Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 17

“Bro.” Marcus snapped his fingers.

I blinked. “Sorry, man. What’d you say?”

My friend grinned. “Said I’m heading out soon to meet up with Lauren. She asked me to meet her at a hotel room to talk, because she wasn’t giving my ‘manwhore ass’ her home address.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m gonna have a good night.”

With a laugh, I shook my head. “I hope she wants to tie you up and make you suffer.”

“God, so do I,” he sighed. “Tonight was fun.”

I nodded.

He finished his drink, leaning back on the couch while I swirled my empty glass, watching the melting ice cubes clink against the crystal. “You good, Griff?”

I pinched my eyes shut and sighed heavily. “I don’t know, man.”

It was easier to put on the mask at the fair, with dozens of people watching and wanting that transactional exchange from me and Marcus. They got it in spades too. The line ended up snaking through the fair, we both got our asses dunked more than a dozen times, and Ruby’s coworker Kenny kept selling tickets, beaming the entire time.

Ruby, however, never made her way back over to our game, and I knew that was intentional. No matter what I’d done all evening, I couldn’t get her face out of my head.

It wasn’t the shock over what I’d seen; it wasn’t the embarrassment or the tears that kept playing over and over and over on a buzzing loop.

It was the fear.

She was genuinely scared of my reaction.

Carefully setting down the glass, I braced my elbows on the tops of my thighs and held my head in my hands, staring down at the rug. “I think I gotta go,” I said quietly.

“Your friend,” he said knowingly.

I raised my head and pinned him with a look. “Don’t start. We just . . . we started a conversation that never got finished, and it was kinda heavy. I want to see if she’s okay.”

He pushed my phone across the coffee table. “Too bad they don’t make a little contraption where you can like, send a message or call her or something.”

My jaw tightened, and I slid my phone into my pocket. “No one asked for your input, smart-ass.”

It wasn’t like he was wrong. I could call. I could text. The end result would likely still be the same—she’d tell me she needed some space, but at least she’d know I was thinking about her. It just wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was selfish, but sitting idle right now was unthinkable. Sending a text, making a phone call—it wasn’t enough. From the moment I saw her again, there was something about Ruby that always, always had me wanting to do more. Be more. Be better, because she deserved that.

However the best version of me would act, that’s the Griffin she’d get.

I stood from the couch and held my fist out to Marcus, and he tapped it with a grin. “Be safe,” I told him. “I hope she makes you cry.”

“Me too,” he answered seriously.

Without overthinking what I was doing or what I was going to say, I hopped into my truck and found myself uncharacteristically nervous as I approached Ruby’s house. It was the first time I’d arrived in the dark, and if there hadn’t been any lights on—warm, inviting yellowy light spilling through the windows in the family room—I might have turned back.

I knocked briskly, then tucked my hands into my pockets as I stepped back from the door. Bruiser’s face shoved the curtain aside in the window, and he let out a couple of happy barks, his whole body wiggling.

At least someone in the house would be happy to see me.

Ruby’s face appeared in a small crack of the door, and it was immediately obvious she’d been crying.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Can I come in?”

Resting her temple on the frame of the door, she stared at me for a second before eventually nodding and backing up, opening the door to let Bruiser through to greet me.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, patting his side while he leaned against my legs. “Think you can let me in?”

Ruby clicked her tongue, and he bounded into the house. She was wearing the ivory lounge suit I’d bought her, and I couldn’t stop myself from staring at the high neck with a lightning bolt of comprehension.

Her fingers plucked at it after noticing where my gaze had landed. “Yes,” she said. “That’s why I like high-neck shirts.”

I cleared my throat, rocking slightly on my heels. “Makes sense.”

Silence cloaked the room. I swiped a hand over my mouth while I stared at her—unsure of what I could ask, or shouldn’t, or if she’d want to talk about it at all. When my hand dropped, I shook my head a little.

Ruby’s eyes bounced between mine, and then she groaned. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. You’re being weird. You don’t know what to say or . . . or how to handle me.”

“To be fair, I’ve never known how to handle you. You’re terrifying.”

She gave me a slightly narrow-eyed look that almost had me smiling.

“You are. Most women—” The narrow eyes turned into a full-on glare, and I exhaled a quiet laugh as I held up my hand in concession. “I won’t finish that sentence, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes searched mine. “You really want to know? I thought this . . . us . . . was just a fun diversion for you.”

“It was,” I admitted hoarsely. “But we’re friends, right?” Fuck if that word didn’t feel wrong. But there wasn’t another easy one to replace it. If there had been—a simple switch, something with fewer complications or strings attached—I would’ve used it.

