night sucked. Either way, I didn't want to hear about it. I was having enough trouble holding it together.

When I woke up the next morning, Sophie was sitting up in the other double bed.

"What are you reading?" I asked.

"
Hope for Us
."

"I thought you read it before."

"I did, but I like it. They finally get their happy ending." She put the book down. "Kori invited me to the game."

"I guess you had a good night."

"I did. We had a nice time, but besides a little kiss good night, he was a perfect gentleman." She cringed. "I hate that."

"Maybe he really likes you."

She waved it off like it was the craziest idea.

"Maybe he's just toying with me. You know. Amping up the sexual tension until I explode."

I shook my head and got out of bed. "You should go to the game. It'll be fun."

"You sure? I don't want to leave you alone."

"No, it's fine." I headed toward the bathroom.

I was getting used to being alone.

I sat at the window and watched the people pouring into the Superdome. I could see their smiling faces and feel the anticipated excitement from here. The air was thick with it. But the more I sat here watching it, the more uneasy I felt.

My mind was messing with me.

I asked myself if I walked out of the door and over to the Superdome, what is the worst thing that would happen.

Eighty thousand people would attack me. I would be laughed at and ridiculed. I would be called a gold digger, a whore, a freak. I would be gang raped by the opposing team.

Jesus, I really have a fucked-up imagination.

I knew deep down where my rational mind resided and only came to the surface on special occasions that I would be fine. Nothing would hurt me. By letting my fears and anxiety dictate my life, I wasn't really living. All the things my therapists had said since the incident happened had always made sense, but now, they had a practical application.

Regardless of the war going on in my head, I remained perched near the window with the game playing on television.

"The Saints have a lot of unknowns,” says the first announcer. “Their quarterback is aging. Their best defensive back injured in training camp. Their wide receivers and running backs are so young, but the one spot they are solid in is the defensive line."

"You're right about that, Joe. Michaels along with Ryan Ware, their first-round draft pick, should be causing trouble for opposing quarterbacks and running backs because the only thing they do better than pass rush is play the run. I'm looking forward to being a part of Ware's introduction into the NFL."

They showed Ryan stretching on the field. His blond hair curly and wet, his face flushed. He looked good, but my heart clenched when I noticed the huge grin on his face. He was having the time of his life.

My breath caught in my throat, and I stood to shut the television off. I wasn't sure why I was so upset; that he was having the time of his life, fulfilling his dream, and not even breaking up with me was going to ruin it for him or because I couldn't be there to enjoy it with him.

I was being selfish. I sat back down and forced myself to watch.

The game couldn't have gone better for Ryan. He sacked the opposing team's quarterback twice in the first half. It was as if the offensive tackle assigned to him thought the first sack was beginner's luck, and by the second one, the running back had to help him block Ryan on pass plays, which pissed off the tackle even more, and he made mistakes.

The announcers couldn't believe the way Ryan dominated the other team at the line of scrimmage.

In the third quarter, the other defensive lineman hit the quarterback as he was passing. The ball shoots up in the air, and Ryan jumped and caught it. He ran it back for a touchdown. He even did our touchdown dance. The one we created at the lake house.

It felt like a slap in the face, and I didn't realize the tears falling. My insides were playing a tug of war with my heart. One side telling me that the man of my dreams, the love of my life was having the best day of his life, and I wasn't there to celebrate it with him. The other side telling me he had gotten over me. Our breakup hadn't affected him at all because while I couldn't move on the way it was between us now. Obviously, he had no problem.

I stood up and grabbed the remote. I was tired of toying with myself and my emotions. I reached to turn the game off, but I watch one more play.

The opposing teams quarterback handed the ball off to his running back; he ran to the left, away from Ryan, but changed directions, following his blockers and headed straight for him. Behind the running back were two of Ryan's teammates chasing him down. All five men, two hundred pounds plus each, collided into Ryan at the same time. I gasped as the surround sound amplified the point of impact.

He disappeared in a pile of bodies. The pile moved and other players jumped in to scramble for the loose ball. I had asked him what goes on under those piles, and he described it as being stuck under a pile of rocks. You couldn't move until they moved.

One by one, the guys came off the pile, but when it was Ryan's turn, he didn't get up. He didn't even move. He remained on the ground, and I stopped breathing.

"Get up, get up, get up," I whispered to myself. The trainers knelt next to him. Even some teammates came around to see what happened, but the broadcast went to a commercial. I ran over to the window, knowing I couldn't see, but I hoped for a sign.

My heart was in my throat, and I had a bad feeling. When the broadcast came back on, a little cart had driven out onto the field. They pulled out a stability board, but Ryan's legs moved.

"Oh, thank God." I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the remote. The announcers were talking, but I didn't hear a word. I concentrated on Ryan, willing him to move.

When they put the board away, I sighed in relief. When they sat him up, I cried and clapped along with the rest of the stadium.

The trainers helped Ryan stand up, but they put him in the cart anyway. I cringed when I noticed the blood on the bridge of his nose. They had removed his helmet and held a towel over his face. He raised up a hand and waved to the crowd as the cart drove him back through the tunnel. The stadium erupted. I could feel it from up here.

As he disappeared up the tunnel, I had a sinking feeling.

I needed to see him.

I dialed Mr. Thibodeaux's number as I descended in the elevator.

"Hello."

