The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)

INDY

I need a daily update from you. Is Ryan okay? He’s barely talked to me.

STEVIE

I think he’s scared, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

He’s got nothing to be scared of and he would know that if he would talk to me.

I know, Ind, but insecurities don’t exactly work that way.

It’s been a lonely few days, regardless that I’ve been on the road for work, surrounded by friends.

It no longer matters if I’m in a room full of people. If Ryan isn’t around, I’m lonely. And right now, not only is he not around, but he’s also not talking to me much either.

He’s not mad at me, and he’s not shutting me out, he’s simply giving me space to process the conversation with Alex. I don’t need space. I’ve told him exactly that, but the times we have talked over the last few days haven’t lasted long enough for me to explain what happened.

Part of me genuinely believes he thinks if he gives me enough time to explain, I’ll end up telling him I’m going back to my ex. But if Ryan gave me the time of day, I’d tell him how proud of myself I am for how I handled that conversation and reaffirm just how obsessed I am with the man I’m living with.

I would tell him that when Alex started crying, the old me would’ve jumped in to save him the second I saw he was upset, would’ve done anything in her power to make him happy, but the new me didn’t feel the burden of that responsibility anymore.

I would tell him that when Alex explained why he slept with someone else—because we were together for so long, because we had been best friends since we were five, and I was the only girl he had ever been with. Because he wanted to explore before settling down for good, and it was the biggest regret of his life. I would tell Ryan what I told Alex—it was the best thing to ever happen to me.

I would explain that when Alex asked me if he was the last person I’d been with because for him, there was no one before or after the night I caught him, I told him he asked the wrong question. He should’ve asked if he was the last person I loved, but regardless, the answer to both would be no.

And I would let Ryan know that when Alex asked me to go home with him, I told him my home is on the twenty-second floor of a building downtown. It’s an apartment that up until a few months ago was stark and sad, but now bursts with breakfasts shared over the kitchen island and more books than either of us have time to read.

I would also tell him that I was completely emotionless while sitting on that curb, but I was overwhelmed when he called me. I wasn’t sad per se, but for the first time since things ended, I had the chance to mourn that relationship. The answers I’d been given gave me the opportunity to officially close that chapter in my life. In that moment I grieved for the sad girl from months ago who needed those answers so badly, even though the woman I am now doesn’t care about his why’s. The tears didn’t mean I wanted that life back.

“This is my first time at this arena.” Caroline claps her hands in excitement, pulling me out of memory lane as we sit courtside at Ryan’s game in Arizona.

“It’s my first game outside of Chicago.” I force a smile, as if I’m not zoned out and staring at the visitors’ tunnel, waiting for Ryan to come out.

Both the Raptors and the Devils are in Phoenix and playing tonight. Ron and Caroline called and invited me to sit with them, but I can only stay for the first half. I’ll have to get to the airport during halftime to prep the plane so I can fly the hockey team home tonight.

Ryan assured me I didn’t have to come. That just because I missed one invite from the Morgans, they wouldn’t question it. But I didn’t come for some ruse or to convince them of our authenticity. I came for him.

Finally, both teams come out for warm-ups, the court swamped by giant basketball players stretching and running through layup lines. But behind the blur of them, I find Ryan across the court, standing in front of his team’s bench, dressed in his normal clothes with his eyes locked on me.

He’s such a good man, and my heart aches seeing him so concerned. He doesn’t look happy. He seems stressed.

Arms crossed over his broad chest, Ryan’s lips lift in a slight smile, but it’s not big enough to show off his dimples.

“Is Ryan doing all right?” Caroline asks from beside me.

“I’m not sure.” I keep my attention on him, but he refocuses on his team and the game he can’t play in. “I had a conversation with someone from my past a few days ago, and I haven’t had the opportunity to explain to Ryan that it didn’t mean anything. I think he’s been stressed over it.”

“Well”—she puts her hand over mine and squeezes—“that’s because he loves you. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

An awkward chuckle bubbles out of me. “He hasn’t told me that yet.”

“No?”

Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that to Caroline. Here she thinks that Ryan and I are happily in love and living together. Things have moved backwards for us. Living together, pretending to love each other, then developing real feelings.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that out loud, but I feel too vulnerable to lie right now.

“You know, Indy. Ryan doesn’t strike me as the type of man to be loud. He might not say it, might not scream it from the rooftops, but I could bet good money that he says it without words every single day.”

Cold coffee waiting for me in the fridge.

Fresh flowers, though sometimes dead because he tried too hard to keep them alive, sitting on the kitchen island for me at home after every road trip.

Refusing to let me pay rent.

Even giving me time to process my conversation with Alex.

“Sometimes the quietest love is the loudest,” she continues.

A sharp burn stings my eyes and nose as I sit courtside, surrounded by eighteen thousand fans. I’ve never thought of it that way. I once assumed that Alex’s loud declarations of love, showing me off, and saying it daily was what it meant to love someone. But that belief was quickly diminished when his actions no longer lined up with the words.

As much as I’m a hopeless romantic, I no longer need the over-the-top declarations. I don’t even need to be told. I simply want to feel it, be consumed by it. And Ryan has consumed me since the day I moved in.

That realization overwhelms me as warm-ups end. Ron finds his seat next to Caroline and after the team introductions, about twenty elementary-age kids are led out to the court.

The players, including Ryan, are each paired up with a student, ranging from ages seven to eleven. Apparently these twenty kids are from a local elementary school and are being honored for making their school’s dean’s list.

