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“Jake’s business partners’ kids, mostly, and some are the neighbors. Jake knew everyone’s life story within two weeks. I’m still trying to learn names. I only come out when he forces me to. I’d much rather be in here writing.”
Ryan handed Hayes a beer. “I need some fuckin’ food first, man. I’m gonna head down, and,” he said, taking note of the briefcase, “leave you two to catch up.”
Hayes left the room, and Ryan sat down next to Amara, handing her the beer. “Hey. Here’s to new beginnings,” he said, clinking his bottle with hers and taking a sip. She set hers down on the end table without taking a sip. “No? Won’t drink to that?”
“It’s perfect, really. And it’s not that I won’t drink to that. I, uh, can’t drink to that. Or at all, for that matter.”
He shot her a puzzled look. “Give it up for lent or something? Is it even lent? I don’t fucking know.”
She put her palm flat against her stomach. “Yeah. Or something.”
She could see the wheels turning pretty hard, followed by his eyes bulging out of his skull. “No!”
She nodded.
“No!”
“Yes.”
He jumped up, running his fingers through his hair. “Oh my God. How? I mean, I know how. Oh my God. I mean, how long until, like…”
“It’s super-early. I’m only about eight weeks. I…Ryan, you’re the first person I’ve told. I haven’t even told Jake yet.”
“Mar? You have to tell him!” he yelled excitedly.
“Shhh. Calm down. I will.”
“Shit,” he said, turning away from her. When he turned back around, he had tears streaming down his face again. “Apparently I’m just never gonna stop crying today!” He sat back down next to her, wrapping her in his arms. “You’re gonna be a mom, Mar!”
“I know,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “How fucking terrifying is that?” she laughed, wiping her eyes.
“Not terrifying at all. You’re gonna…you’re gonna be such an amazing mom.”
“I hope so,” she said. “But look at me: no one knows but you. No one. So you can’t even tell Ty, OK?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“So, listen,” he said after they’d sat quietly for a few minutes. “I have a…proposition for you. Feel free to say no, but I’m really hoping you’ll say yes because there’s no one else in the world I’d trust to do it.”
“No pressure,” she joked, as he got up, grabbed a manila envelope from the briefcase, and brought it to her. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She pulled the metal tab apart, lifted the flap, and pulled out a stack of papers. She read the first page:
Breaking Ryan Baylor
The memoir of a gay, sex-addicted, anxiety-riddled professional hockey player
“Will you ghostwrite my memoir with me?” he asked softly. “I’ll pay you whatever you want, name your price. You’re just, you’re such a talented writer, and you know all about my strengths and weaknesses. You could add a ton of perspective that I couldn’t. I’ve thought a lot about everything that I’ve been through, and Amara, I really think telling my story could help a lot of people like me.”
He sat down next to her as she continued to flip through the pages. “Right now, it’s just a lot of my random thoughts, but I know you could take them and turn them into a beautiful story. So? What do you think?”
She’d taken notice of some of the preliminary chapter titles: Your Dad is Dead. Her. Him. Her and Him. The Sad Wife in the Red Dress. Self-Deprecation.
Knowing this would be one hell of a rollercoaster ride, she sighed and placed the manuscript on her lap. “I’ll do it, Ryan. But only on one condition.”
“Name it.”