She wasn’t just my friend, not in any way I’d normally use that word, but I couldn’t say that to her without a ripple effect.

“I guess,” she answered after a brief hesitation.

“Why were you crying?” I asked.

Self-consciously, she swiped under her eyes, removing some lingering mascara. “I wasn’t.”

I gave her a look.

“Much,” she conceded with a small shrug. “I don’t know why, exactly. I haven’t had to talk about this with anyone new in so long. Just brought up a lot of feelings, and it’s always better to let that out than pretend like they don’t exist and shove them away.”

“Lauren knows?”

She nodded. “So does Kenny. My parents, obviously, but they’re gone on their trip.”

My brow furrowed. “You said they couldn’t go right after they retired.”

Her hand landed lightly on her chest and tapped. “This is why.” She swallowed hard, eyes anywhere but on mine. “The couple of years after a heart transplant are . . . stressful.”

Everything inside me felt heavy, like I was carrying a weight over every inch of every bone that held me up. Like my muscles were fatigued in a way that I wasn’t used to. “I’d like to hear about it, if you want to tell me.”

She gestured to the couch. “Sit. It feels even more awkward that we’re just standing by the door, because all I keep thinking is that you’re doing it so you can plan a quick exit.”

“That might be true if I wasn’t the one who showed up unannounced.” I took a seat, finding her eyes as soon as I did. “I want to be here.”

Ruby’s face was sheepish, and her shoulders sank as she sighed. “I know you do.” Then she pinched her eyes shut briefly, prying them open again as she clasped her hands together in her lap. “You can . . . you can ask me some questions, if you want.”

“Only if you’re comfortable talking about it.” I held her gaze. “I’m curious. But I don’t want you talking about anything that upsets you.”

Ruby licked her lips and sat back in her corner of the couch, pulling a throw pillow into her lap and hugging it to her chest. Bruiser must’ve sensed that it wasn’t cuddle time, because he flopped onto the floor next to the couch with a loud groan.

“I didn’t know I was sick until just after college.” She pulled at a tassel on the pillow. “We started some testing a few months before I graduated because I fainted a couple of times after I did a hard workout. I was lightheaded, had some palpitations. We didn’t think it was serious,” she said quietly.

“But it was.”

She nodded. “Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” Ruby said evenly. “It’s a . . . thickening of the heart muscle. Eventually, it makes it hard for the heart to pump blood correctly.”

I sat quietly while she talked by rote, listing off signs and symptoms, things she dismissed as common while, unbeknownst to her and her family, her heart was growing sluggish and hard. Her voice stayed steady and her eyes dry while she talked about all the different medications and treatments they’d tried. And how when they’d failed, at the age of twenty-five, she was a candidate for a heart transplant.

Time passed strangely while I sat and listened. It felt like hours. Minutes. Seconds. Days. My mind was curiously blank while she talked about the young woman who died in a car accident, a perfect match for her, and it was three days before her twenty-sixth birthday that they received a call telling her to come in for surgery.

Her hands relaxed at some point, easing their grip off the pillow, and consumed by a sudden urge to touch her, just a little, I reached forward slowly to pluck one of them off her lap so I could hold it in my own. Her eyes pinched shut when I held it up to my mouth and let her fingertips rest against my lips.

I didn’t even really kiss them; I just laid them there so I could feel some part of her. Where my thumb held her wrist, I could feel the steady thrumming of her pulse, and the fragile thump, thump, thump made my throat feel impossibly thick.

When she spoke next, Ruby’s voice wasn’t even anymore. She lost the steadiness that had held her upright. Her chin wobbled, but she sucked in a deep breath through her nose.

“I didn’t feel like a real human after my surgery,” she whispered, eyes locked on her fingers against my mouth. “I felt like Frankenstein’s monster. Carved up and pieced together and . . . terrifying. Everyone was looking at me like I should be relieved and happy, and I was, but . . .” Ruby exhaled shakily. “I didn’t feel like myself for so long.”

My eyes felt dry and hot and filled with sand, and I fought against a tide of restlessness, hearing her say something like that about herself—that she felt like a monster from a cautionary tale. The book on her table made sense now, and I made a mental note to try to read that one too.

“When did that change?” I asked, my voice rough from disuse. I kept her fingers in place, and she shivered slightly when my lips brushed her knuckles as I spoke.

From his perch on the floor, Bruiser whined, notching his big square jaw on the couch by his mistress’s leg like he could sense her distress.

