The Unforgiving Minute (22 page)

“You keep doing that, we’re going to have to go back,” Josh warned, when Ryan eventually relinquished his mouth.

“It’s all exercise, isn’t it?”

“Good point,” Josh said, pausing only long enough to lower the net before leading the way at something resembling a sprint to the pool house. As Ryan followed him, something caused him to remove his gaze from enjoying a very fine view of Josh’s ass and glance up toward the house. Roger Andrews was standing on the terrace, mug in his hand, watching them. When he saw Ryan looking at him, he turned away, back into the house.

A
S
R
YAN
lay in bed, sated and perhaps just a little sweaty, reality started to intrude. He was due back in Paris in less than thirty-six hours. Josh made a casual-sounding noise of assent when he mentioned Paris, but when Ryan looked at him, he seemed to have hunched in on himself. He wouldn’t look Ryan in the face.

“Hey,” Ryan said. “What’s going on?” Because Josh, more than anyone, understood the demands of the tennis circuit. Josh certainly didn’t fold in on himself like this, like an uncertain teenager. That was what put it together for Ryan. Shit. If he could, he’d rip Chase Mitchell’s balls off and feed them to sharks. Except the toxicity of the man meant they would probably poison the sharks, and his mom would never forgive him for that.

“Nothing,” Josh said. He still wouldn’t look at Ryan.

He could see Josh was trying hard to control his first, instinctive reaction, until grim determination won out. But it was a scared determination, like Lily got when faced with a spider, knowing she had to deal with it somehow. It wasn’t the determination of someone who
knew
they could do something, like when Elena stomped that spider to kingdom come before inviting all its relatives to the party.

“You don’t have to go back yet,” Ryan said, hoping he’d pegged rightly what Josh was worried about.

“Tell that to Dad. Anyway, the longer I leave it, the harder it’ll get. I have to get back on the horse sometime.”

Except that facing fears only worked if you had the strength to do it, otherwise it backfired horribly. However hard he was trying to make up for it now, Josh’s initial reaction made it clear he wasn’t ready. Josh needed to be robust enough to face down whoever was at the other end of the court, because they’d be trying to psych him out, to intimidate him and dictate play. Hour after hour, day after day. Right now, Josh didn’t look like he could face down a blob of melted butter. He certainly wasn’t ready to face Chase Mitchell. The worst of it was, Mitchell would know that. He’d do whatever he could to capitalize on the way the old wounds he’d inflicted had been torn open again, leaking their poison and their hurt, not because Mitchell needed to in order to beat Josh, but because he found it fun. Ryan would have bet his entire winnings from Monte Carlo on the fact that the young Chase Mitchell used to pull the wings off bugs just because he could.

If Josh tried to go back now, it would end in disaster for him, emotional and professional.

“You know what, I have to go back to Denver to see my performance psychologist,” he said. “Why not come with me? We can do some altitude training when we’re there, and there’s courts and a gym just down the road from my parents.”

“Thirty-six hours,” Josh reminded him. “No way you can do all that and be rested enough when you get to Paris.”

“Screw Paris,” Ryan said, settling down more comfortably in the bed. “Let’s take a working vacation.”

Josh’s mouth worked soundlessly. “But it’s the
French Open.
You
can’t
blow it off,” he said finally, sounding for all the world like Ryan had suggested Wimbledon should be replaced by a line-dancing contest.

“Sure I can, if there’s something more important,” Ryan told him.

“Ryan, don’t, please,” Josh said, distressed. “You’ll lose points.”

“I don’t care.” Ryan pulled him into his arms. “You’re way more important than tennis.”

Josh inhaled sharply, and as Ryan’s arms tightened protectively around him, his breath started to come in uneven, nearly silent gasps against Ryan’s chest. All Ryan could do was hold him, and love him, and mentally curse out all the people in his life who had never once told Josh that simple fact. He knew now that his decision to scratch from Paris was the only one possible. Josh, despite his best attempts to pretend otherwise, was still a very long way from right.

Josh pulled away some minutes later, face averted as he apologized indistinctly. Ryan prodded him. “Shower,” he said. “I want breakfast.”

When Josh emerged from the shower, he seemed back to his usual self. To the point where he started getting on Ryan’s case to get a move on, because if they got to the kitchen early enough he might find out where Danny was hiding the coffee this time.

No chance, Ryan thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if Danny kept the coffee stash locked in a safe in his room because he knew damn well Josh regularly turned the kitchen upside down searching for it. Although caffeine was no longer on the list of prohibited substances, Josh’s nutritionist—and Danny and Carlos and Rob—came down on the side of the debate that it hindered rather than helped. This was despite Josh frequently showing them the latest research that supported his position, which was how much
better
he’d play if he were to be allowed a cup of coffee a day. The problem, as Ryan had gathered all too quickly, was that there was no way Josh would ever be able to stop at just the one cup. Though he didn’t say it to Josh, he thought the ban while Josh was playing and training was probably a good thing.

It occurred to him that they wouldn’t be training all that hard over the next week or so. “Guess the vacation bit of ‘working vacation’ means you get coffee.”

Josh brightened immeasurably at the prospect.

Ryan wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reception they’d receive when they walked into the kitchen to find Roger and Danny sitting at the breakfast bar. Roger was reading the paper while Danny was communing with his coffee, a look of bliss on his face. Maybe that was the real reason he kept it hidden from Josh—as a fellow addict, he was unwilling to share.

“Morning,” Josh said, and pulled out a chair to sit at the table, where, as usual, cereals were laid out, along with milk, bread, and fruit.

Danny smiled briefly, subjecting them both to a thorough scrutiny. The outright hostility he’d shown in Barcelona was gone, Ryan was thankful to see. He looked as if he were reserving judgment.

