The Unforgiving Minute (31 page)

Josh stepped forward, a pleasant smile on his face, and made a placating gesture. “Guys, please, this is a residential area.”

“
Thank you
,”
a voice snapped from somewhere in the darkness, and the sound of a sash window being slammed down echoed around the street.

“Josh, when did you—”

“Have you always been—”

“Was Elena just a beard or did you—”

Josh again made that calming motion with his hands. “We’ve just come back from the Wimbledon Champions’ Ball, and yes, we did dance together, and no, there are no photos.” Ryan snuck a sideways glance at Josh, stunned by how relaxed and friendly he was in the face of this onslaught. “Which is just as well because apparently I’m a terrible dancer. It’s been a long day, so if you’ve got more questions, then talk to my dad about any interviews, okay?” Josh said reasonably. “If you could just let Ryan through to the door, that would be awesome.”

“Kiss him for us, Josh!”

The demand was taken up until it echoed round the street, making Ryan feel like a performing seal. Josh just smiled again. “Oh no, you all got your picture of that earlier,” he said. “’Night, all.”

And with an easy manner, he helped Ryan up the steps while answering questions about how coming out would affect his game—
It won’t; I’m the same player I was yesterday—
and what he and Ryan would do when they had to play one another—
Try to win, like always—
and if he’d had any other boyfriends—
One or two.

When they finally made it into the safety of the hall, the front door closed firmly behind them, Ryan looked through the security peephole onto the street. Most of the reporters were already gone. The few that were left were wandering round, smoking, or on a phone, presumably waiting just in case he or Josh made a sudden reappearance, or started a screaming match that could be heard from outside, or—well, he had absolutely no idea why they were still there. As he watched, it seemed like that occurred to them too, because even the last lingerers were beginning to retreat. Ryan felt like he could breathe again.

“How did you do that?” he asked, levering himself around on his crutches, in awe of Josh’s calm in the midst of what had felt like an assault.
And then he saw that Josh was pale, tight-lipped, and grim. His mask of ease had vanished with the shutting of the front door.

“I hate it,” Josh said. “I hate it so fucking much. Why can’t they just want to know about tennis?”

“Because you’re too good-looking for your own good,” Ryan said, trying somehow to lighten the mood, even though he still felt shaky from being crowded and shouted at like that. “You were totally awesome out there. Left to me, I’d either have curled up in a ball and cried, or tried to take some kneecaps out with my crutches. Or maybe both at the same time.”

Josh’s face slowly relaxed. “Somehow I can see that. Come on, you should get off that ankle.”

He got them both a drink, Ryan’s non-alcoholic because of his painkillers, and they ended up on the couch, leaning into one another like a pair of slightly drunken bookends.

“You really need to talk to my dad tomorrow,” Josh said, pretending not to notice Ryan’s flinch. “He knows everything there is to know about handling the media, their tricks, and the best way to keep them off your back.”

“Seems like you do too.”

“Long experience,” Josh said. “They’ll make stuff up anyway, but if you give them something, it makes them less desperate. You can’t give them too much though, because they’ll get bored and suspicious. And never use them to get a story out there, because that’s making a bargain with the devil. And don’t ever, not
ever,
trust a journalist.”

“So the whole Pulitzer thing….”

Josh snorted. “Yeah, not so much with the tabloid gossip crowd,” he said. “I’m not sure the love life of a tennis player is going to feature on the front cover of
Time
any time soon.”

“You never know, the first openly gay male Wimbledon Champion might.”

“Huh.” Josh took a sip of his whisky. “Maybe Dad had a point about the way we did it. A thoughtful, in-depth interview with a reputable journalist might have been a better way to go.”

“No way,” Ryan said. “There’d have been no kissing, and I liked the kissing.”

“You
always
like the kissing,” Josh said as he leaned in to kiss Ryan, lips coaxing Ryan’s mouth open so he could explore thoroughly. And even though he tasted of whisky, underneath that he tasted of
Josh,
and Ryan didn’t think he would ever get enough of that.

Josh finally pulled back. “Let’s go to bed.”

Chapter 32

T
HEY
lay together in the quiet darkness of Ryan’s bedroom. Once in bed, fatigue had caught up with them both but neither was willing to let the day end yet.

“Do you know what Mom said when she called earlier?” Ryan asked.

“Oddly enough, not having spoken to her, I don’t.”

“She said it was a shame that the person you were playing wasn’t very good,” Ryan said, trying not to laugh because laughing hurt his ribs
.
“She is
never
going to understand tennis, or what it was that you did out there.”

Josh huffed a brief acknowledgment.

“What happened today?” Ryan asked. “What changed that you could play him like that?”

“Really?” Josh asked, sounding surprised and a little hurt. “You really don’t get it? He was pleased you got hurt. Of course I’m not letting the fucker get away with that. To use Ms. Sanchez’s preferred term.”

