“And Troy piled on, didn’t he?”
“He’s a fucking asshole.” He says the words, and I know they’re meant to imply his indifference, but I can see it in his eyes: Ryan is anything but indifferent to the insults Troy flung his way.
“What did he say to you?” I ask, squeezing his wrist.
But Ryan pulls away.
“Ryan—”
“All I am is hockey,” he says again. “It’s all I have to offer you, Tess. I have no other way to earn a living. My dyslexia is so fucking severe—” He groans, pacing away. Behind him, the thunderhead rolls closer. The static rises in the air, the threat of rain looming.
“I barely made it through school,” he goes on. “They passed me through high school on a technicality. I took to the draft the first chance I had because I was never going to survive college. Tess, if I don’t have hockey, I have nothing. I have to play and earn and stay on the ice as long as possible. It’s not just about me and you and the life I wanna make for us. You know I’m putting Cassie through college too. And I’m hoping my mom will retire this year. It’s all on me.”
My heart thrums, loving how well he cares for those he loves. “Oh, honey, and no one can take that from you—”
“This can,” he shouts, shaking the papers at me. “I think this is a restraining order. Which means that if I get close to you, I can go to jail. Dealing with some bad press is one thing. Even with bad press, they’ll still let me play. But a criminal record for breaking a restraining order is a total non-fucking-starter. I’ll lose everything. My mom—my sister—” He spins away, shoulders heaving with emotion.
After a moment, I hold out my hand. “Give them to me, Ryan.”
He doesn’t turn around.
“Please,” I beg. “You said you trust me, remember? Did you mean it, or has this all been about the thrill of the chase?”
He spins around with a glare. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You trust me when we’re naked. You trust me with your body. Trust me with your heart too. Trust me, Ryan. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sticking. You’re sticking, and I’m sticking too. I can help you. I will help you.” I hold out my hand again, waiting.
Slowly, he nods and hands the papers over.
I take them, and he holds his phone flashlight over the pages. I squint, trying to make out the text. He’s right, it looks like someone reduced the print size to like eight percent. “Babe, I can barely read this either. I don’t think you can even file it looking like this. A judge would have a cow.” I scan the pages as best I can, checking the signatures. Slowly, I look up, a smile spreading on my face.
Ryan holds his breath. “Wait, Tess—fuck, why are you smiling?”
I drop the papers to my side, breathing a sigh of relief. “Because we’ve got him,” I whisper.
“What?”
I close my eyes, body humming. Oh god, I’ve got him. In his rush to checkmate me, Troy left himself exposed at last. He’s made a critical error. For so long, I’ve been the one running as he chased me around the board, claiming all my defenses and boxing me in the corner. Now it’s my turn to step boldly forward, a queen in her crown. I have everything I need to checkmate him. I have everything I need to be free.
Ryan looks down at me, his eyes searching my face. “Tess—”
I step in, wrapping my arms around his neck, the fraudulent restraining order still clutched in my hand. Pulling him down to me, I kiss his parted lips. He’s stiff against me, his body still coiled tight by fear. But each kiss softens his hesitation. I press myself against him, willing him to feel how much I need him, how much I love him. His mouth opens, and I flick my tongue between his lips, coaxing him.
Be with me, your goddess, your queen.
“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth. “I will never let him hurt you. I’m your goddess, remember? I protect what’s mine.”
With a groan, Ryan pulls me to him. He wraps me in his arms just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. A flash of lightning sparks overhead and we both gasp, breaking our kiss. I look up into his eyes and the heavens open, freezing cold rain pouring down.
“Come on,” he shouts over the din, grabbing my free hand.
“Wait,” I cry, anchoring my feet in the sand.
He spins around. “Tess, it’s not safe out here—”
“I don’t care about our pasts,” I call out to him. “I don’t care about this,” I add, dropping the wet documents into the surf. The tide pulls them back and I lose them in the waves. “Stand here with me and let the rain wash it all away.”