I walk into Riptide’s Bar and Grill and glance around. It’s a typical Americana-style bar with a mess of stuff on the walls and a menu too thick to be of any quality. Never trust a place that offers gator bites and quesadillas and pasta carbonara. They can do one of those things well, certainly not all three.
A pretty, college-aged girl in a Rip’s baseball shirt and cutoff jean shorts shows me outside. There are tons of picnic tables, both covered and uncovered. A stage area is set up off to the left. A central bar stands covered with stools all the way around it.
It’s nearly 7:00 p.m., which means a dusting of clouds makes for a pink and purple cotton candy-colored sunset over the grey ocean. It’s chilly too. I’m glad I have my sweater layered over my dress. The seating area is dotted every few feet with domed space heaters.
“Tess!”
I turn to see Rachel standing at the end of a table with a beer in her hand, laughing and waving me over. It looks like half the Rays are already here. I see Jean-Luc and his wife Lauren and their kids, Walsh and his girlfriend Amber, Novy and Morrow. Caleb and Jake are sitting with Ryan. His back is turned, and in all the commotion, he hasn’t noticed me yet.
“Well, well, well…”
I spin around to see Shelby standing right behind me with a little mini version of Josh balanced on her hip. He’s adorable, with dark hair, big dark eyes, and pouty pink baby lips. “Hi Shelb—”
“Nuh-uh,” she says, wagging a finger in my face. “If you think I don’t know what you did—”
“Shhh,” I cry, pulling her away from the rest of the group. “Ohmygod, it’s been days. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she counters with a false whisper, eyes narrowed at me.
“Because—well, what was I gonna say?” I huff. “‘Hey Shelby, check your nanny cam if you want a shot of me crawling in a devil costume to suck Ryan’s dick.’”
She chokes on a laugh. “Oh god, I didn’t actually see that part.”
“I—wait, what?” I blink at her, heart racing.
“Yeah, the camera angle isn’t great, so I really only saw the stuff that happened in the middle of the room,” she replies. “The stuff against the changing table was out of shot. But thanks for the visual—”
“What do I need to say or do for this to never be mentioned again?” I say, gripping her arm.
Baby Josh reaches out a chubby hand, putting it on my wrist.
Shelby considers for a moment, her caramel brown eyes searching my face. “You can sing ‘Careless Whisper.’ Now. Open the show.”
Oh my god. Of all the possible punishments, she has to pick this one? I’m an only-sings-in-the-shower kind of girl for a reason. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. “Pick something else,” I plead. “Anything else.”
Her eyes narrow as she surveys me. “No.”
I drop my hands away from her. “You’re a monster.”
She doesn’t back down. “And you fucked a Ray on my baby’s stuffed animals while dressed as the literal devil. So…”
I bite my lip, tears of mirth stinging my eyes. Oh, this is going to be god-awful. And she’ll have only herself to blame. “Fine. Any other requests?”
She considers. “Yeah, actually, I’d love it if you could throw a little Shania in there too.”
“Late ‘90s or early 2000s?”
She puts a finger under her chin, bobbing the squirmy baby on her hip. “Hmm…late ‘90s, I think.”
“Consider it done,” I reply. Then I lean in. “And then we are never discussing this again.”
Smiling, she nods and walks past me to go find her seat.
Well…fuck. What happens when you get booed off a karaoke stage? Do you have to leave the establishment? Does your name go up on a wall of offenders inside the restaurant?
“Hey, gorgeous.”
Ryan comes up behind me, his hands brushing my shoulders. Leaning in, he kisses the back of my head, and I fight the urge to lean into him. Remembering where we are, I go stiff and pull away, turning in his arms to break our connection.
“Ryan…”
He sighs, dropping his hands away. “Seriously? Are we still pretending to be just friends? Babe, the team doesn’t care—”
“We are just friends,” I reply. “Friends who fuck to feel good. That was the rule. That was your rule,” I add, giving him a firm look.
I don’t know why I’m trying to pick a fight with him. This just feels too public. And everything is still too unsettled. I’m unsettled. I haven’t heard a word from Troy in days, but I know he’s still having me followed. I’ve had the feeling of being watched when I walk in to work, when I go to the coffee shop down the street from the bungalow. There’s a grayish-black SUV that I see around all the time.