The students are given a jersey by each player they’re paired with as a photographer goes around the group and captures the moment.

It’s pretty adorable if I do say so myself. These men are huge, ranging from 6’3” to well over seven feet. Some of these students’ heads don’t even reach the players’ hips, but the awkward poses, to get both people in a photo, makes the moment even cuter.

Ryan is paired with a little girl who looks to be the youngest of the group. She doesn’t say a word to him as she stands at his side, doesn’t tell him her name or ask his. She only stares at his face with wide eyes. She could very well be nervous. How intimidating to be seven years old and standing in front of a crowd of thousands next to Ryan Shay of all people.

But when the photographer continues to call for her attention and she doesn’t turn to face him until Ryan points in his direction, it’s then that I realize her wide eyes are set on his lips, prepared to read them when he speaks. She’s deaf.

Surprisingly, Ryan picks up on it too.

As soon as the photographer gets his shot, Ryan crouches down on his haunches, making himself eye level with her.

He does the sign for “hello” with his hand touching his forehead and waving outward. He follows that up with a hand on his chest before the index and middle fingers on each hand cross over one another and tap twice, saying “my name.”

Then Ryan fingerspells his name. Slowly and cautiously.

Anyone in the Deaf community would pick up that he’s a beginner as he takes his time remembering each sign, but that’s not what matters.

The little girl’s face lights up as she watches him, catching on to how new he is when she slowly signs her name back.

Sarah.

He repeats her name with his fingers, also mouthing the word to confirm.

Her smile widens as she nods with so much excitement.

He points at himself again, followed by a motion that looks as if he were taking information from an open palm to his head, finished with the sign for “sign”—index fingers circling each other backward.

I am learning sign.

He mouths the words as well, but his sign was so clear that Sarah understands with no problem.

She grabs his hands, hopping around on her toes, unable to contain her joy, then gives him a double thumbs-up to tell him he’s doing a good job.

Ryan’s stunning smile beams, the two of them sharing a moment. I don’t know how much he’s communicated with a deaf person. I didn’t even know he was learning the language, but this moment is special for him, I can see it. The pride in his eyes, the joy radiating off him, successfully speaking to another with his hands.

“I didn’t know Ryan knew sign language,” Caroline says next to me.

“He doesn’t. He didn’t, I mean. I didn’t know he was learning.” My stare is locked on him. “I offered to teach him, but we hadn’t gotten around to starting yet.” I take a sharp inhale, attempting to compose myself. “My dad is deaf.”

“Oh, Indy.” She places her hand on top of mine, the both of us watching Ryan and Sarah. “That man loves you. That right there is quiet love.”

Refocusing, Sarah is partway into telling Ryan something as I rejoin their conversation. With her open number five hand, she signs at her chin then brings it up to her forehead. Ryan is confused, not yet understanding the signs for mom and dad, so she tugs at his sleeve and points to the sideline of the court where her parents stand, waving and so excited for their daughter.

“Excuse me.” I quickly stand from my seat, rushing off the court and to the bathroom before I start crying in front of eighteen thousand people and Ryan’s boss.

With my hands bracketed on the sink, I lose it. Tears stream down my face from the overwhelming knowledge that I’ve gone twenty-seven years without being loved the way Ryan Shay loves me. And now I have the privilege to be loved so selflessly, so attentively.

No one in my life has made an effort to communicate with my dad in his language. Not my life-long friends and not my boyfriend of six years. And in comes this man who I’ve only known for a few months, turning my life upside down and proving what it means to be loved.

He doesn’t need to say it and I don’t have to hear it. I already know. It happened so quietly, so effortlessly.

And he’s in there questioning whether I’m back with my ex. How could he ever imagine I’d want to be with someone else after I’ve spent months being loved the way he loves me?

I’ll take responsibility for that because even though I haven’t done anything to have him question my loyalty since things developed between us, I know Ryan is working with some major insecurities. Insecurities that, though I’ve experienced similar things, never impacted me quite the way they do him. And I need to be the one to reassure him, to remind him how wanted he is until he no longer has to question it.

Maybe words of affirmation are his love language. Maybe it’s quality time. I’m not sure, but I’m going to become fluent in them all until Ryan understands just how much I love him. How much I want him for his heart and not for his name.

Though, one day, I wouldn’t mind taking that too.

It isn’t until well into the first quarter, I’m able to compose myself enough to leave the bathroom. My eyes are so bloodshot and my skin so puffy, there’s no way to hide how hard I’ve been crying. My makeup is completely gone, but if I feel like it, I’ll redo it before my flight.

Ryan spots me as soon as I take a seat. His brows are creased, but his eyes are soft as the game buzzes around him. Sitting on the first chair after the coaching staff, he leans forward, knees to his elbows, mirroring the rest of the guys on the bench, but unlike them, he’s not watching the game unfold before him.

I offer him a slight smile to placate him.

“Are you okay?” he mouths from across the gym.

Nodding, I smile a bit more, holding myself back from screaming “I love you!” at the top of my lungs or even mouthing it back to him. I want to tell him when I’m standing directly in front of him. I want him to see it in my everyday actions. I want him to feel the intention behind the words.

Ryan bites his lower lip as if he wishes he could say more, but instead, he refocuses back on the game.

At halftime, I quickly leave for the airport, with the knowledge that the sooner I get back to Chicago, the sooner I can tell him.