“You want juice, Ryan?”

Ryan nearly jumped out of his seat at Roger Andrews’s unexpected olive branch.

“Uh, yeah, thanks, that’d be great,” he stuttered. Roger withdrew a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice from the enormous fridge and brought it over to the table.

“Thanks, Dad,” Josh said, looking almost as surprised as Ryan felt.

Pouring himself some muesli, Ryan started slicing a banana and some strawberries to go on it to make it slightly more edible. No matter how long he’d been eating the stuff, it still reminded him of the food his mom gave guinea pigs. He sliced some fruit up for Josh too while he was at it.

Roger started talking to Danny about the headline in the paper, and Ryan slowly settled. Perhaps Roger was trying a new tactic, attempting to get him off-balance, but he didn’t think the man had the subtlety for that. Perhaps he’d accepted it was a new day and a new start all around.

Once Josh and Ryan had finished their unappetizing breakfast—well, that was Ryan’s view; Josh seemed to eat it all just fine without a word of complaint—Josh took the dishes over to the dishwasher. Roger glanced up as he passed.

“What’s the schedule for today, then?”

Josh finished stacking the dishes before turning round to face him. “I’ve got a session with Carlos and Xavier, and then I’m taking some time out. Ryan and I are going to Colorado for some altitude training before Queen’s and Wimbledon.” Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “So I guess everyone else gets some time off before we meet up in London,” he finished, almost questioningly.

“Talk to Rob. He’ll work out a plan to get you back in shape in time for Wimbledon.”

Josh nodded, and Ryan bristled slightly. Josh was in perfect shape, thank you very much, and he’d be the one to know. But as Roger Andrews seemed to have backed the hell off, Ryan wouldn’t cause any fights just for the sake of it.

“You need anything, you’ve got my number,” Danny said. “You too, Ryan. The way you throw yourself around that court, I’m not entirely sure how you still have all your limbs.” There was a slight smile in his eyes as he looked at them, and Ryan reckoned he’d passed whatever test Danny had had in mind.

W
HILE
Josh was out on court with Carlos, Ryan made a couple of phone calls. First, and most difficult, was to Stefan, to explain he wouldn’t be playing in Paris. He was frank about the fact he’d struggled with off-court happenings over the last few weeks and that these were now almost completely sorted out. He also told him, truthfully, that he was excited about coming back for Queen’s, for which he’d be completely focused. Stefan accepted it without any disapproval being communicated, but Ryan knew he’d be on probation when he returned. If he didn’t perform according to his promises, then he and Stefan might be in for a full and frank discussion, which with Stefan usually included lots of uses of the word “fucking,” about his commitment to tennis.

The second call was to his mom, who was delighted to hear he was coming home and happy that he’d be bringing someone with him. She was taken aback to learn they’d be there in a few hours because she’d thought he was in Europe, but it seemed like it was a good surprise.

“Is this Josh just a friend, or something more?”

“Mom,” Ryan begged, practically squirming with embarrassment.

“I’m only asking so I know whether to clear out the spare room,” she said, reasonable to the last.

After telling her that clearing the spare room would be quite unnecessary, thank you, and that they’d get a rental car at the airport, he ended the call, smiling. It had been a while since he’d been home, and he was looking forward to it. As well as seeing his parents, it would be good to have more of his things around him than he could fit in the cases that traveled the world with him. He just had to hope that his memory was reliable and that he really
had
taken that Josh Andrews poster down from above his bed.

Chapter 22

M
AKING
the turn onto his parents’ street, Ryan found himself relaxing the way he always did when he came home. There were only eight houses in the small cul-de-sac and everyone knew one another. It was like communities were supposed
to be, even if he hadn’t really appreciated that when he was younger and had broken Miss Thompson’s window while trying to perfect his serve. She had taken one look at the tennis ball lying on her living-room floor and had known precisely which
neighborhood child was responsible.

The front door opened just as Ryan reached out to ring the doorbell, meaning his parents must have been looking out for them. He grinned at them, delighted to be home, and equally delighted to have them meet Josh.

“Mom, Dad, this is Josh Andrews. Josh, my mom and dad.”

“Mrs. Betancourt,” Josh said, stretching out his hand.

“None of that now, call me Laura. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Ryan’s tennis friends.” And bless her for that low-key approach, because she must have recognized him from Ryan’s teenage crush, what with the poster and all those magazines lying round his room with Josh’s face staring up from them.

“Laura,” Josh repeated with a smile that Ryan was pretty sure had his mom eating out of his hand.

Josh turned to Ryan’s dad. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” he said, and almost managed to hide his surprise at the way his eyes had to keep traveling upward in order to find his dad’s face. Along with his messy hair, Ryan had gotten his height from his dad. His easy smile came from his mom.

“Well, come on in. Supper’s ready,” his mom invited.

With a brief diversion to the bathroom to wash up, minutes later they were both sitting down at the oak table in the kitchen where his mom dished up steak and baked potato and green beans.

“If there’s anything there you don’t like, Josh, just leave it. Ryan can go grocery shopping tomorrow so you boys can choose what you need for whatever tennis diet you’re on.”

Ryan loved the way the whole tennis world was such a mystery to both his parents, but that they tried anyway.

Conversation was polite and neutral at first, finding out where they were playing next, and where Josh was from, and if he was allergic to dogs.

“Wait, what? We have dogs now?” Ryan asked. “Oh, and what about the rabbit? Do we have to share the bed?”

Josh’s face was a study of confusion, interspersed with a little anxiety by the time Ryan finished his questioning.

“Yes, we have dogs now, and no, Sabrina’s found a new home with a lovely young couple who understand rabbits. She’s very happy there.”