Page 44 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires
A disappointing consideration grips my reality, thinking that maybe this is just Ryder catching me having a crush. Perhaps he is sending me to my room, like he wants me to think about how I’m crossing too many lines. Maybe he’s even disappointed in me, like he was contemplating bonding as co-workers.
A knee cracks as I stand, heading toward the stairs. “Good night, Ryder,” I gently say.
When I glance back down before disappearing from view, his eyes are already on me, looking me over with averyconflicted glower.
J U L I E
* * *
The next morning,Ryder is gone.
A slow, dreamy exhale clears my lungs as I stare at the empty driveway, wondering if I’ve imagined the entire night.
Eventually, I get myself out of bed to start the day. My heart is racing with excitement as I brew a pot of coffee, the smell of beans my pre-wake-up.
I rest my elbows on Andrew’s dining table, listening to the steam and drip of the coffeemaker, chewing on my nails. I have no idea what to do about my clear attraction to the champion of my gym. Or the fact that I felt a change in our accord last night. At the bare minimum, I have to consider our professional dynamic and how it has to be maintained.
I also need to cool off the steam that brews down south before I let my thoughts run any further. There’s a chance Ryder will confront me and tell me that this is all completely unprofessional and that I need to chill out or else he gets a new sports therapist. The more I consider it, the more I see the truth in that. He’s too determined to win Warlord.
Pouring some coffee into a mug that says Gatlinburg, Tennessee, I consider that maybe I just need a trip out in nature.
As my ass slides into the cold chair once more, holding my robe close while breathing in the steaming aroma, I think about Dolores. I pull out my phone, deciding it’s past seven in the morning, so not too early to text an early bird like her.
But I see there’s already a text from her.
Dolores 6:48 AM: sorry if this is early. Was just wanting to check in on how you’re doing today
Well, that surely is different. Is that what a caring mom is like? The simple question makes me almost forget about Ryder.
Julie 7:03 AM: Thanks, Dolores. I suppose I’m doing as fine as one can be. Ryder is even more of a mess for me, but at least that’s keeping me distracted, I suppose
I place my phone down. In our last conversation, Dolores told me I should come over more, especially whenever I’m feeling lonely. I told her to be careful with that offer, or I’llalwaysbe over.
My phone vibrates.
Dolores 7:06 AM: U want me to call? Been up for an hour, so it’s no problem for me
I stare at my phone. I know I should refuse, just to be polite, but dammit, I really want someone like a mom to talk to.
Peering around, realizing I’m about to have this conversation about Ryder right in Andrew’s home, I shout for the head coach, but only silence responds. I know he left this morning, but just to be safe, I slip on my shoes and walk outside to the far corner of his yard. The calm morning sun contradicts the turbulence inside of me.
Julie 7:06 AM: Yeah. Sure. If you’re fine with it, that’d be nice
Dolores’s name pops up on the screen, and I hit the little green phone icon.
“Hey, sorry, this is silly,” I say.
“Are you alright?”
“I am so sorry for burdening you with my stuff, but I just... my brain makes no sense anymore.”
I sip my coffee. The bitterness refocuses me, and I stare at the dewy grass underneath my slightly damp tennis shoes.
“Go ahead, Jules. What’s really getting to you?”
I look around like someone might be listening in. “Ryder was here last night, since… you know, because I’m here with Andrew. Nothing happened, but I definitelywantedsomething to happen. I mean, we sort of flirted? But I’m also now worried that he’s going to pull back... I can’t read him. And it’s driving me nuts. And I feel bad for having a crush on him, too. I don’t know if I can keep myself in check, honestly. I keep trying to find ways to give myself a mental ice bath, but they never work.”
It all spills out of me like I’m an overflowing rain collector, dribbling with drama and inconsequential hopes. Perhaps it’s because I’m stuck in limbo, and that’s a perfect breeding ground for anxiety.
