“Daddy” snorted.
“She’s not been good?” she asked.
“Sure. She only yakked up a stick in the middle of my bed at three A.M. last night. And then ate Michelle’s shoe this morning.”
Alison’s head whipped up so fast she got whiplash. “Michelle, your cute, single neighbor Michelle?”
“Yes.”
Alison’s stomach hit her toes. What was his way-too-cute, single neighbor Michelle doing at his place this morning—not wearing her cheap knockoff Manolos? “She . . . spent the night?”
Ryan was quiet for the length of a single heartbeat, but it was long enough for Alison’s heart to stop. She spun to walk away, but Ryan said her name.
She stopped. Didn’t turn back.
“You and I broke up,” he said quietly. “So not that it’s any of your business, but no, she didn’t spend the night. She was borrowing some milk.”
“Code for hitting on you. And you broke up with me, remember?”
“I do remember. You were unhappy.” His free hand settled on her arm. She hadn’t even heard him approach. Slowly he turned her to face him. “And you’ve given me no indication that anything has changed in that department or that you’d like to talk about it—” He broke off when Killer licked his face. With a low laugh, he kissed the top of the dog’s head.
And if Alison hadn’t already melted from his touch, she’d have melted at that.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked her.
Did she? The horrifying, embarrassing truth was, she didn’t know how to be happy. Nor did she know how to win him back. At least not without a complete personality change from introvert to extrovert, which she had no idea how to pull off. She stared at him, the words stuck in her throat.
After a beat, Ryan dropped his hand from her arm and stepped back, and she almost cried at the loss. “I thought . . .” she started, but had no idea how to finish.
“What? You thought what, Alison?”
She’d thought maybe she could continue to shut him out of her heart and still keep him. She’d thought . . . she’d thought he’d love her through this. Or beg her to stay. “I thought you loved me.” Not what she’d meant to say, and horrified, Alison covered her own mouth with her hand.
“My love for you had nothing to do with what happened,” he said.
She sucked in a breath at the past tense in that statement. A stab to her chest. The next and final stab came when he walked away, Killer eyeing her over his shoulder, her ridiculous little ears flopping in the wind, making Alison’s eyes sting.
SIMON WATCHED ALISON come off the field after talking to Ryan. He hadn’t been able to hear what she and Ryan had discussed, but he could tell by her defensive posture that it hadn’t been good. He and Ali were family, but he and Ryan were close too, always had been, which was how he knew Ryan was hurting more from the breakup than Alison pretended not to be.
He hurt for the both of them, but God himself couldn’t convince Alison to try something before she was ready—not even for the people who loved her. “You okay?” he asked as soon as she got within earshot.
She flipped her wrist to show him the I’m fine tat.
“I thought we talked about how using your words is necessary.”
“Sometimes it’s about silence,” she said.
“Yeah?” His gaze flicked to Ryan walking off the field with a couple of the guys. “How’s that working out for you?”
Behind his dad’s back, Alison flipped her wrist again, this time so she could show him her middle finger.
“Ha ha,” Simon said as his phone rang. Ryan. Sliding Alison a look, he answered.
“You coming to dinner with the team?” Ryan wanted to know.
He glanced over at his dad. “Sorry, can’t.”
“I’ve got Dale,” Alison said.
Simon put Ryan on mute. “What?”
“I’ll take him for you.”
“Why?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Okay, let me rephrase,” he said. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask, I offered. I promised him we’d marathon the latest season of Total Bellas.”
Still staring at her, Simon unmuted Ryan, said he’d catch up with them and to save him a seat. Then he disconnected and looked at Alison some more. She hated reality TV. “What am I missing?”
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I had an epiphany, okay? I realized that when I lost Ryan, I didn’t have a lot of friends.”
“And I’m what, chopped liver?”
“You’re related to me. You have to like me.”
He laughed. “No, I don’t.”
“But you do, right?”
She looked just a touch worried, so Simon tugged on a strand of her hair again. “I like you a whole lot, pissiness and all.”
Alison rolled her eyes. “I’m looking to make someone else like me.”
“Like a certain engineer named Ryan?”
“Well, yes, but I have to work my way up to him.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m not supergood at this, all right? But it’s not like I’m incapable or anything. I mean, I know how to love, blah blah. I’m just not good at peopling. So I’m going to practice.”
He blinked and opened his mouth, but before he could do anything, she jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare laugh. This means a lot to me. And it’s not just about a stupid guy either. I’m going to learn how to make and keep friendships going.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “I like it. How?”
“By practicing on you and your dad and anyone else I can think of. I googled some ideas during the game.” She pulled out her phone. “Item number one,” she read. “Get over yourself, the fear is in your head.” She grimaced. “That might be true. Item number two: Be nice—which by the way, your dad also suggested. Number three: Listen.” She nodded. “I could definitely do better there. And there’re a bunch of little tips, like be aware of your resting bitch face.”
He laughed.
“Whatever. There’s lots more things to try, like put yourself out there, don’t give in to the fear, show up . . . I can totally do this.” She paused. “Probably. Oh and speaking of that, your contact called me about the lease for the Oak Street building and I was very nice. I’ll get her an application and set up a time to meet with her.”
“Great.” Simon knew he should’ve told her right then and there that it was the same woman renting 2A. But he knew Alison. She’d drive him crazy about him pulling favors and want to know who this woman was to him. Frankly, he didn’t want to explain it because . . . he didn’t know what Emma was to him. A patient, yes. Also a friend. But there was more.
He wanted her.
He’d refused to acknowledge that for a long, long time now. But even when she’d been vulnerable and in so much pain, she’d been a force of bright light in a world that had become dark. She was resilient, determined, smart as hell, and incredibly, adorably sexy. And—and this was his favorite—stubborn as hell.
He’d told himself he could never have her, of course. She was a patient, and he wouldn’t cross the line. But the line was getting harder to see. “She’s the nicest person I know,” he said. “So be . . . really nice.”