And the last thing I want to do is hurt Ryan or involve him any deeper in my mess. He doesn’t even know about the shredded documents hiding in my closet. He doesn’t know about the harassment or the stalking. I don’t want him to know. I want us to stay in our shiny pink bubble of privacy and orgasms and feeling good.
Which is probably about to pop anyway once he hears me sing.
He searches my face, actively fighting the urge to reach out and touch me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I do what I do best and deflect. “The camera records. Shelby knows what we did.”
“Oh…shit.” He lets out a little laugh and glances over his shoulder to where Shelby and Josh have just taken their seats. “Umm, well, I’ll talk to them—”
“No need,” I reply with a weak smile. “She already exacted her revenge on me. It’s done.”
“Wait—revenge?” His eyes go wide. “Tess, what—”
“I have to go.”
“Tess—”
“Go find your seat,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze. “You wanted something to record to take with you to your away games, right? Well, this is as good as you’re gonna get.”
Ignoring his confused protests, I slip past him and make my way to the stage.
As it happens, belting out god-awful renditions of ‘Careless Whisper’ and ‘Any Man Of Mine’ to a generous crowd is a great way to flip that ‘fuck it’ switch. By the time I sing my last note and the crowd goes crazy, I beeline straight for Ryan, determined to get drunk.
“That was amazing,” he calls, waving his phone. “I got it all recorded.”
I just roll my eyes. Of course, he finds my utter lack of singing talent charming.
“Add it to the collection,” Shelby teases from across the table.
I glare at her, hands on my hips. “Now, is that never talking about it again?”
She just laughs and mimes zipping her lips shut as she moves off to go say hi to the new arrivals.
I sit down at the picnic table between Ryan and Caleb, and Cay slides me a hard cider.
“Peach?” I say, sniffing the glass.
“Strawberry,” he replies.
“Mmm.” I take a sip, delighting in the taste. I like my beers the same way I like my desserts: sweet and fruity. And Caleb may not drink, but he’s a whizz at ordering them for me. I think he used to be a bartender during his dark days.
Ryan watches us, one brow raised.
“Oh,” I say with a laugh, patting Caleb’s shoulder. “It’s our weird friend thing. Mars and I have sea turtles, Cay and I have fruity beer, and Jake and I are actually friends.”
He just shrugs, checking out the menu.
We all settle in as a pair of ladies not affiliated with the Rays take the mic to perform a Streisand ballad. The cute hostess is actually a waitress, too. She leans her hip against the edge of the tables, laughing and flirting with the unmarried guys as she takes orders, flicking that black ponytail over her shoulder whenever she thinks Novy is looking.
“Here you go, honey,” the waitress says at Ryan over the opening notes of a second show tune. She bats her lashes as she slides him his beer. “Can I get you anything else?”
Let’s be clear, she’s only asking Ryan. Cay, with his shiny wedding ring and handsy husband, may as well be invisible. And I’m most definitely the competition. I have a feeling we’ll have to smash our own tomatoes if we want ketchup tonight. Either that or Ryan can pull some out of her shirt later.
“Nah, I’m all good for now, Cami, thanks,” he says, totally oblivious. “Hey, they’re actually pretty good,” he says, his eyes locked on the ladies in sequined shirts trading melodies.
Cami is still just standing there, waiting to see if she’ll get a look or a word. I raise a brow at her, and she casts me a simpering smile before she saunters off.
The ladies at the mic finish their stirring rendition of ‘The Way We Were,’ and everyone claps as they take their seats. When Morrow is called up to sing, the crowd goes wild. Even more than the Rays home crowd is the table in the back corner of screaming women. Their hair is cut and styled similarly, their makeup effortlessly contoured, and all of them are wearing cleavage-bearing shirts and jeans and skirts so tight they probably had to be sewn into them.
I peer around Caleb to get a better look. “Umm…guys? What’s with the Morrow fan section? Is he that much of a ladies’ man?”
Ryan and Caleb both follow the line of my gaze. Ryan groans as Caleb rolls his eyes.
“What?” I say, glancing between them.
“Those are the puck bunnies,” Caleb replies.
