The Unforgiving Minute (13 page)

H
E
NODDED
to Mitch as he walked into the locker room. Some players were fine about exchanging a few words before a match; others were adamant about not doing so. Ryan was always happy to chat briefly before plugging in his MP3 player and losing himself in his pre-match music selection, which took him to the place he needed to be before he walked out onto court—focused, yet relaxed.

Mitch had other ideas, however. He came over to Ryan and stood there chatting while Ryan got changed, talking about the weather conditions, commentating on the match that was going on before theirs, which he was watching on the TV in the corner, and not really shutting up. After their conversation the day before, when he’d promised nothing would change from them playing one another, Ryan didn’t like to ask him, politely, to get the hell out and leave him alone. He thought it might be taken the wrong way. And he’d been playing so well this far that a slight change in routine couldn’t hurt. He’d been following the same practice in the locker room for so long he hadn’t thought that he might actually benefit from a different approach these days. So he chatted idly with Mitch while they both made sure they were warmed up and ready, and as they walked out onto the court together, he felt good about the match that was to come, relaxed and happy in a different way from usual.

That feeling didn’t last long. He was, as Stefan told him afterward in no uncertain terms, mentally absent during the entire first set, which Mitch won 6-2. Ryan’s tactical brain showed up for the match about halfway through the second set, but by then it was too late. He was a break of serve down and couldn’t break Mitch back.

Mitch’s smile was rueful at the net afterward, but Ryan couldn’t blame him for Ryan’s own failings. He guessed his worry over Josh that morning was to blame for such a lapse in concentration, though he also thought he wouldn’t be varying his pre-match routine again, no matter how rude any other player might think him.

Mitch gave him a comforting clap on the back in the locker room later before charging off to do his press. Ryan walked out to face Stefan’s censure.

“It’s not that I mind you losing. What I cannot stand is that you did not try,” his coach told him.

Ryan hung his head because he knew he was right. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll do better next time.”

Unexpectedly, Stefan’s hand rested on his arm for a minute. “I know you will, Ryan,” he said. “You work hard and you do well. Everyone is allowed a few mistakes. Just do not make the same one again.”

Crap, that was almost human. “I won’t,” Ryan promised.

“Good. Now, you have two weeks’ vacation, and when you come back, we will work on what went wrong in this match, yes?”

With everything else that was going on, Ryan had managed to forget they’d built him in some vacation time. God, he needed it. “Sure,” he said. “Good luck with the golf.”

Stefan grunted. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”

Ryan grinned as he watched Stefan’s stocky, intimidating figure walk away. He was glad he wasn’t the one facing Stefan in the golf tournament he was playing next week.

H
E
GOT
a text from Josh, asking him to come up to his room once he got back to the hotel.

“Door’s open,” Josh called when he knocked on the door. Sure enough, Ryan found it was stopped from locking by the tournament program, which had been folded in half and wedged into the door frame.

“You realize the danger you could have been in if a bunch of your teenage fans had— Holy
shit
,”
Ryan said, as he walked in and saw the palatial room that Josh occupied. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, as Ryan’s had, but Josh’s had the most incredible view across to the mountains, not to mention the room itself was the size of a couple of tennis courts. Josh was sitting with his leg raised on a pile of cushions, not on a common or garden couch like Ryan had, but an honest-to-God chaise longue. And then…. “Tell me that is
not
a four-poster bed.”

“That is not a four-poster bed,” Josh said.

“So why does it have a post at each of its corners?”

“That would be because it’s a four-poster bed.”

“Holy freaking
crap,
do you score rooms this awesome every time?”

“Not so much. I think there was a mix-up with the bookings and I ended up with the Honeymoon Suite.”

“No kidding,” Ryan said. Then he remembered why he was seeing the room in the first place. “How’d you get on?”

Josh pulled a slight face. “It’s a mild sprain, but with my history, they want me to be careful. So Miami’s out; rest, elevation, and icing are in.”

