Page 119 of The Right Move

Then I feel his fingers slip into my wet hair, separating the strands into three equal parts.

“Are you braiding my hair?”

“Yes.”

Jesus. This man. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He chuckles quietly. “My twin sister has a head full of natural curls and you’re asking where I learned how to braid?”

And now I’m picturing a little Ryan helping a little Stevie with her hair and I’m sick and swooning and I want to cry all over again.

I lean into the moment of vulnerability. “Did I do something wrong last night?”

“No. God no. You were perfect.”

“Then why’d you leave me?”

He exhales a long sigh. “Because I’m fucked up, Blue.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am,” he bursts. “I had…” He pauses, his long fingers holding onto my partially braided hair. “You’re a fucking gift, Ind, and I cannot believe I made you feel anything less than that. I’m so sorry. I truly am.”

Turning back, I look at him. There’s a world of apology in those blue-greens and I’ve come to learn though Ryan is sometimes sparse with his words, the ones he does say are intentional.

“I don’t know how to be casual with you, and that scares the shit out of me. I’m trying to. You’ve made it clear you don’t have anything left to give, and at the same time, I’m still so fucked up from things that you don’t even know about.” His face screws up in pain, quickly reminding me that I’ve barely scratched the surface of Ryan’s past. “It all hit me like a freight train last night.”

It’s evident this is weighing on his shoulders, maybe more than it’s affected me since last night. This conversation is important, and as much as I want answers, I know I don’t have the mental strength to give it the attention it deserves. The attention he deserves.

I turn back around, wrapping my hand around his calf.

“We can talk about it another day,” I suggest. “When I’m feeling better.”

Hand slipping around my neck, he palms my opposite cheek and drops a desperate kiss to the top of my head, lingering his lips there for a moment.

Then he resumes braiding my hair, leaving that conversation on hold.

His words were laced with desperation and honesty, but he is wrong about one thing. I do have something left to give. I’ve quickly learned that when I’m not putting on an act, when I’m encouraged to be unapologetically myself, the exhaustion from wearing a perfect mask is gone. I have the energy to love someone, and my heart has the space to accept it in return.

Alex may have drained the old me, but the real me, I have plenty left to give.

And I think I’d like to give the real me to Ryan if he wants it. I think he’d treat my heart with kindness.

24

RYAN

Morning shootaround was relaxed but filled with reporters waiting to talk to us the second we stepped off the court. I did my job, giving them enough of an inside scoop before I was back behind the microphone for pre-game interviews answering more probing questions.

This afternoon, I went home for a quick pre-game nap, finding Indy packing for another road trip. I was hoping she’d call out and give herself more time to rest, but she promised she was feeling like herself again. Her fever broke in the middle of night and the twenty-four-hour bug seems to have come and gone.

She freaked me out when I saw her at that party, clammy skin and sunken eyes. I didn’t realize she’d need someone to remind her to take care of herself, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. She spends so much time making others happy that I’m learning she tends to pass over her own well-being in the process.

“Shay.” Ron stops me in the hallway after I’ve finished my pre-game interviews. “We missed you at practice yesterday.”

He stands in his tailored suit, hand outstretched to shake mine.

“I’m sorry, sir. Indy was sick, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone. I know you have to fine me for an unexcused absence. I completely understand.”

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