Читать книгу Winning Ruby Heart - Jennifer Lohmann - Страница 15
ОглавлениеRUBY WAS MOVING the small hotel table and chair around to accommodate dinner and a wheelchair when she heard a knock at the door. She looked through the peephole, saw a hand and opened the door. On Micah’s lap was a bag of takeout, and balanced on top of that was a tray holding two plastic cups with what looked like slushies inside.
“Margaritas.” He lifted one of the cups up to her with a smile after she had turned back from closing the door. “To loosen you up.”
“This is not an interview,” she insisted, not even questioning how he managed to get to-go margaritas. She had been right not to want him in this room. He took up too much space. He smelled too good. “And how do you know I drink? Maybe I don’t.”
“Another’s blood was fine, but alcohol is forbidden?” The tone sounded innocent enough, but the words stung. At least he didn’t dance around her crime with euphemisms. The incident, her mom called it, which blanketed the severity of her crime with blandness and implied that if they never called it what it was, it hadn’t happened.
Still, she didn’t need to have her face rubbed in it. Again. She was moving to reopen the door and push him out of her room when he opened his mouth again and said, “That crack was uncalled-for.”
“Especially if you want my participation in any kind of story.” She put her hand on the doorknob.
“I apologize.”
Her hand stopped on the door handle, the metal warming under her palm. She’d expected something less than an apology out of the great Micah Blackwell, especially for a crack about her blood doping. Silly Micah—she’d have accepted less. Her hand lifted off the handle and rested at her side.
“May I pull up a seat to dinner?” He waved to the table with one hand, the other on the wheel of his chair.
He was here now, and if he left, she’d know he’d been here by the smell of his cologne, the Mexican food on the table and the browsing history on her phone where she’d looked up the mechanics of sex with a paraplegic. God, she couldn’t even blame that thought on an athlete’s curiosity about the body. She pasted a bland smile on her face. That last thought was just her contrary, competitive nature talking anyway. He didn’t like her, and that made him a challenge. Contemplating the feel of his skin against hers was proof that approaching life as one contest after another was stupid. A middle ground existed somewhere between competition and the hollow life she was living now and it didn’t involve seeking out the one man who hated her above all else. That was perversity, pure and simple.
He smiled at her silence, completely unconcerned with the mental acrobatics she had to go through to take a step forward. And not to rush at him.
“You may pull up a seat,” she said, her haughtiness no compensation for her nerves. Then she slipped into the chair and let him pass out their supper. She choreographed the movements of her hands above the table so that hers never brushed his. The awareness she felt and her body’s intense curiosity each time their hands came within a hairbreadth was because she’d been living the life of a nun for five years. It was absolutely not because of Micah.
You tell yourself another tall one.
It couldn’t be Micah. She’d never survive.
The aroma of spice and beans wafting from the food overpowered the generic hotel room smell. While he opened the bag of tortilla chips and cup of salsa, she shoved a fork and napkin under his makeshift plate. Swallowing a sigh, she prepared herself to pretend that interrogation and attempted coercion was the same thing as conversation. Second to running, weathering a cross-examination might be her greatest skill.
When he smiled and asked about her drive down here, she realized she’d underestimated Micah. He was practiced at making people feel comfortable. As they made small talk about the changes to Chicago’s lakefront, the weather and the possibility of either baseball team making the playoffs, Ruby wondered if Micah’s skill at easing people’s anxiety had come after his disability, was part of his training to be a sportscaster, a natural trait that had helped make him a star football player or all of the above. Being a sportscaster had a least helped with the magic spell he was trying to weave and she was trying to resist. As far as she remembered, he hadn’t been nearly so charming five years ago.
He also hadn’t been trying, because who would waste the effort charming the sporting princess who’d had it all and been stupid enough to throw it all away? He hadn’t needed to try. She’d fallen prey to his face with probably little effort on his part. A walking, talking, running doll, with little else to recommend her.
“Do you hate me?” she asked, interrupting his story about meeting his childhood hero, Joe Montana.