“It took almost three years. I was so focused on staying healthy. Walking every day. I was so strict with what I ate, drank, never went out—outside of work—because I was so afraid of getting sick.” Ruby licked her bottom lip, carefully extracting her hand from mine to scratch at Bruiser’s head. He settled, eyes eventually falling closed.

“And then I just wanted to live. Not anything crazy, like jumping out of an airplane. But normal things, you know? Like stay up all night talking to someone because the conversation is so good, and I forget to care about sleep. Or a really good one-night stand or going on a long drive in a beautiful convertible. Dance with someone in a club and not worry about people watching.” She shrugged one shoulder lightly. “It all sounds so small, but it’s big to me. And I was sick of not doing any of those things.”

Fucking hell, I was going to cry, wasn’t I? It was the list of simple things, all of which I’d taken for granted but now seemed like a fucking miracle. How thoroughly this woman had humbled me, without intention or forethought. I wasn’t sure my life would ever quite look the same after this. After her.

“And you’re okay now?”

She pulled in a slow breath, eyes locked on her dog. “I’ll always be a little bit at risk,” she answered carefully. “I take immunosuppressants to make sure my body doesn’t reject the heart, but an infection would be much worse for me than anyone else with a normal immune system.”

When her eyes finally lifted again, there was so much heartache there that I felt it like a tear down the middle of my chest. “About half the people who survive the first year after a transplant should live about thirteen years or so. Some live more. Some live less.” She shrugged, like she wasn’t talking about possibly fucking dying in her forties.

A shocked gust of air pushed from my lungs, and I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and sinking my head into my hands. “Holy shit, Ruby.”

When I looked back up again, her lips—those beautiful soft, soft lips—were curled in a tiny little smile. “That’s why I told you not to fall in love with me. I’m a terrible long-term bet.”

The urge to bolt was so fucking strong.

Facing her—facing this—was a lot like being shoved off the side of a ship when I least expected it, and the thrashing for air only seemed to make it worse. Sucking in a deep breath helped, and I straightened my shoulders as I stared at her.

She fidgeted. “Say something.”

Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it up.

There had been so many situations in my life that I’d treated flippantly, that I hadn’t held with care or respect, and if this became one of them, I’d never forgive myself. I’d never be able to look myself in the mirror again if I caused this woman more pain than she’d already experienced.

This wasn’t a time to make a joke or pretend like the things she’d admitted to me weren’t precious, because they were. The thought of this woman not feeling human—God, if it didn’t break my fucking heart.

No, this was a moment for honesty. A moment to trade places with Ruby’s stunning show of vulnerability, even though the mere thought clawed at my skin.

“I-I’ve never dealt with anything like this,” I told her. “And it scares the shit out of me to say the wrong thing or make you feel worse.” I shifted closer, easing my hands onto her knees where she’d crossed them on the couch. Do something helpful, you idiot, a voice battered at the back of my skull, and I spoke without really thinking it through. “What if . . . what if we renegotiate again?”

She inhaled slowly, eyes bouncing between mine. “To what?”

To what?

Great fucking question.

What would I want if this were me?

“I don’t know, exactly. You don’t need my help, Ruby. Not with anything. You’re”—I shook my head—“you’re so much better at this than you think.” Carefully, I reached up and grasped her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “But I like you. You’re smart and a smart-ass. You don’t take any shit, and you’re not fake or pretentious or pretending to be anything. I like spending time with you. Can we . . . be friends while I’m here?”

The word tasted like acid on my tongue. A couple of hours earlier, I’d learned what she felt like from the inside when she came, and wanted to tattoo the sounds she made onto my subconscious—but sure . . . friends worked too. I could bend my second head into submission if it was the last thing I did.

He’d be pissed. But I’d gotten used to people being pissed at me. My dick could get in line.

Ruby’s forehead did that delicate little wrinkling thing it did when she was thinking really hard. After a slight hesitation, she spoke. “Is that what you want? To be friends?”

Fear gripped me instantly, because no, it really fucking wasn’t. Even sitting here, I had to fight an overwhelming urge not to touch her as she talked, or tuck her up against my chest and listen to her breathe, just to assure myself that she was okay.

Was that how you acted with friends? For a moment, I tried to imagine tucking Marcus’s big-ass body up against my chest, and I grimaced. “No.”

She sucked in a breath as she nodded slightly. “No?”

“I want . . .” I looked down at my hands and stretched out my fingers, then curled them into tight fists, needing that anchor of tension because I felt so fucking powerless.

Ruby took pity on me, easing one of her hands over mine.