Ryan swallowed, hard. “Thanks.” he said after a minute. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been as easy as Josh would have him believe, not like flicking a switch, but the important thing was that Josh had been able to do it. Maybe it was because he’d suddenly had a reason that couldn’t be sabotaged by misplaced guilt or shame. Or maybe he’d believed what Ryan had said to him about not having been stupid. Or maybe he’d just been really pissed. It wasn’t like Ryan knew about this stuff. The thing was, whatever the reason, he’d done it. He’d done it with complete conviction and, in doing so, Ryan hoped he’d repaired at least some of the damage Mitchell had caused.

“Speaking of Ms. Sanchez,” Josh continued, “did you know that Danny has a mystery date tomorrow night?”

“Oh really?” Ryan knew his eyebrows had just hit his hairline. “No, I did not know that. I might just have to invite Elena for lunch tomorrow. Assuming the paparazzi aren’t camped out on the doorstep and think I’m cheating on you already.”

“Doesn’t matter what they think,” Josh said. Which was pretty much what he’d said to Ryan after the match when they’d snatched a few private moments before Josh started his round of interviews. He’d confessed that, although he still badly wanted to keep some last vestige of privacy, those photos of Philippe’s wife had made him realize the only way to guarantee privacy was by not having a personal life at all. And he didn’t want to hide Ryan, he’d said, in between kisses. He didn’t see why he should have to. Ryan had been slightly worried Josh was having a belated teenage rebellion from the way he’d said that last bit so pugnaciously, but there hadn’t been a hint of that when he’d gone on to face the assembled press. Josh had simply donned his usual imperturbable Josh Andrews media persona. It was only tonight that Ryan had seen how much it cost Josh to put on that act.

 “Maybe we should do one of those serious interviews your dad was on about,” he suggested. “If we answer their questions, they’ll move on more quickly.”

“Maybe,” Josh said rather reluctantly, before changing the subject. “How long have you got the apartment for?”

“Another week. Leonie extended the rental when I got hurt because flying long-haul would hurt like a son of a bitch right now. Why? Where are you off to next?”

“I haven’t got any tournaments till the end of July.” Josh sounded pleased at the thought. “This is vacation time for me, with just some promotional stuff to do. I was thinking, if you’re staying, I will too.”

Ryan couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Sounds awesome. Mom and Dad are flying out to Florence in a week, so I thought I might join them there for a few days. It’s not like I can do much else at the moment.”

“I’ll need to get Dad to rework my schedule, but I’ve never been to Florence,” Josh said, and Ryan tried very hard not to betray the delighted surprise he felt. He figured that Josh hadn’t even noticed the way he’d just assumed control over his life, taking it away from Roger Andrews.

Then a thought struck Josh. “Hold on, if your parents are going overseas, who’s looking after Buddy and Sweet Pea?”

“One of Mom’s friends from the shelter. They always cover one another’s strays if either of them is away.”

“Will they be okay with her?”

“
He’s
even more of a soft touch for animals than my mom is, I promise. I’ll come with you when you fly back to the States and we can check in on them if you want.”

Josh thumped his pillow into shape with slightly unnecessary force. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“So how about we go to Florence, then while Mom and Dad go on to Rome, we head back to Denver? I’ve been thinking about looking at real estate and I haven’t a clue what sort of things I need to take into consideration. I was thinking maybe you could help me with that.”

“I could do that,” Josh said. Then he moved closer to Ryan. “I know what you’re doing, Betancourt. And for the record, you’re pretty awesome.”

“You too,” Ryan said. “Now come here and kiss me.”

“You’re getting far too used to ordering people around and getting them to do all the work. You’re going to have to make it up to me later, you know.”

“Make what up? I haven’t seen you actually obeying any of my orders yet.”

So Josh promptly kissed him. And then he kissed him some more, and the next order he obeyed was Ryan’s urgent one of not to stop, for the love of God to keep doing
that.

T
HE
pink of dawn was filtering through the blinds when they finally lay quietly together. Josh was close enough to Ryan that he could feel his steady heartbeat and hear his soft breathing as he slept.

Today had been almost perfect, and Ryan didn’t want it to end. But then, he thought, tomorrow was looking pretty perfect too, as were all the days that would come after that. His eyes closed of their own accord and he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

About the Author

S
ARAH
G
RANGER
is a sucker for a happy ending. She believes, however, that characters will only fully appreciate their happy ending if they’ve suffered along the way.

Sarah lives in the Cotswolds, an idyllic part of the English countryside with gently rolling hills, dry stone walls of golden stone, and fields dotted with sheep. She has shamefully broken with local tradition by not having a rose growing around her front door. When she isn’t writing, Sarah enjoys walking in the countryside with her elderly and affectionate black Labrador.

Her contact details are:

E-mail: [email protected]

Blog: http://sarahgrangerfiction.wordpress.com

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ARAH
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