The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)
The Right Move: Chapter 23

Every muscle in my body aches the moment I stepped out of bed. Chills take over as soon as I finish my morning shower, and a numbing headache is fast approaching behind my eyes.

I feel like shit.

Only a few hours ago I felt amazing. Euphoric. Satisfied. But waking up this morning my body is done with me. After too many red-eye flights, a late-night engagement party, and stressing over ensuring Maggie’s bridal shower turns out perfect, the exhaustion is catching up with me.

You’d think my body would be thanking me for giving it the hardest release of my life last night. It should be grateful the eight-month dry spell is behind us, but no. It’s rewarding me with a cold.

At least my dress is cute. Purple floral fabric flows away from my body. Thank God. The thought of anything touching my aching skin makes me want to cry.

I hope the girls like it.

Translation—I hope they like me.

I’ve spent so much time and money planning this bridal shower, partly because I want it to be perfect for Maggie, but also because I feel like I need to impress my friends. Which is odd, seeing as I’ve known these women my entire life. We’ve seen each other through every awkward phase. Every tragic and happy moment. But ever since the breakup, I’ve felt left out, and I miss being included.

Does that make me pathetic? Desperate? I’m sure it does, but I can’t explain how excited I was that the girls asked me to help with Maggie’s shower. It seems like a step in rekindling our friendships that have been lacking as of late.

I heard Ryan leave early this morning while I was lying in bed and not getting any sleep. Last night was incredible and confusing all at once. It hurt my feelings, if I’m being honest, seeing him run away from our moment to hide in his room. For him, maybe it wasn’t a moment at all. Maybe it was just a weak instant as he finally caved on the mutual lust. Or maybe he took pity on me and did his poor roommate a favor by helping her come.

Does he regret it?

It’s not lost on me that he didn’t kiss me last night. He doesn’t like faking intimacy, he said so himself. And even though his fingers were coated in my arousal, and even though he came all over my chest, maybe that wasn’t intimacy for him. It was getting off hurriedly and hard. Nothing about it was tender or loving, not that I needed it to be.

But as more of the post-orgasm fog lifts, the clearer our night becomes.

Did I romanticize what happened on the couch? I must have. How embarrassing.

Another humiliating moment on display for Ryan Shay to witness, and the realization that I grossly misjudged our night has my already sick and aching body feeling even worse.

January in Chicago is bitter cold, but the restaurant where Maggie’s shower is being held is only a few blocks away from the apartment. It seems wasteful to drive, even though my feet are aching with every step I take.

I’ve been gathering the endless decorations, table settings, and gift favors over the last few weeks and dropped them off yesterday. I even placed a hefty order with the guy at my favorite floral stand to create the most beautiful centerpieces of peonies, roses, and carnations to give that “fresh from the garden” feel. I spent more than my budget allowed for this party, but I want Maggie to have the best time.

Stevie comes barreling through the doors, curly hair pinned under a beanie, ripping off her winter coat, and ready to get down to business. All because I completely fucking forgot to tell her she didn’t have to come. If I knew she was getting engaged yesterday, I never would’ve asked her to help me set up this party in the first place.

She doesn’t even know Maggie and yet she’s here for me only hours after her own celebration.

“What can I start with?” she asks.

“Vee, I’m the worst. Please go home. I completely forgot to tell you not to come. Go home and have post-engagement sex like a normal new fiancée.”

She waves me off. “We’ve been going at it all night. An hour break is needed. Put me to work.”

I want to stand up and hug her, but I’m in so much discomfort I don’t think I have enough energy to move.

Staying seated, I point around the room. “The balloons need to be tied off. I need to light all the tea lights and arrange the floral centerpieces. There’s a mimosa bar going over there, and I need—”

“Whoa, Ind.” A heavy crease forms between Stevie’s brows. “You don’t look so good.”

“Don’t say that. Look at how cute my dress is!”

She silently laughs. “Very cute, but you’re sick.”

“It’s just a cold.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “I think you should go home.”

