The Unforgiving Minute (17 page)

“Ryan, what the hell are you babbling about?”

Ryan stopped and took a deep breath. “This,” he confessed, and he leaned forward and kissed Josh briefly on the lips. “I love you.”

He waited just long enough to see the blossoming of something warm and wonderful in Josh’s eyes, but not so long it looked as if he was expecting an answer.

“Play well tomorrow,” he said. And then he retreated. Fast. Because that had actually turned out to be scarier than any match on any show court had ever been. He’d never said it to anyone before, not counting his parents and childhood pets, and he’d never appreciated the power in the words.

Getting back to his room, he tried to sink himself into relaxation exercises, but it took several minutes for the pounding in his chest to slow and much longer for him to calm down properly. When eventually he got to the point where he knew he’d be able to sleep, he got into bed. It felt too big and lonely without Josh there, but he now appreciated how right Josh had been to lay down those rules. There was no way he could have slept snuggled up to him, woken up with him, then gone out onto court determined to decimate him. It just didn’t work like that.

He was still thinking about Josh when he fell asleep.

F
OR
all of Ryan’s efforts to pretend the day was just like any other match day, it wasn’t. He had breakfast with Mitch, who came into the hotel restaurant just after him, and they were walking toward the elevators together when the doors of one opened and disgorged Josh and his usual entourage. From the way they were dressed and the bag Josh was carrying, they were obviously on their way out to the country club. Ryan’s reflexive smile at the sight of Josh faltered when he saw the odd expression on Josh’s face. Remembering that they weren’t supposed to speak, he gave a weak smile and turned away.

Ryan had a session on the practice court, ate an early lunch, then was in the locker room, changed, warmed-up, and ready to go in plenty of time for their match. He glanced up when Josh walked in and they nodded briefly to one another before Ryan lost himself once more in his usual pre-match music. Josh was just another opponent.

The match was tight. Ryan played out of his skin, but it would have been to little avail if Josh had been playing as well as he usually did. Josh, however, somehow failed to impose himself on the match, meaning that Ryan was the one who dictated the pace, and that was where his love affair with clay came in so useful. He loved nothing better than to slam balls back and forth in long, aggressive, baseline rallies.

Ryan won the match and wasn’t sure who was more surprised at that—himself or the crowd. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, though he tried to temper it when he and Josh shook hands. Josh’s face gave away nothing of his thoughts as he congratulated Ryan and then shook the umpire’s hand before collecting his things and leaving the court. Ryan understood the desire to get off court as soon as possible after a defeat. It was rare for Josh Andrews to be knocked out in the second round of a tournament. It was even rarer for somebody ranked several places below him to be the one to do it. But that was part of why Ryan loved tennis so much, because it all came down to how anyone played on any particular day. Anyone had the potential to win. And as he knew, he was continuing to improve; give him a bit longer working with Stefan and consistently playing the top players and he might well beat Josh Andrews regularly, instead of being as surprised by his achievement as he was today.

He took his time leaving the court, signing autographs and chatting with fans on the way out. By the time he reached the locker room, he saw Josh had already showered—damn, he must have been quick—and was in the middle of pulling on a sweatshirt. But that’s all he had a chance to see because Mitch, waiting to go out for his match against Tobias, grabbed him as soon as he walked in and gave him a huge hug.

“That was genius, Ry,” he said. “An awesome performance, start to finish.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ryan said, disentangling himself as quickly as he politely could because, while he really appreciated the support, he thought it was kind of tactless to say that in front of Josh. He looked across at Josh when Mitch finally let go of him, ruffling Ryan’s hair as he did so, and found that Josh was staring at them, his face frozen, and an expression in his eyes that made Ryan’s breath catch. He saw Ryan looking and his jaw clenched as he swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Josh,” Ryan said, knowing Josh would need space to come to terms with what had just happened out on court but not wanting to leave things like this. Josh ignored him completely and strode out of the locker room without a word to anyone.

The knock at the door came and Mitch and Tobias left for their match. Ryan was left sitting on the bench. He wondered why, if he’d won, he didn’t feel happier about it.

R
YAN
worked through the obligatory post-match warm down, but delayed his session with Stefan because his head wasn’t right and he knew it. Something was niggling at him. Something didn’t feel right. He knew it must have been a bit of a shock for Josh to have been beaten with such relative ease by a lower-ranked player, not to mention the whole thing about
them
, which must have made losing harder. But none of that explained the expression he’d glimpsed in Josh’s eyes for that one, unguarded instant. He’d looked devastated.

Ryan left it for a couple of hours, giving him space, then texted him.
You busy?

He’d received no response by the time he and Stefan started work on his game-plan for the following day. When he left Stefan, some considerable time later, there was still no answer.

Back at the hotel, he sent another text.
Back now if you want to come down.

He sat for an hour, waiting for the knock on his door or for his phone to beep. Eventually he realized that if he didn’t go and have supper soon, his schedule for the next day’s match would be out of kilter. He took advantage of the fact he had to leave his room to send another text.
Going for supper. Back in hour.

It was well under an hour before he was back in his room, his cell still devoid of texts from Josh. And now he was past worried and beginning to get a bit pissed. He knew guys who were sore losers, but having seen Josh after being beaten by Rouze in the Davis Cup, he’d never thought Josh was one of those. Perhaps Josh had simply been putting on a brave face at the time so as not to distract Ryan from his own match, but he’d seemed to take losing a match as an occupational hazard.

He called Josh’s cell and was sent directly to voicemail. And that was enough to get him beyond a bit pissed and all the way to extremely pissed.

