Page 50 of Wicked

We’re back to that loaded topic.

“Or is it too personal? I did give you my word I wouldn’t pester for pieces of your personal life if we decided to do this.”

“Did we decide? Are we ‘together’?”

“Didn’t we? I said I was in. Oh, shit.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “You never said the same. I’m sorry, Harper. I assumed the talk of us being solid—” He hangs his head.

I slide my finger under his chin and tip his head up until our eyes meet.

“I don’t live with him because he and I aren’t good together. The months I lived with him was our heaven and hell, made up of moments of deep desire and intense anger toward one another. Stay in proximity for too long, and he and I would destroy one another, Ryker.”

“But your morning runs, the time you spend with him in the ring—”

I open my mouth. He grasps my jaw in his large palm.

“The two of you run by me and my teammates every fucking morning. Why now when I’ve never seen you and him on that route?”

He’s questioning the timing. Is it fate or was it something Shephard and I planned? And for what reason other than to mess with him and his teammates’ routine? I turn my head, freeing me from his grasp.

“There’s construction along the path Shephard and I normally take. That’s why we took to running along you and your teammate’s route. It’s also well lit and not a lot of traffic.”

He nods, but he’s not dropping the subject of me with Shephard.

“At practice, Brett goes on and on about how good you are with your punches and blocks. Don’t keep what you do with Shephard from me, Harper. Not if you want something real and lasting to work between us.”

“How can there be when you’ll get picked in the NFL Draft and leave me behind?”

Slight lurching back of his body, as though I slapped him. I sigh.

“I’m sorry, Ryker. Not my place. Three weeks together does not real and lasting make.”

I don’t dare hope for anything more from Ryker. I just want to feel what normal can be like for someone with my traumatic experiences, even if it’s fleeting.

I don’t believe in fairy tales or true love. My dad killed my idea of what love could be like when he murdered my mother. And my mother was in over her head when she fell head over heels for my father without fully understanding what he was capable of beneath the charming façade and handsome face.

Ryker reaches over and sandwiches my hands in his. I look at them and see our differences. Small to big. Smooth to rough skin. Pale to tan. But I also feel our similarities. His hold is gentle, comforting, and reassuring. I hope that’s how the kids see me, how Ryker is seeing me.

“Let’s take it one day at a time. With as fast as we’re moving—”

“We don’t want to crash and burn,” I interject.

“None of that.” He drops a kiss on his clasped hands, my own nestled in his.

Heat creeps into my cheeks. My heart skips a beat. For such a big and intimidating guy, he can be so gentle.

“So tomorrow you’ll hop on a plane with him?”

“Yes. We’ll be back Sunday night.”

“Come to my place afterward. Stay. Monday morning, you run with me and my team. You’re fast and can keep up. Can outrun us too, I’m betting. Afterward, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Fuck Shephard if he doesn’t like his girl staying the night with me. What do you say?”

I don’t dispute his claim that I’m Shephard’s. If I did, I’d be lying.

“I’d like that, Ryker. I’ll stay the night with you.”

17

Harper

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