“I’ve talked a lot tonight, Griffin. Maybe if you told me what you’re feeling about all this, it might help us figure out where to go next.”

I wiped at my mouth and studied her while my thoughts attempted to untangle themselves. “We almost had sex tonight. And then I found out you almost died. That’s . . . that’s a lot. I’m not sure how I feel.”

With those big gray eyes fixed steadily on me, my hands started sweating a little bit. How ridiculous. I didn’t have sweaty palms when I was in the divisional championship. Maybe that was my problem.

If something this big happened out on the field, I’d know exactly what to do. I’d know how to process some big, earth-trembling change without blinking. I’d listen to my gut and trust my training, but this entire thing with Ruby—from the very beginning—had me feeling so incredibly out of my element.

“I’m scared to hurt you,” I blurted. “Like . . . even sitting here, I have this crazy fucking feeling in my chest.” I rapped lightly at the space over my heart and just let the words come out without second thought. “Like I should be gentle.” I tilted my head while my hands reached out, carefully tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Tender. Cover you with a blanket or carry you to bed and make sure you’re sleeping. Warm up soup or something. I don’t really know why, because in general, I think soup is a giant fucking waste of a meal.”

Her eyes went soft. “Do you?”

“Yes. No one’s full after soup. Not unless you eat an entire loaf of bread with it.”

“But you want to feed me soup,” she clarified.

“Yes.” I shook my head. “I don’t fucking know—you’re staring at me with those big eyes and I can’t think straight.”

“Sorry.” But she smiled a crooked little smile, and I felt a jump in my pulse at the sight of it. God, if I wouldn’t hurt someone just to see this woman smile. “That’s a lie, actually. I’m not sorry.”

“I think that’s because you enjoy torturing me.”

“Everyone needs hobbies, Griffin,” she said solemnly.

With a slight roll of my eyes, I sat back on the couch and stretched my arm to the side, easing my legs apart while I tried to figure out what to say next.

“Does that tenderness scare you?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

My gruff answer didn’t seem to deter her. If anything, she looked more and more certain the longer this nonsensical little therapy session went on.

Ruby sucked in a deep breath and moved, shifting to brace one knee on the couch as she rose up. Her hands settled onto my shoulders, and she swung her other leg over my lap and settled her slight weight on top of me, looking down into my shocked face with a stunning sort of resolve.

“What are you doing?” I barked, keeping my hands straight out. But when I tell you the urge to tenderly grab her ass was strong . . . I mean it.

“We can’t be friends,” she stated. “Not after the last couple of days. To your point, we almost had sex, though I’d amend that to say we never would’ve gone any further because the unsanitary nature of a bathroom is the least sexy thing I can imagine.”

I arched an eyebrow, ignoring the way my hard-on grew underneath her as she settled herself more fully on top of me. “I think you found it sexy enough, birdy.”

She let out a lofty sigh. “Fine. It’s a moot point because we stopped anyway.”

“And you relocated to my lap, why?”

“Because I wanted to.” Her own eyebrow arched, and I had a feeling it looked so much more imperious than mine. “And I’ve found, in this new phase of my life, that when I want to do something because I think it will feel good, I’m going to follow that impulse.” Ruby huffed. “Isn’t that your fault? You encouraged all this.”

“I’m very good at encouraging a lot of stupid shit; it doesn’t mean you should keep doing it.”

Ruby watched her hands as she trailed them down the front of my chest and anchored them over my abs, her eyes going a little hazy, and I had to fight the urge to rock up into her.

How had we gotten here this fast?

“I don’t want to be treated like glass,” she whispered. Her finger smoothed out over my ribs as they expanded on a deep breath. “And I enjoy feeling like I have autonomy over my body. Over the things that feel good. I never thought that would happen for me again.”

“That makes sense,” I rasped. Her fingers started inching up underneath my shirt, and my head spun when the edge of her fingernails lightly danced over the line of hair that split my abs and disappeared down into my shorts.

“You feel good, Griffin.” Her eyes were so direct there was no looking anywhere else but at her. “And more importantly, you make me feel good. That’s not a small thing.”

“So you don’t want to be friends,” I said. She shook her head, tracing her finger just underneath the waistband of my shorts. An inch lower and she’d find a very big surprise waiting for her. With a frown, I plucked her hands away from my stomach. “Fuck, I can’t think straight when you do that.”

“That’s the plan,” she said gravely. “Because . . . I’d like to approach an alternative negotiation for the rest of your time here.”

“What?”

Her eyes bounced between mine, and I found myself holding my breath. “We’re friends . . . who do other things too.”