“I can’t. Please just help me set up.” I stand from my seat, the blood draining from my face as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

“Indy.” Stevie grabs me, sitting me back down. “I don’t think it’s just a cold. You need to go home. I’ll do this.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I can’t go home.”

She pets my hair soothingly. “Why not?”

Because your brother came all over me then bolted and I’m too much of a coward to face him.

“I…I need to make this party perfect. It’s important.”

“Of course, it is, but you can only do so much when you’re sick.”

“Vee, Maggie asked me to be in her wedding while Alex and I were still together, and I’m worried she regrets it. At least with this, I have something to contribute.”

“Indy,” Stevie coos, sitting back on her haunches to look me in the eye. “Anyone who gets to call you their friend is beyond lucky and if you’re here trying to convince them of that, well then honey, they aren’t your real friends.”

“I just want to impress them.”

Because I’m the butt of the joke. Alex cheats on me, yet they’re all great friends with him still. But maybe if I can make today perfect and maybe when they see me at the wedding with Ryan on my arm, they’ll be impressed by how well I’m doing. Faking it or not.

My eyes burn with tears because yes, I’m an emotional person, but I’m starting to realize just how sick I am and how much my body is hurting. I’m also starting to realize she’s right. I’m holding on to my old life and my old friends with an iron grip, but why? Because it’s what I’ve always known? Because they were part of the picture I painted for myself?

“Do I want to know why I didn’t get a daily update today?” she asks, suspicion lacing her tone.

“Probably for the best if you don’t ask questions.”

She chuckles. “All right. Sit your pretty self in this seat and drink some water. You can bark commands and tell me what to do from here then I’m taking you home.”

“I can’t leave.”

She lets out an exasperated breath but doesn’t fight me on it any longer.

The balloon arch is more like a short, stubby tower, but it’ll do. The candles are lit, the banner is hung, and the flowers are arranged. Stevie went home, leaving me here, much to her reluctance.

Maggie, her family, and the bridal party shower me with compliments, taking in every detail of the space. The food is delicious, at least from what I’m told, and the mimosas are flowing. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have just to sit down and stay awake, let alone try to eat or work the room as the hostess.

Conversation flows in the seats around me, the rest of the bridesmaids speaking on the plans for the combined bachelor and bachelorette party taking place in Miami next weekend, but I won’t be able to attend due to a work conflict.

A year ago, I would’ve been ecstatic to vacation on the beach with my boyfriend and our closest friends. We always had a good time together, and I’m up for any opportunity to socialize, but inevitably there would come a time in the weekend where Alex would ask me to quiet down or not correct him while the guys are chatting about their finance bro talk, even though I typically know more than them about the subject.

Now, I can’t think of a better weekend than holing up in the apartment with Ryan. I could talk as much as I’d like, or we could sit in comfortable silence while reading next to each other. I wouldn’t have to be anyone I’m not because Ryan likes me for me far more than Alex ever did.

“It’s beautiful, Indy.” Maggie sinks into the seat next to me.

“I’m glad you love it.”

“You’ve always been good at this kind of stuff.” She smooths her white-chiffon dress. “I wanted to talk to you,” she hesitantly begins. “Kev and I have been spending a lot of time with Alex, and I miss you.”

“You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.” I put my hand on her knee. “I always want to see you. Whenever you want to hang out, I’m in.”

“You know what I mean. I miss you together.”

“Well, we aren’t together.”

“What if that were to change? I’ve never seen Alex as torn up as he has been since he saw you with that guy.”

Her words have me rearing back. What in the world is she talking about? Last time I saw Alex he made sure to let me know how well he was doing. “It doesn’t really matter if he’s torn up, does it? He made the choices that led us to where we are today.”

“He made a mistake. One mistake.”

“You can’t be defending him.”

“I’m not defending him. What he did was not okay, but it’s Alex we’re talking about.”

Taking a deep breath, I attempt to calm myself as saliva pools in my mouth. