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"That won't be a problem."
She walked in, and he closed the door, locking all his thoughts of Amara and Hayes out in the hallway, if only for a little while.
There it Was (32)
Just as Kasic had promised, the two-week punishment in Worcester had been just that, and before Ryan knew it, he was packing his bags up to head back to Bridgeport. When the text and email had come through late that Thursday evening that he’d been reassigned to Bridgeport, he made sure everything was ready to go for him to roll out early the next morning.
Ryan Baylor had fucking done it.
He’d gone two whole weeks without talking to her, though he did check in with Hayes periodically just to make sure everything was OK and to get updates on the Isles. He’d also made it two whole weeks without a random hookup, minus the sad wife in the red dress on the night of his arrival.
After he’d finished having sex with her, he immediately felt like the biggest piece of shit on Earth, and he’d reached out to Dr. Gephart, who’d talked him down from the ledge.
“Ryan, you have to understand that you’re going to mess up. And when you do, you have to forgive yourself and move on. You can’t dwell on it.”
“I don’t know why I did it. I wasn’t even that attracted to her. It was like I just couldn’t stop myself from it. I even told myself not to do it the entire time I was doing it.”
“That’s what sex addiction looks like, Ryan,” she’d told him. “For the rest of this week, here’s what I want from you: whenever you think about hooking up with some random person, I want you to stop what you’re doing and write down everything you’re feeling at that exact moment. But I want to seriously challenge you to not hook up with anyone else for the duration of your stay in Worcester, OK? Let’s see where we sit in about two weeks, unless you need me before then, in which case, you can always reach out.”
Ryan had taken her advice and had ended up with 46 pages of a Word document by the time he’d packed his bags the night before his departure.
Forty. Six. Fucking. Pages
But: he’d done it, and the feeling of accomplishment was like nothing he’d ever known. For the first time in a very long time, he knew he was going to beat this.
Additionally impressive, Ryan hadn’t had a panic attack since the day before Thanksgiving, when he’d spoken to Luke on the drive out. There were so many things that should’ve triggered one for him: being in Worcester; the fling with the sad wife in the red dress; the fact that he’d spent Thanksgiving alone in his hotel room eating a shitty gas station sandwich and watching ALF reruns; and the fact that he’d only practiced with the Railers, having been named a healthy scratch for all five of the games they’d played in those two weeks.
“Don’t take it personally, Baylor. We all know why you’re here, and it’s bullshit. You’re too good to be here anyway, kid,” the defensive coach for the Railers had told him, sensing his frustration at not being able to play.
Every single one of these shit scenarios should have sent him into an anxiety-fueled tizzy.
Instead, he’d managed to handle all of them.
He’d even read and finished an entire book, taking the opportunity to read one of those smutty hockey romances Hayes had gone on about. To his surprise, it was actually pretty good; it was about this goalie who had an anonymous one-night stand with some chick at a costume party, and she ended up being his teammate’s sister and ultimately his roommate. He was a slow-ass reader, which wasn’t helped by the fact that he had to stop at several choice scenes to smack off, but he’d actually finished an entire book, something he hadn’t done since probably middle school.
Friday morning, he arrived at the rental car building to return the Tucson at about 11:00 and waited outside for the ride he’d arranged back to his apartment.
“This fuckin’ guy!” Hayes yelled out the window of his truck, pulling into the parking lot and honking at him. He screeched tires into a space, parked crooked as hell, jumped out after barely having turned it off, left the door wide open, and ran over to where Ryan was standing on the curb with his bags. “What’s good, Rook?” he said, throwing his arms around him, with Ryan doing the same.
“Everything, now that I’m back home,” he said, squeezing Hayes before they let go of each other.
“Fuck, I missed your dumb ass. So much, kid.” He swung one of Ryan’s bags over his shoulder as they headed towards the truck. He tossed it into the bed, with Ryan doing the same before hopping into the cab. “You ready to go home?”
“Fuck yeah, I am.” Ryan leaned his head back against the seat. “So? What’d I miss?”
“Yo: last night, after practice? Dalesy found out his fiancé has been fuckin’ Seggy again and he flipped the fuck out, bro. Threw a chair at him, and it caught him square in the face. Ended up with six stitches. It was insanity. I don’t know how Hastings hasn’t had a fuckin’ heart attack yet.”
“Holy hell. Betcha he didn’t get sent to Worcester,” Ryan complained. “Why do I miss all the good shit?”
“I don’t know, man. All I know? His fiancé is for the streets. She’s tried to get me to fuck her so many times. I can’t even be near her. Shit makes me uncomfortable as hell.”
“Mar said something about that when we went to Excel…” He stopped himself.
There it was.
Ryan took a deep breath.
“She’s OK, man. She’s really happy you’re coming home, no lie. We both missed you. A lot.”