She saw by his face that he was considering answering her question with a meaningless of course not, when he set his fork down, folded his arms on the table and looked at her. His eyes darkened as he regarded her and thought about her question. She would not squirm. She was not afraid of him any longer. Wary—but caution came from experience and was not the same as fear.
Finally, he said, “Why are you asking that question? Do you mean, do I hate that you can walk and I can’t? Do I hate that you are trying to return to your sport, even if only as an amateur, when I must report from the sidelines? Instead of hating, I could resent—”
She held up a hand to stop him. He might come up with reasons she hadn’t thought of yet and she wasn’t sure her tender decision not to be caged could withstand rough treatment. “Do you hate me for cheating? For throwing away a career and a life and a dream? For disgracing my sport? Can I be forgiven for that?”
The combination of exhaustion, tequila and heavy hotel drapes protecting her from the outside world must have made her willing to ask such a question. If she had let the world into this room by opening her blinds or turning on the television, she’d realize she was opening her heart to this man—again—and inviting him to stick a stake in it. But Micah had made her feel safe, so she’d stuck her neck out and was now waiting for him to drop the guillotine.
Instead, he was silent for several seconds. Ruby was about to tell him to forget she asked when he said, “Why are you asking me this question and not someone else?”
“Because when everyone close to me was telling me that blood doping was no big deal, you came right out and told me that I was the emperor wearing no clothes.” After that interview, faced with his scorn, she’d been naked, shivering with exposure. “If I specifically ask you for the truth, you won’t lie to me.”
Micah drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded her, again stripping away the protective layers she’d so carefully constructed over the past several years until her raw nakedness was exposed. She shivered.
“Do people lie to you regularly?” he asked.
“Forget it.” She shoved a heaping pile of refried beans onto her fork. It was more than she could fit in her mouth, but the protein in the beans would help her build back the layers she needed to protect herself. “Despite you pretending earlier, this isn’t a conversation. Hell, it’s not even an interview. This is turning into some weird therapy session.”
“You’re the one who asked the question.”
“And you’ve only answered with questions of your own. And how did it make you feel knowing that the people you trusted most said, ‘everyone does it,’ and you wanted to win so badly that you believed them? How does it make you feel that people call you a lying bitch at the grocery store for cheating and a betraying bitch for confessing?” she mocked.
Suddenly cold, she pushed her chair back from the table, using so much force that the back legs caught on the carpet and she had to grab on to the table before she toppled over. Once she’d righted herself, she rooted around in her bag for a sweatshirt, desperate for more cover. But she wasn’t going to run away and hide from him. When she returned to the table, she lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eyes.
The drumming of his fingers irritated her to no end. So did his placid face. He should be angry. Or something. Not this provoking openness that made her ask such questions in the first place. She pushed her beans around the take-out container. Forgive her or yell at her. None of this middle-ground crap.
“So people do lie to you.”
“I assume the ones calling me a bitch are expressing their true feelings. It’s the people who tell me, ‘it’s not so bad,’ that I doubt.” He was doing it again—getting her to answer a question without answering one himself. She scooped beans onto her fork and took a bite, again getting more beans than were possible for her to swallow easily. Maybe now she’d think and chew before giving in to his questions.
Micah took a big sip of his drink. Ruby mashed the beans with her tongue, wishing she were eating something chewy, like bread, so she could pretend her food needed several good chomps and fight her body’s reflex to swallow. Could she outchew him?
Just as she decided he wasn’t going to answer, Micah spoke. “I did hate you. After that interview, when you were so naive and stupid and blind about the trust you’d abused. And you had the audacity to compare your cheating to my disability. Like a freak accident that changed my body forever is the same thing as your calculated decision to modify yours. You hid out in your parents’ house, coming out only when it was convenient for you and, for the most part, your world has not changed. Meanwhile, I have to fight for the world to recognize that my life has as much worth now that I can’t wiggle my toes as it did when I could.”
She swallowed, the taste of her food overwhelmed by the bitterness of her past ignorance. “Yes, I’m...”
“Stop.” Weariness overcame his face. “Apologizing only makes it worse.”
“Can I agree that I was stupid?”