“Really?” I look again, curious. Rachel told me about this phenomenon. Apparently, it happens across pretty much all the major sports. Women will form fan clubs and haunt all the local favorites of the team—restaurants, coffee shops, clubs. “Isn’t it possible that they’re just actual fans of the sport?” I say with a shrug.
“Do you see any of us playing hockey right now?” Josh asks from across the table, balancing his son on his knee.
“Fans we like,” Jake adds from the other side of Cay. “You know, I think I actually have the most interesting conversations with female fans.” He turns to Caleb. “Remember that stats chick in college who did a paper on your shooting ratios?”
Caleb nods. “Her research got me a hat trick in my next game.”
“Yeah, fans like that we like,” Jake says again.
“So, you wouldn’t call the bunnies fans of the sport?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re fans of something,” Josh says.
“Well, what do they think is going to happen from sitting way over there?” I say, casting my eye back to the corner. “If they’re looking for a date or a hookup, why don’t they actually try talking to you guys?”
Caleb groans as Josh snorts into his beer.
“They’re not allowed over here,” Ryan replies.
I turn to face him. “What?”
He just shrugs. “Rip’s house rule. Puck bunnies sit over there, away from the WAGs and kids. If a Ray wants one, he has to go to them.”
“You can thank Lauren for that particular rule,” says Shelby, returning to the table.
“Uh-oh,” I laugh. “What happened?”
“When the Rays first got to Jax, let’s just say the bunnies were a little overzealous,” Shelby explains. “One actually sat on J-Lo’s lap. He tried to be nice about it and pushed her off. But then she plopped herself right back down, laughing like she thought he was a chair. So, he let Lauren handle it. She was sitting with me and the girls at the next table over…”
“Oh god,” I say, glancing down the table. Lauren Gerard is a beautiful, leggy blonde with the face and temper of an angel. I can only imagine what she looks like when she’s defending her man. “I bet she turned into a total banshee,” I tease.
“It was scary,” Josh says.
“J-Lo paid for all the bunnies’ dinners for how bad Lauren made them cry,” Shelby adds with a satisfied smirk.
“Noted. No sitting on Gerard’s lap,” I laugh, taking another sip of my beer.
The crowd cheers again as Morrow steps up to the mic. The band strikes up, and we all start to cheer as he belts out a pretty good rendition of “Can’t Have You” by the Jonas Brothers.
“You know, you can sit on my lap,” Ryan leans in to say in my ear.
I lean away, setting my beer down. “So, how often do you go bunny shopping?”
He looks at me, one brow raised. “What?”
“Come on, they can’t all not know how chairs work,” I tease. “Surely one has figured it out.”
He just shakes his head. “Tess…”
“What? I bet I could find you a good one. I’m an excellent wing woman. Cay, tell him,” I shout over at Caleb. “You can’t judge me by any previous failures I’ve had with Rachel. She’s impossible to shop for.”
“Facts,” Caleb says from my other side.
“Honestly, I feel a little vindicated now that I could never find her a good match,” I admit. “I was trying to narrow it down to one when that’s clearly not her style,” I tease at Caleb.
“It’s not mine either,” he says, slinging an arm around a distracted Jake and kissing him.
“Well, it’s my style,” Ryan says from my other side. “I’m a one-woman kind of man.”
“Would you ever let me wing woman for you?” I ask. “I bet we could find someone sweet and funny, maybe at the coffee shop or the beach? There’s still time to find you a cute date for the gala next week.”
He slow turns to glare at me. I know what I’m doing and so does he. “You wanna patrol the local beaches and coffee shops with me trying to find me a hot date for your gala?”
“You have a plus one invitation,” I reply with a shrug.
“Hey, Ryan, I’ve got your chicken wings here,” says Cami, stepping around the back of us. Is there a reason she needs to touch him? I don’t fucking think so. I narrow my eyes at the point where her hand rests on his shoulder. She carefully takes his order off the tray, placing it all in front of him. Another guy behind her is carrying a large tray. She’s too busy getting Ryan extra napkins, so that leaves the guy alone, handing out the rest of the food for our table.
The lights flash green and blue as Morrow sings his heart out at the chorus. The bunnies are all on their feet, cheering and screaming, their pomegranate martinis sloshing around.