Marching to Josh’s room, he knocked sharply on the door. Silence answered him. He knocked again, twice more, but there was still no answer. Which was weird as hell. Sudden worry negated his anger; perhaps Josh had hurt his knee again and had been whisked off to the hospital. Damn it, no, surely Josh would have let him know. As a door along the corridor opened, he realized that standing forlornly outside Josh’s room was probably not the best idea and retreated to his own room. Taking several very deep breaths, he decided to apply some of those psychology lessons he’d learned. He couldn’t control whatever was going on with Josh, and he had a match to play tomorrow. He had work to do, getting himself into the right headspace for that match. Everything else would have to take a back seat.

D
ESPITE
his best intentions, Ryan had a restless night’s sleep. The first thing he did after switching on the light was check his cell. There was still no message from Josh, so he took himself to Josh’s room again. Enough was enough. Josh would have to suck it up and grow the hell up.

His righteous indignation stuttered and died when he got to Josh’s room. The door was wide open, with two ladies from housekeeping stripping the bed.

“Sorry, sir,” the blonde one said. “We’re not ready for you yet. Reception can find you another room if you want.”

“I—uh—you mean this room’s vacant?” he stumbled. Because it couldn’t be. There had to be a mistake. He looked again at the door to check the number, and it was definitely Josh’s room.

The other maid straightened up and looked at him the way his mom tended to when he’d said something particularly stupid, and the truth began to dawn on him. Josh had left the hotel. He’d left without telling Ryan. And that meant, had to mean, he’d left
Ryan.

He turned away from the doorway, from the maids’ sudden sharp curiosity, because it couldn’t be true, except it made total, sickening sense of why Josh hadn’t returned a single one of Ryan’s calls or texts. He’d been dumped.

Ryan somehow got back to his room and fumbled to get the door open. Before it had even closed behind him again, he folded in half like he’d just been kicked in the gut. Which it felt like he had been, because Josh was gone.

Wetness pricked at Ryan’s eyes and he struggled to breathe through the sudden weight on his chest. He
loved
Josh. He’d thought Josh felt something similar toward him. But he’d left Ryan and hadn’t even cared enough to tell him. A sob tore free, and Ryan stumbled to the bed, sinking down on it and burying his face in his hands, forcibly stopping any more sobs coming out. Anything to regain control, to pretend this wasn’t happening. Any minute now Josh was going to walk through the door and tell him he’d just changed rooms, idiot.

Except he wasn’t.

Gulping, ugly sobs shook him. Josh had gone. He’d taken Ryan’s declaration of love and walked away with it, and he wasn’t coming back.

Chapter 17

R
YAN
beat Jurgen that afternoon, his focus on the match ferocious. He did the compulsory press interviews, spent time with Stefan, and then finally, blessedly, retreated to the sanctuary of his room. Despite telling himself there was no point, he checked his phone one last time. No messages, no missed calls, and no texts.

Lost, he called Elena. As soon as he spoke, she heard in his voice that something was wrong. She listened as he stumbled his way through an explanation of what had happened. Or at least, what he understood of what had happened.

“Okay, first thing to say is he’s a dick. Second thing to say, he’s a dick. And finally, just in case you haven’t got this, Ryan—”

“Yeah, thanks, Elena. I think I got it.” Ryan swiped his hand under his nose because he was
not
crying about this. It was allergies, was all.

“If his ego is that fucking fragile—”

“But that’s the thing,” Ryan said. “I’ve seen him before when he’s been beaten by someone. He just rolls with it and moves on.”

“Was the guy who beat him sleeping with him?”

“I damn well hope not,” Ryan growled, unexpected possessiveness washing over him. “I mean, no.” They’d never talked about exclusivity, but with the amount of time they’d spent together, he couldn’t see how Josh could have fitted in any assignations. More importantly, he’d never gotten the impression Josh would have wanted to. Which brought him back to the root of the problem. “He stood up to his dad about me, and now he does this? I don’t get it.”

Elena sighed. “The problem is, Ryan, you’re not a dick so you don’t see the signs in other people. You trust everyone to be like you are, and they’re not.”

“But this is
Josh
,”
he protested.

“Who is not taking your calls right now when you haven’t done anything except beat him in a tennis match which he expected to win. Wounded ego much?”

Crap. He loved her, but she could be brutally straight-talking at times. His eyes pricked again. “You really think it was just—” His voice broke and he couldn’t continue.

“Listen, Ryan,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “I don’t know what was between you two. But if he can treat you this way, then he’s not worth wasting any more of your time on. You deserve so much better than that.”

“Yeah,” he whispered through the lump in his throat and ended the call.

Ryan sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face. So long as Josh had been the great Josh Andrews and Ryan had been the pity fuck, Josh had been cool with the arrangement. As soon as Ryan had started challenging Josh, he was out the door and gone. Maybe that had been what Josh had been grasping at all those months ago, when he’d had too much to drink that time in France. Ultimately, it all came down to business and who would win or lose on the court.

Ryan swallowed hard, but despite himself, the tears welled up. He’d really thought, really believed, that what he and Josh had together had meant something. And that was despite the warnings from Mitch and Tommy. He’d thought he’d known better. Just file Ryan Betancourt in the dictionary under “Fucking Idiot.” He should have known it was too good to be true that Josh Andrews, of all people, would ever be interested in him. He
had
known it, but he’d still believed every word of the fairy tale he’d spun for himself. He’d loved Josh, loved him so much it hurt. At that point, Ryan stumbled his way to the shower so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge any more wetness on his face.