“I did too.”
“What about you? What do you miss the most?”
“You looking for me in the stands. Once we started dating and I was going to more games, I loved watching you try to spot me because the moment you would, the biggest smile would spread across your face. That image lives rent-free in my mind.”
“I loved seeing you in my jersey, cheering for me.”
“I remember when the person next to me found out I was your wife. She was going off about her favorite players and how she couldn’t believe you were married . . . especially to me.”
My grip on her grows tight. “Little did that woman know how infatuated I am with you.”
Her fingers dance across the short hairs on the back of my neck. “Can I ask you something?”
I pull away just enough so I can look her in the eyes. “You can ask me anything.”
“And you’ll be truthful?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Well, you remember when all that gossip went around about you and me? About how some fans believed I wasn’t fit enough to be with someone like you? Is that where The Jock Report originated? You always said it was because of Penn and your retirement, but it almost seems like that was the moment it became an idea in your head.”
I press my lips together and let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, that’s where The Jock Report originated.”
“How come you never told me that?”
“Because you were really sensitive about that situation, and I didn’t want you thinking I was riding in on my white horse trying to save the day. Hell, you didn’t even like talking about how it all went down, and you suffered so much. I didn’t want to remind you or take you back to that moment. It sounded far too close to the things your mom used to say, and I couldn’t bear you hurting.”
“Oh . . .”
“Are you mad?” I ask her.
Her eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head. “Not even a little.” And then she kisses me lightly on the mouth.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask Myla as I join her on the balcony of our hotel.
We left the wedding not long after the bride and groom took off, which was right after the cake was served. We spent a good portion of the night dancing, talking, and then fed each other cake at a table by ourselves. We spoke to Penn and Banner on occasion, but for the most part, we spent the evening alone, and I loved every goddamn second of it.
And now that we’re back in our hotel room, looking out over the vineyard, I keep thinking about how I let things between us go so awry. How could I go through my daily life not paying attention to her, not listening, not focusing? I can’t believe I took this woman for granted, and now that she’s slowly slipping from my grasp, I’m attempting anything and everything to keep her from leaving me.
“I’m thinking about what a great time I had with you here,” she answers as I slowly move the strap of her dress off her shoulder.
She tilts her head to the side, giving me a better angle at her neck, so I take advantage of it and pepper kisses along her skin.
“How I don’t want it to end,” she adds.
I want to tell her it doesn’t have to.
That we can stay here as long as she wants, that we can continue this back at our house.
That I will do just about anything to prolong this feeling of being able to hold her in my arms.
I slip the strap off her shoulder as I move my other hand past the open back of her dress, under the fabric to the front, where I grip her breast and play with her hard nipple.
“I love this, Ryot,” she says, and I notice that she said this, not you. And that hope that was blooming takes a hit. Is this a farewell for her? Is she treating this night as one glorified send-off?
I’m not sure my heart could handle it. Actually, I know it couldn’t.
I turn her around and press her against the balcony wall as I lift her chin so her lips are inches away. “I love you,” I say to her, my voice sounding strangled, shredded from the emotional turmoil we’ve been through. Her hand clasps mine as I repeat, “I love you so fucking much, Myla. And I know you don’t want to talk about this right now, but I need you to know how much—”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Myla stiffens, and she glances over my shoulder.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Nichole’s ringtone.” She pushes past me and goes into the room as she fixes the strap of her dress. I follow closely. She locates her phone and answers, her voice in a panic. “Nichole? Everything okay?”
I walk up to her, close enough to hear both sides of the conversation.
“Myla, I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” Myla asks, her body starting to shake.
“I wasn’t telling you the truth.”
“What do you mean?” Myla asks.
“I’m sick,” she says softly. “The cancer is back, and I didn’t want to tell you until you worked out things in your head, but I just passed out in my house, knocked my head on the counter, and now I’m in the emergency room, and I had no one else to call.”
“I’m coming,” Myla says through chattering teeth. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
“Thank you,” I hear Nichole say through tears.
Before Myla can say anything, I’m dialing Huxley’s number on my phone. It rings a few times before he picks up. “Ryot?”
“Hux, man, I need a favor.”
“Name it,” he says.
“Your plane, can I borrow it?”
“I’ll make arrangements now. Where and when do you need to leave?”
“Now and we have to go to Chicago.”
“Say no more. Be down in the lobby in ten minutes. I’ll have everything arranged.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re more than welcome. I’m assuming something is wrong?”
“I’ll fill you in later.” I thank him again and then hang up the phone as Myla still talks to Nichole on the phone.
I race around the room, packing us, shoving clothes and toiletries in our bags. I then strip out of my suit and into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I grab a set of leggings for Myla and one of my shirts and help her change while she stays on the phone with Nichole, reassuring her the entire time that everything will be okay. Once I have everything packed, I help her into a pair of sandals and say, “Got a plane. We need to head to the lobby where a car is waiting.”
Gratefulness passes over her eyes as I guide her out of the hotel room with our bags in hand. When we make it to the lobby, there’s a black SUV waiting for us. I hand off the bags and then help Myla into the car. Tears are streaming down her face. Once buckled up, I shoot off a text to Banner, asking him to grab Myla’s dress and my suit from the hotel room and anything I might have left behind and let him know I’ll be in Chicago for the foreseeable future.
Then I put away my phone as Myla hangs up. When she turns toward me, she falls into my arms and bawls.
I don’t ask questions.
I don’t say anything.
I just hold her and hope it’s not as serious as it sounds.
Chapter Twenty-Three