"Mr. Thibodeaux. This is Leah, Ryan's girlfriend."

"Oh, hey, sweetheart. I'm heading down to the locker room right now, but from what I hear, he's okay."

"Can I come down and see him?"

He hesitated.

"Please. I need to see him," I said as I pushed through the revolving doors on the concourse level that connected the hotel to the stadium. I ran across the passageway and barely registered the throng of people milling about.

"Sure. Come to the security entrance you came in last time. I'll come and get you."

The security entrance was a quarter of the way around the dome. I ran and made it to the door as Mr. Thibodueax opened it.

"Whoa, Leah. It's okay." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket. "Here, clean up your face. He's going to be fine."

I wiped my face and fell into step behind him. We walked the few paces to the elevator and took it down two flights.

As it opened, the stream of people walking back and forth made me pause. I stood in the elevator door and scanned the room. I didn't recognize anyone.

Mr. Thibodueax had walked a few feet away and turned back and found me stuck. He came back and took my hands. "It's okay. He's right down that hall and in the training room."

"Is he really okay?"

"He is. Heard over the radio, he's pissed they won't let him go back in the game." Mr. Thibodueax chuckled, and it calmed me. "Come on. Let's go check on your man."

Fuck
, that hurt.

I flexed my fingers and toes, and my whole body protested. The X-rays came back fine; nothing was broken. The concussion protocol came back fine, too.

I grunted as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the training table. I was in full uniform. I needed a minute but was ready to go back out. The staff wasn't having it. It was the beginning of the fourth quarter; we were ahead by two touchdowns.

I wanted to go back in.

"You're not going back in, so you might as well take this off," the trainer said as he pointed at my jersey and pads. I stood up and pull them up to my chest, but my back spasmed, and the trainer helped me with the rest.

When I sat back down, I was dizzy, so I lay back down. I searched around the room, and something in the corner caught my eye. I shut them figuring I must be hallucinating, but when I opened them, there she was. "Leah."

She entered the room. Her face was red, and her eyes were puffy. She had been crying. I felt like a weight sat on top of my chest. It could have been from being tackled by five guys. I was usually the one dishing out the punishment; it was strange being on the other side of it.

My own eyes darted around, but when they came back to her, she was one hundred percent focused on me. She stood in the middle of the room. People moving around her. She looked small and scared but determined. She wasn't fidgeting; she wasn't scanning the room looking for an exit. She was concerned about me.

"Come here, Little One." I swung my legs back over the side of the bed.

A whimper escaped her lips as she ran to me and threw her arms around my neck. I pulled her to me. She held on to me tight, and I grunted.

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry." She pulled back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." I touched her face and squeezed her waist. "What are you doing here?"

She reached up and touched my face. Ran her finger over the bandage on my nose where the training staff had given me six stitches. "What did they do to your beautiful face?"

"It's okay. It'll make me look tough."

She bit her lip. "Does it hurt?"

She turned my face to one side and then the other, inspecting it for more damage.

I grabbed her hands and set them on my leg. "Leah, I'm fine. What are you doing here? It's not safe for you to be here."

"I had to see for myself you were okay."

"You do realize where you are."

She tilted her head.

"I mean. I don't want you putting yourself in an uncomfortable situation because of me."

"I don't care about that. Some things are more important. I heard what you said. I'm not saying I'm cured or anything, far from it, but you were right. If it's important to me, I'll find a way. You're important to me. Being here when you need me is important to me, so I am getting it done."

I studied her gaze and her determined jaw set to fight me if I tried to send her away. I didn't want to send her away. I wanted her here, next to me. I wanted her so bad.

"I missed you." I pulled her back into me, loving the way she felt against my chest. I ran my hand through her hair and noticed the tape on my fingers and the dirt under my fingernails. At least, she didn't have to see the blood on my uniform. "I'm all sweaty and smell."

"I don't care." She held me tighter.

I leaned back and looked into her face. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too."

"I'm sorry. About everything," I said as I dropped my eyes, but she shook her head.

"I know." She kissed me. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered. Then she pushed me back and shook her head. "Let's talk about that later. You do need a shower."

I laughed.

She stepped back, and I scooted off the table, tentatively putting one foot on the ground. She reached out to help, and it made me smile. My head cleared, and my limbs ached but felt solid.

I took her hand and walked her through the back of the training room. We crossed through the locker room and into one of the rooms they use for media. The game had a few more minutes left. The room was quiet except for a few interns setting up the after-game press conferences. I was slated to do one at the podium.

"You can sit back here while I get cleaned up. I'll have Thibodeaux check on you."

"Ryan, I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She put her head down. "I have so much I want to tell you."

A swell of emotions filled me. I had so much to tell her too, but I couldn't figure out where to begin. Instead, I leaned over and kissed her. I swiped my tongue over her full lips and pressed my mouth against hers. I detected a tiny moan from her that hit my cock, and for a minute, I forgot we were in a room full of people. A cheer rang out from outside the room, and I pulled back.

We both looked in the direction of the television. The Saints had scored. The stadium noise vibrated through the underbelly of the stadium. It was a strange buzz in the area.

I looked down at my strong, beautiful girl and kissed her before heading off to the showers.

I was happy to shower alone. It wasn't a good look to stand in a shower with a bunch of heterosexual football players with a hard-on.