To her surprise—and apparently to his, as well—Micah smiled. “Yes, you can agree with me on that.” He cocked his head to the side and the pendant lamp caught a twinkle in his eyes. God, he was good-looking. “I like to be agreed with.”
“When you said hate, you used the past tense.”
“I have better things to spend my energy on than keeping alive a feeling as powerful as hate for you.”
About as much worth hating as a pebble stuck in his tire, she was sure. “So why interview me about ultramarathons? Why not Geoff Roes or Jenn Shelton or Currito?”
“Geoff has his own movie and Jenn her own book. Currito is an interesting guy, but you getting back into running would be the story of the year. Everyone would be wondering if America’s Darling had really reformed. You’d be back on the cover of People. Sports Illustrated would do another story on you. If Oprah were still on, you’d be invited to sit on her couch. And you know it, too.”
He was right, she did know it. And it was part of the reason she would say no to his requests until cows came home bearing her gold medal. “Since I’ve only recently been replaced as the sports villain du jour, I’m going to keep saying no to this idea you have of a feature on me, no matter how many times you call my mother.”
“Let’s make a deal.” Damn his wide, inviting eyes. He didn’t beg or make her beg, but there was something in the cast of his features and the assurance with which he carried himself that made her want to talk to him. “I’ll answer one of your questions for every one of mine you answer.”
She suppressed the feeling of small victory by clinging to reality. “You didn’t answer the second half of my first question.”
“Do you need my forgiveness to move on with your life?” His left dimple deepened as one side of his mouth kicked up in a smile.
“That’s a really annoying habit, you know.” She refused to be as amused by him as he was by himself.
“If you’d agreed to the bargain, then that would count as one of my questions.” He opened his arms to her. They looked so strong and protective that she wanted to crawl into them, so she looked away and only half heard what he said next. “The bargain is open-ended. You can keep a tally of questions I ask in your back pocket and use them against me.”
The dim hotel room. The buzz of the air conditioner. Light brown eyebrows shadowing blue eyes. She wasn’t safe here, as she’d led herself to believe. But she was better—in this room, life was certain. Micah couldn’t be relied on not to hurt her, but he would be honest with her when she asked, and enough people lied to her while trying not to hurt her that his honesty was enough for right now.
“Whatever I say is off-the-record. This isn’t an interview.”
“I agree to that.”
“Do you swear?”
“You said you wanted my opinion because I wouldn’t lie to you. I said I agreed this wasn’t an interview. Either you believe me or you don’t.”
Ruby put her elbows on the small table, wrapping her hands together in front of her mouth, while she thought about his question. Either you believe me or you don’t. “Trust me enough to close your eyes and leap across the chasm with me,” the soft blue of his eyes said. He raised an eyebrow at her and she looked away again.
She didn’t want to hide anymore. She didn’t want to be hounded, but she didn’t think she should have to live in a hole in the ground, either. She lowered her hands so they no longer blocked her face and looked him in the eye. “I don’t think I know what forgiveness is, so how do I know if I need it to move on with my life?”
Micah made a low whistling noise. Ruby looked down at her food, pushing the last bits of enchilada and beans around in the take-out container. After such an embarrassing confession, she should want to close the container, open the room door and encourage Micah out. Instead, she wanted to hear what he had to say. His opinion mattered—as it had five years ago. Only then it had sent her scurrying into her parents’ house in shame. Now she hoped to use what he told her to bust out forever.
The sucking of air through his teeth that had made the whistle ended, followed by a short laugh. He shook his head. “This is a much weightier conversation than I expected tonight.”
“What did you expect?”
“To lower your inhibitions with a margarita, fill your belly and quiet your mind with Mexican food, and get you to confess the secret, nefarious reason that you’ve started running again.”
A hot glimmer of betrayal flickered in her belly. “You said this wasn’t an interview.”
“You said this wasn’t going to be an interview and I agreed. I made no promises about not using my knowledge to get an interview later.”
His food was mostly eaten, she noticed, compared to the putty she’d made of her meal. She had to eat, so she reached across the table for a chip to dip into her concoction, asking, “And now?” before shoving the mess into her mouth.
“This series can help you.”
