“I’m sorry.” I don’t really know what else to say. I can see it is hard for him. I can see it hurts him, so I move my hand out from under his and intertwine our fingers instead, squeezing him a little.
His gaze casts down at our laced hands and a small shudder rises up through him. That one small reaction to my touch means so much. Because I feel it too. This connection we have.
“He’s more catatonic now than anything. He was never violent or mean. Just isolated, which is how I think he wanted to be.”
“Have you ever tried talking to them about it?” I ask softly, not wanting to come off as judgmental or accusatory, because I’m absolutely not meaning to be.
“Yes. My dad said he had no interest in stopping, and my mother said she didn’t have a problem. I can’t help them if they’re not willing to help themselves.”
I nod my head agreeing with him. “True.” My thumb runs across his hand. “Still, it must be hard.” I squeeze again, and we fall into silence after that, but our hands never pull away.
We reach downtown Dallas and find a hotel that has a dope rooftop pool. When I initially thought out this trip, I did not intend to go first-class the entire way. I was thinking more middle of the road places, but that hasn’t exactly happened.
I’m not so concerned about the money, and Ryan has insisted on paying for a lot of dinners, but still. At some point I’m going to need to check on how much I’ve actually spent and maybe pull Ryan back a little. I get the feeling he has a lot of money. He doesn’t discuss it much, but he’s hinted at it and spends it like he must.
I have plenty of money; I just don’t like to spend it.
My father left me a large chunk when he died, and then when Eric died I inherited his trust fund as well as his life insurance. The thought of spending either of those makes me a little sick.
Whatever, for now I’m going to enjoy this and worry about the rest later.
11
Kate
* * *
I wake up early, as usual, and head for the hotel gym. Ryan and I did find our barbeque, which was stellar, but decided after two full nights out in New Orleans, our livers needed a rest. We both went to bed like good little kids around eleven.
When I enter the gym, it is empty save for one other guy on a treadmill hauling ass.
We do the typical gym stranger nod to each other when I hop on a treadmill a few away from him. I pop in my earbuds, set my pace, and zone out the way I normally do.
Running is not new for me, but the way I run is.
Before Eric and Maggie died, I did it when I could and for much shorter distances. Now I run harder and longer and with a lot more regularity. Exercise seems to help. I don’t know if it is the endorphins or the way my brain seems to shut off or what, but it’s all good.
I’m about twenty minutes and almost three miles in when I feel like I’m being watched. Turning my head to the left, I catch the eye of the guy on the other treadmill who is smiling at me like he wants to say something. Great, I hate gym talkers. I pull out my earbud on the side facing him and raise my eyebrows expectantly.
“You’ve got great form,” he calls out with an appreciative look, and I want to roll my eyes at that line.
“Thanks,” I say instead and offer a tight smile.
“Are you in Dallas long?”
Really guy? I mean, I’m fucking running here and you want to make chitchat? Does this look like the time or the place to try and pick me up? No, it doesn’t.
“Leaving today.”
“That’s too bad. I would love to show you around the city a little.” Jesus, this guy. Suddenly I’m a little uncomfortable that we are the only two in here.
“I’m all set,” I grin again and start to look away when the guy keeps going.
“What time are you leaving? I could give you a private tour this morning. Maybe take you out for breakfast.” His tone does not suggest that he wants to take me out for breakfast, unless it is after he has screwed me. I swear the blonde hair makes men think I’m stupid and easy.
I hate stereotypes, especially that one, but men seem to be all over it.
My head snaps in his direction, and I’m about to go off on the guy when someone beats me to it.
“That won’t be necessary.” I turn the other way—nearly falling off my damn treadmill—and see Ryan walking toward us. “The only person who’ll be giving my girl here a private tour or buying her breakfast, is me.”
I smile so goddamn big. I just can’t help it.
I would have happily laid into the guy and set down the law—something I have no problem doing, but it’s nice that I don’t have to. Men respond better to men in these types of situations for some stupid caveman-like reason.
“Isn’t that up to the lady?”
Really dude? Take the damn hint.
“Then, I have to agree with my boyfriend here. He’s the only one I’m interested in,” I smile at the overly zealous guy, blow Ryan a kiss, pop my earbud back in and pick up the pace since it had slowed during this little interaction. The guy takes the not-too-subtle hint and leaves the gym.
I look over to Ryan, who has occupied the treadmill next to mine.
“Thank you,” I say to him. “That guy just didn’t know when to quit.”
He shakes his head at me. “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds without someone hitting on you, can I?”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. A guy like that would have hit on anything with a pulse and a vagina.”
Ryan gives me a look that says I’m full of shit, but I let it go and so does he.
We start to run and begin to play the one-up game. Every time I increase my pace, so does he. Every time I add a little incline, he does too. And vice versa. After a few minutes of this bullshit, we’re both practically sprinting uphill.
“Ryan, you’re killing me,” I pant out, barely able to keep this up. He is smiling smugly and I want to smack it off his way too-good-looking face. “To hell with this.” I wheeze and begin to slow my pace and lower my incline. My thighs, calves, and ass are burning like crazy, not to mention my lungs.
He slows down too and after that little race, I’m done. I ran about three and a half miles and though I normally do a little over four, I cannot manage any more.
“Quitting on me already?”
I glare at him. “I was here twenty minutes before your lazy ass.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he winks and I roll my eyes at him.
“I’m going to shower. Come find me when you’re ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes me.
By the time I’m showered, changed, and packed up, I get a knock on my door. Ryan comes strolling in, freshly showered and smelling like his deodorant, shampoo, and his own unique scent. He’s wearing a worn, dark-green tee that matches his eyes, black shorts, and Chucks. His hair looks like he ran his fingers through it after the shower and didn’t bother doing anything else.
“What’s our plan today, doll?” He flops down onto my bed, and for the briefest flicker of a second, I get the urge to flop onto him. What the hell? I push it back quickly, because that is not going to happen.