I’m feeling sensory overload as the music pulses, the lights flash, and Cami is suddenly back, offering Ryan extra bleu cheese he didn’t ask for. Her breasts brush against his arm as she leans over to set it down, saying something I can’t hear over the music that makes him laugh. She’s quickly called away to another table, and Ryan watches me watch her leave.
“What about Cami?” he says, his smile falling the moment she’s gone.
“What about her?” I say, heart in my throat.
“She’s young and cute and clearly knows how chairs work,” he deadpans. “I think she’d make a great date for the gala. Should I ask her?”
The Rays around us all cheer as Morrow finishes his song, but Ryan and I may as well be alone in this crowded room. He’s all I see.
“Feel free,” I reply, knowing he’s just trying to get a rise out of me because I hurt his feelings. But no one hates me more than me right now, so he can spare me the hurt puppy look.
“You know what, maybe she’s free tonight,” he says, slapping his napkin down. “Hell, maybe she’s free right now. Why don’t I go ask her?”
“Ryan—” I reach for him as he gets up, but he shrugs away from me, passing Morrow as he saunters past the bunnies, moving quickly towards the doors.
I sit there, staring down at the food I can’t bear to eat. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m not anything.
“Jesus. That was worse than watching a car crash,” Caleb says. “You’re a fucking mess, Tess.”
I blink away my tears, glaring at him. “Says the guy who loved his best friend for ten years and did nothing about it.”
“Yeah, and if you used half the cells in that ginormous brain of yours—better yet, if you used half the sense of feeling in that bleeding heart you hold in your chest, you’d know not to make the same mistakes I did,” he snaps at me.
A tear slips down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. “I don’t know what to do, Cay. Everything is so…broken.”
He sighs. “You’re not broken, Tess. You’re scared. What did Mars say the other day?”
I close my eyes and repeat the words. “Life is short.”
“Damn fucking right,” he replies. “Life is short. Do you really want to spend the whole of it running? Or would you like to slow things down and live a little?”
His words pierce me like an arrow through the chest. “I wanna live.” I drop my face into my hands and groan, elbows on the table. “Oh god, I’m so tired of running.”
“Then go home to that sweet idiot who loves you,” he says, his voice in my ear as the music gets louder. Shelby is on the stage now, ready to belt out some Kesha.
I glance up, meeting his dark gaze.
“Stop living life like you’re fucking scared of it. I lived that way for ten years. I’ll never get those ten years back. Go.” He shoves my food away from me and points over his shoulder towards the doors. “Go home, Tess.”
Home.
I’ve never had a home. My mother’s apartment certainly wasn’t a home. Neither were any of the half-dozen guest rooms and couches I drifted around as a kid. And even as I was madly in love with Troy, our home never felt like a space I defined. We lived in his family’s property, using their decorators, mirroring their tastes.
The closest I’ve ever felt to feeling like I had a home was when I lived with Rachel. But even then, the apartment itself never felt like home. We made it homey with our decorations and the smells of our cooking and baking, the sound of our laughter. She was my home.
Go home.
Now Rachel has a new home and he’s sitting right next to me. Caleb is her home. Caleb and Jake and Ilmari. Maybe that’s why she and I get along so well. We don’t find our home in places or things. We find them in people. For however brief a time, Rachel was my home. Now, we both need to move on.
Go home to Ryan.
That’s what Caleb is implying—that despite all the odds, despite all the feelings of insecurity I have, telling me I don’t deserve this, I have a home again. It’s not Ilmari’s bungalow. It’s the man sharing it with me. The sweet, twenty-two-year-old man who plays hockey and loves Mario Kart and can never answer a single text message. The man who always puts the oven on the wrong setting even though you tell him three times. The man who needs a haircut and fucks me like a god. The man who makes me laugh and listens when I speak and holds me when I cry. The man who’s been showing me every day since the day we met how he intends to put me first.
Ryan Langley.
My Ryan.
My home.
“Tess?” Caleb says, a dark brow raised.
I turn to face him, fresh tears in my eyes.
He looks at me, his gaze darting left then right. Then he smiles, just the corner of his mouth lifting, satisfied with what he sees. “There she is. Hey, stranger.”
I smile, swallowing back the emotion thick in my throat. “Tell Rachel I went home?”
He nods, patting my thigh. “You got it.”
Shoving myself up from the picnic table, I hurry after Ryan, not bothering to look back.