“Help me what? Help me win, right?” she said, mocking every lie she’d already been told. This will make you better, stronger, faster. The easy way her coach had led her from adding protein powder to her breakfast shakes to shoving an oxygen mask over her face to finally sticking a needle in her arm. “Tell me a lie I haven’t heard before.” The lip-puckering sweetness of the margarita would help wash the taste of deception out of her mouth, so she wrapped her lips around the straw and sucked in, her sip noisy and harsh.
“The whole world has been told their version of the rise and fall of America’s Darling. Don’t you want the chance to tell your side of the story?” He rested his arms on the table and leaned into her, the magnetism of his personality reaching across the table and pulling her into him as easily as if she had a cord coming out of her chest and he held the other end. “Tell the American public why you did it, what lessons you learned and how you’re a new and better person. Be an example of how a past can be remade into a stronger future. The public loves a good redemption story. Look at Mike Tyson and his pigeons.”
The cord snapped when she laughed. She fell back into her chair, causing the straw to bump her top teeth and the melting lime and tequila to burn the back of her throat. “Did you just compare me to Mike Tyson? He bit off some guy’s ear.”
“It wasn’t a great comparison....”
“He went to prison for rape—it was a terrible comparison.” She was silent for a moment. “Though I suppose cheating is cheating, whether it’s an ear or a needle.”
“And you don’t have pigeons.”
“I have a flock of backyard hens.”
“Really?” A smile as rich and decadent as chocolate melted across his face. Foolish hunger spread across her belly. Why Micah?
“No,” she said, reluctant to admit the truth. Seeing him completely reevaluate everything he knew about her had felt good, even if only for a moment. “My parents would never allow it. I’ve never even had a pet—not so much as a goldfish.” Her volunteer work at the shelter was for her, so she didn’t mention it. Besides, they weren’t her pets. “Look, I get that you’re trying to help. Or you think you’re trying to help. But America’s not interested in a redemption story, and I’m only running to prove to myself I still can. And it’s great.”
“A run around the block can’t teach you your feet still work?”
“A block is hardly the same thing as fifty kilometers.”
And fifty kilometers wasn’t the same thing as fifty miles. There weren’t many ultras in the summer, which gave her plenty of time to train for a longer race. Telling herself she was going to casually run a 50K hadn’t stopped her from putting together a training schedule for a fifty-mile race. And she’d planned to finish in line with the other elite runners, too. No casual run in the woods; it would be a race to the finish even if she crossed the finish line and fell over.
“And the second race?” His words brought her attention back to the present and the foolishness of the fifty-mile dream, especially if she did want to stay away from the attention of the press.
“To prove to myself that my parents couldn’t stop me.” And those three fucking minutes.
“And what will your excuse for run three be?”
She scowled at him.
“King Ramsey knows I was interested in someone other than Currito. And he’s not as oblivious as he seems. He’s going to figure out who you are, and he’ll be a lot more of a pest than I am. Any interview he gives you is likely to be a trap.”
“Getting out of traps is my specialty.”
“Don’t let your newfound sense of success trick you into being stupid. The interview I’m offering could be gold for your reputation. You could get your life back.”
“Said the spider to the fly.”
“What happened to trusting me?”
“I never said I trusted you, only that you would tell me the truth, even if your intentions for not lying to me are questionable. Five years ago you showed me the truth about myself, and it was devastating to me.” An understatement. “That it was also the kindest thing anyone could have done was an accident that I think you would have prevented had you known.”
When Micah reached across the table and took one of her hands in his, the shock waves of his touch reverberated through her body to her belly. His hand was more callused than she had expected. It was also warm and solid and strong. “I’m not sorry that what I said devastated you. But give me a chance to show the world the new person you’ve made from that devastation.”
She wished she could leave her hand in his all night and into the next morning. Crawl into bed with him and feel his strong arms wrapped around her. Find comfort in the warmth of his bare chest against her back. Not just sex, but a night in which she could pretend she was loved. “I hope I’m a new person, but it’s been five years and I’m still running and still living with my parents and I’m not sure what parts of me are new.”
