Page 131 of Breaking Ryan Baylor

“He likes you, too.”

“I know,” he said. “We talk.”

“Oh, do you, now?”

“Yup. We’re practically besties at this point.”

“Right. Listen, Ryan, there’s so much I have to say to you, I don’t know...”

He shook his head and brought a finger to his lips.

“But I treated you like shit, Ryan...”

“You did the best you could with what you had in your arsenal at the time, Amara. I don’t hold anything against you. Nothing. No hard feelings, no ill will. You pulled so much out of me that I wasn’t ready to deal with, refused to deal with, and you forced me to face some truths about myself. Sometimes, the universe has a fucked-up way of getting you to do what it needs you to do.” He shrugged.

“So, you don’t hate me?”

“No, I don’t hate you, Amara McDonough. Quite the opposite.”

“Well, I don’t hate you, too, Ryan Baylor.”

Breaking Ryan Baylor (43)

"You nervous?” Hayes asked, as the ETA on the GPS now showed two minutes.

“Why would I be nervous?” Ryan asked.

“Um, let’s see. Were you around for the last eight fuckin’ months, or did I dream all this shit?”

“Why? Are you?”

“Nah. More excited than nervous. I miss her, man.”

“Me too.”

It was May, and hockey season had ended about a month ago with Bridgeport failing to make the post-season for the third year in a row.

Hayes had gotten lucky: there were no lingering complications from his concussion, and the hit hadn’t reinjured his shoulder. The league had also reviewed the play and determined that number 53’s hit was, in fact, dirty. He was given a $2,000 fine and a three-game suspension for it. After only having to sit out for a week, Hayes played the rest of the season flawlessly and was immediately called up to New York for the Islanders’ post-season, which had ended very quickly after they’d gotten swept in round one by the Devils.

It’d become very clear to everyone that Hayes had played in his last game as a Bridgeport Islander and would be on the opening night roster for New York when October rolled around.

“No one deserves it more than you, kid. No one,” Hastings had told him, pulling him in for a hug after the final game at Total Mortgage Arena.

Ryan had also gotten somewhat lucky. At his hearing, he’d only been assessed a $3,000 fine and a five-game suspension, allowing him to finish his season with Bridgeport.

His future there, however, hung in the balance.

“Baylor, we love you. We really do, but there’s no question you’re a liability,” Hastings had said to him during his post-season review meeting. “You fly off the handle too quickly. You gotta learn to get your emotions under control.”

“Coach, I’m not some loose cannon. Everything I did was to protect the people I love the most. If that makes me a liability, then so be it. I’ll never apologize for that.”

“Fair enough. Listen, you’ve got heart. That much is for sure. You played your ass off, you worked on whatever we asked you to work on without hesitation, and I respect that about you, Baylor. I don’t know what Sellars has planned for you, but whatever it is, and as much of a pain the fucking dick you’ve been? It’s been an honor coaching you, kid. I mean that.”

“Holy shit,” Hayes remarked, as they made a right onto the street and pulled into the driveway. “Mar got herself a fuckin’ sugar daddy, eh?”

“Good for her. She deserves to be happy,” Ryan said, parking the car they’d rented, as they both got out and he grabbed a briefcase from the trunk.

“The fuck’s in there anyway?” Hayes asked, pointing to it. “You servin’ her with court papers or some shit?

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