My voice sounded like I’d swallowed rusty blades when I spoke, because “other things” opened up the floodgates of really good mental images. “Like what kind of things? And please feel free to be specific.”

She exhaled a small laugh. “You can still teach me things, Griffin.” Ruby leaned forward, sliding her hands up the sides of my neck and into my hair, rolling her forehead against mine. It shifted her hips over mine in a way that about had my eyes crossing. My hands clenched into fists, arms dropping onto the cushions next to me, muscles shaking from the need to touch her. “I want you to keep making me feel good.” Her nose nudged mine. Her breath smelled like sweet tea. “And I want to do the same to you.”

Never in my entire life had I held back in a moment like this one. A woman I wanted—pretty and smart and funny—was sitting on my lap, rubbing herself all over me like I was the greatest thing since sliced fucking bread, and I was keeping my hands off.

My head fell back and I took a deep breath. “God, Ruby, I don’t know. You deserve someone better than me for stuff like this. Someone who can give you all the forever shit.”

With a grip firm enough to shock me, she grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to look at her. “I’m not looking for forever, Griffin. Listen to me. I don’t want to make promises to anyone that I am physically not able to keep. I’ll . . . I’ll never get pregnant. I can’t imagine allowing someone to fall in love with me, marry me, when I have no idea what the rest of my life looks like.” Her voice shook slightly, and I felt a strange, terrifying wave of emotion push up against my ribs. “But I trust you, and you can show me things that I want to know. Do you know how important that is? I want to own this for myself.”

The easy thing to do would’ve been to slide my hands around her hips and lean forward to slant my mouth over hers. Push up underneath her shirt and palm her breasts, suck on her tongue and work my way down a sweet little list of things to make her feel fucking incredible.

But for the first time in my life, I felt a whisper of caution slicing through all those things we both wanted.

Careful, it said. Careful with this one. She’s special.

It didn’t mean Ruby didn’t know what she wanted or that she didn’t deserve to take ownership of all those things she was talking about. Lord knew I’d done the same over the years with women who were clear on what the score was, who knew that forever wasn’t in my repertoire either.

With gritted teeth and a hiss of pleasure when she shifted slightly over top of me, I pulled my head back and finally used my hands to cup her face in return. My thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, and triumph surged behind her eyes.

“Take tonight,” I told her. “Rest tomorrow. And I’ll come over Sunday morning.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I laid my finger over her lips. “Please. Today was a lot. I’m not saying no, because you are so fucking tempting—you don’t even know.”

Ruby melted. “Really?”

“Do you feel me right now?” I growled.

“Yes.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper, and I felt it like a bat to the head.

“Take tomorrow and think about what you’re asking for.” I tangled my fingers in her hair, cupping the back of her head while she leaned into my grasp. “I don’t want you to regret anything with me, baby. That would kill me.”

Ruby simply sat there and watched me for a few long moments, then finally nodded. “Okay. But I won’t change my mind.”

I laughed quietly. “You’re allowed to, though. That’s the point.”

Ruby sighed, easing herself off me, and with a pointed look at my lap, she arched her eyebrow. “Would he let me change my mind, though?”

With a wince, I stood, adjusting the obnoxious asshole behind the flimsy material of my athletic shorts and boxer briefs. “Don’t you worry about him,” I said.

Ruby walked me to the door, pausing before she opened it. I didn’t move, either, an obvious lingering between both of us. I knew what I wanted. Knew why I didn’t want to leave.

I held my arms out. “Come here, birdy.”

With a deep, relieved breath, she walked into my chest, wrapping her arms tightly around my middle. I smiled lightly, curling my arms around her back and settling my chin on the top of her head.

There was an element to Ruby, no matter how badly she wished it out of existence, that made her feel inherently breakable. The wrong twist of my hands, exerting muscles with too much force, and I could genuinely hurt her.

I’d sooner cut off my own arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered into my chest.

I smoothed my hand up and down her back, an unexpected tightening in my throat as I felt her pressed against me in such an innocent way.

A world without Ruby Tate.

Fucking unfathomable.

And it had almost happened. It could have happened before I had a chance to see her again, to know what kind of person she was. It could have happened and my life would’ve kept right on spinning. The thought of it made me sick to my stomach. With burning eyes and a heavy chest, I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and then cleared my throat as I pulled back. “You’re welcome.”

“Sunday,” she said.

I nodded, booping her nose with the tip of my finger. This time she smiled, and the sight of it lightened the weight behind my ribs. “Sunday,” I promised.