“Be patient.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “One morning, I woke up in a different body than the one I remembered.” Then he laughed and gave her a rueful smile. “Of course, when everyone told me to be patient, I told them to fuck off, that I’d never been patient before in my life and I didn’t intend to start now.” He shrugged and his hand tightened against hers once again. “It’s still good advice, though.”
“You can’t run fifty kilometers and not be a model of patience. Or perseverance.” Not to mention the fifty miles she was planning in the back of her head. Stop that, Ruby. But thinking about Micah was no safer. “And we haven’t even talked about how patient I have been and will continue to be about my finances, because I’ll probably be dead before the lawsuits against me are resolved.”
“Let’s both hope it doesn’t come to that.” Micah slipped his hand out of hers, leaving it feeling limp and empty. “I should go. This has been a far more interesting—and more pleasant—conversation than I expected.”
He backed his chair away from the table and was maneuvering himself out of the tight hotel space when she thought to ask another question. “Why did you interview me? That first time?”
Micah moved so that he was looking at her, his face as expressionless as his voice when he answered, “The ratings, of course.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She knew—had known at the time—that her father had only agreed to the interview because he’d confused Micah’s loss of agility in his legs with a loss of agility in his mind. It was a miscalculation her father regretted to this day, though he blamed Micah for the mistake.
“Yes, I know what you mean.” Micah sat, suspended between the table and the door, assessing her yet again. “I was angry at your father and his arrogance. And I could have let my anger get in the way of the fabulous opportunity he offered on a silver platter wrapped up in gold ribbon. Or I could have harnessed my anger to do the best interview of my life. I decided on the latter.”
He put his hands on his wheels and the chair rolled forward, just slightly, then stopped. “Halfway through the interview, I was angrier at you than at your father. Your father is nothing. His position in life is due to his parents’ money, a good education and other people wilting under his bluster. You, though—you were something special.”
She grimaced at the past tense, the mistakes she’d made in her life floating around her. They weren’t threatening specters anymore, but they were ghosts all the same, and no exorcism she’d tried had rid her of them yet. “Patience, you said, right?”
“Whatever you remake yourself into, you won’t be the same as before. And no distance you run will bring that back.”
“I know.” She bit back angrier words. Of course she knew. The details of her suspension had been explained to her over and over and over until she could recite them in her sleep. There were no medals in her future, no matter what she did. She took a deep breath; she’d asked Micah for honesty. “I’m running for me.”
“I think I believe you.” Micah looked at his watch. “I really do have to go.”
“Don’t leave on my account.” She didn’t want to be alone in this hotel room again. When he rolled out that door, the promise of friendship would fade into prepared questions, studio lights and a voice-over turning her life into a movie trailer.
“No, I have to go on my account. I have to use the bathroom.”
She glanced to the doorway of her bathroom, assessing whether his chair would fit. “You can use mine. If you can’t close the door, I’ll step outside.”
“Ruby, I didn’t bring a catheter.”
“Oh.” She felt stupid for not realizing that. She stepped around him, putting her hand on the doorknob and bracing herself to let him out.
“Maybe the arms aren’t so attractive now that you know the details of how I pee?”
Her face got hot, and she was sure she’d turned bright red. “I wasn’t...” She didn’t realize he’d noticed, but she’d probably all but drooled at the ropy definition in his forearms. He wasn’t oblivious.
“Everyone admires my arms. I’m the only person who seems to remember that my legs still exist and are living their own life, even if we’re no longer on speaking terms.”
She had remembered his legs and wanted to see them, but she couldn’t figure out if it was an athlete’s natural curiosity about bodies or because of the way her insides tingled and her breath stilled when she thought of him. Curiosity or desire?
Her motivations probably didn’t matter to Micah. She shrugged. “I had someone stick a needle in my arm and pump a stranger’s blood through my body in order to win a shiny necklace. It would be silly for me to be put off by the plastic you use to pee.”
The smile she surprised out of him was as smooth as sin and just as confident. “Good night, Ruby.”
When she opened the door, the real world rushed in with the sounds of a couple laughing in the hallway, the beep of the elevator and the false brightness of the light outside her door. Micah wheeled out her door, and she watched until he disappeared around a corner.