“Sorry about that,” Ryan said. “D’you want an ice pack now?”

“It’s fine. Unless you just wanted an excuse to check out the rest of the suite.”

Intrigued, Ryan did. The bathroom was probably the same size as his room, and it wasn’t as if his room was exactly poky. There was a huge shower, with two dinner-plate-size showerheads, and…. “Is that a sunken whirlpool bath?”

“I think they call it a spa,” Josh said. “It sounds less vulgar, apparently.”

Ryan snorted. Then considered. “So, your knee. Just what activities are you restricted to?”

“I’m supposed to avoid putting weight on it as much as I can. Other than that, everything’s fair game,” Josh said with a smirk.

So they celebrated Josh’s medical good news in style, and if more water ended up on the marble floor of the bathroom than was strictly good for it, well, nobody needed to know.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ryan said softly to Josh later as they curled up together in that ridiculous bed as best they could, given that Josh’s knee was supported on a couple of pillows.

Josh kissed him. “Thanks,” he said, “for everything.”

Ryan shrugged slightly, embarrassed. “You going home to rest up?”

Josh sighed. “Guess so.”

“Me too. The Davis Cup means I’ve had to move my vacation time around, so I’m going home to nurse my mom’s latest collection of lame ducks for two weeks.”

“Your mom collects lame ducks?”

“And dogs and cats and hamsters. Chances are I’ll get home and find she’s tucked an injured bear cub into my bed.”

“You live with your parents?” Josh sounded surprised.

Ryan elbowed him in the ribs. “We can’t all be super-rich tennis stars, you know.”

Though actually, now Josh had said it, Ryan realized that he could, and probably should, start thinking about buying somewhere for himself. Up until now, even renting anywhere had been out of the question for him, and it hadn’t been a problem. His parents were always pleased to see him and happy to let him keep his stuff in his old bedroom. He’d never thought he’d be in a position where he was making enough money from tennis to buy somewhere for himself, but all of a sudden, he was. Maybe he should spend some of his vacation, when he wasn’t defleaing raccoons or whatever other treats his mom had in store for him, acquainting himself with the Denver real-estate market. And that was an absolutely
awesome
thought. Also, terrifying.

“I didn’t… I’m not….” Josh sounded awkward and self-conscious, and Ryan had to rewind to what he’d just said.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, you idiot,” he said, giving in to temptation and kissing the tip of Josh’s nose. It wrinkled, adorably. “You’ve won that prize money fair and square, through blood, sweat, and probably some tears. And if you were winning tournaments when you were five, you’ve got a few years head start on me. Talk to me about this when we’re in our midthirties and I’m living in my multimillion Beverly Hills mansion.”

“Idiot,” Josh said.

“That’s going to be Mr. Rich Idiot to
you.”

Josh reached and turned out the lights. “Whatever,” he said, and kissed Ryan again.

N
EXT
morning, Ryan had to be very strict indeed with himself not to give in to some sort of fantasy as he blinked awake to find himself curled up round Josh Andrews in the Honeymoon Suite of a five-star hotel. He was brought down to earth with a bump when Josh moved in the bed and hissed in pain. Ryan slid out of bed and got an instant ice pack from the pile on the coffee table.

“Breakfast?” he said hopefully, once the ice seemed to have had the desired effect.

“Room service?” Josh suggested. “I don’t want to go down to the restaurant like this.”

That made sense. It wasn’t only the walk, which wouldn’t do Josh’s knee any good. It was also the fact that everyone would see his injury. For as long as things were kept vague, nobody would know it was the same knee that was causing problems again.

It was fair to say that Ryan’s fantasies got another boost when room service was delivered and they ended up in bed together, eating breakfast. But he was awake enough to know the difference between reality and fantasy, and also awake enough to be able to enjoy the treat of pancakes and bacon to mark the start of his vacation.

“I was thinking,” Josh said as he slurped his way through his fourth cup of coffee. Ryan had never suspected him of being an addict.

“Hmm?” Ryan took advantage of Josh’s concentration on his caffeine to swipe a piece of bacon from his plate. Josh didn’t even seem to notice, busy as he was sucking down coffee.

When Josh didn’t say anything more, Ryan looked at him. “What?” he asked.

Josh hesitated. “Nothing,” he said, finally. He put his tray on the nightstand and pushed the covers back. “I’d better get my stuff sorted and find out what time my flight is.”

That was when it hit Ryan. It would be nearly a month before he next saw Josh.

“Hey,” he said.

Josh turned and looked at him.

“How are we going to do this? I mean, it’s another month until the Davis Cup.”

Josh looked away.

Ryan threw all thoughts of pride and dignity to the wind. “I don’t want to wait that long to see you again,” he said. Because if Josh didn’t feel the same way, it was better to know upfront.

“Yeah, about that,” Josh said, and he sounded uncertain and very young all of a sudden as he spoke to the wall he was currently studying. “Uh, you could always come out to LA with me? I mean, where I live there’s a court and a gym and stuff.”

“And a bed?” Ryan demanded, lunging delightedly at Josh and tackling him back down onto the bed. “Please tell me you have a bed.”

“I have a bed,” Josh said, laughing breathlessly under Ryan’s assault.

“Awesome. When’s our flight?”

Chapter 14

J
OSH
’
S
flight was full, so Ryan took a later one for the short hop to LA. That gave him time to call his mom and explain that he wouldn’t be coming home to visit. While she sounded disappointed, he thought there was also a bit of relief in her voice. Apparently a rescued house rabbit was currently living in his bedroom and she’d been somewhat perplexed about where to move the rabbit to that wouldn’t cause it extra stress.

Ryan landed at LAX later that day to find a limo driver waiting for him in arrivals, with Ryan’s name on a board. Ryan had assumed he’d take a cab, but the length of time it took to get to Josh’s house made him kind of glad he hadn’t. It would have cost a small fortune. Having a limo provided was an unexpected luxury, but even that failed to prepare him for the opulent splendor of Josh’s home. The driver, Chris, pulled up outside a massive pair of fancy metal gates and lowered his window to speak into some sort of speaker system. Realizing they’d arrived, Ryan sat up and paid attention, but all he could see was a high stone wall that flanked the gates, with trees planted on the other side, and a number of CCTV cameras placed at strategic points. The disembodied voice Chris was speaking to caused the gates to swing quietly open. Ryan tried hard to look as if he was used to this sort of thing all the time, but he lost the battle as the car rounded a sweeping drive and pulled up outside the impressive frontage of the sort of mansion Ryan reckoned could belong to a film star. He realized he should have expected it. He had some idea of the prize money Josh won and the money he attracted from sponsors. He just couldn’t relate what he was seeing to the guy he knew.

Josh came out to greet him, which was a relief because Ryan had started to half-expect a butler. He was walking with a cane, obviously avoiding putting weight on his knee as much as possible. Ryan picked up the giant cases that traveled the world with him and followed Josh into the house. His jaw dropped at the sight that greeted him. The hallway was built of gleaming marble, with a staircase that reminded him of those he’d seen in movies, curving around in a grand statement-making sweep. The breathtaking height of the hall was accentuated by the light pouring in through the windows and gilt-edged mirrors that were placed in exactly the right place to reflect the light. It was impressive, it was awe-inspiring, and it was the furthest thing from a home that Ryan could imagine.

Josh didn’t seem to notice his hesitation as he led the way down a lengthy, marble corridor into the kitchen. It looked more like a restaurant than a real kitchen. Three different stoves were built into one side of a long breakfast bar, with fancy stools on the other side, and in the other half of the kitchen, about a mile away, there was a polished dining table with chairs set around it. The hall might have been impressive, but this seemed like a monument to excess, unless you were in the regular habit of feeding a football team.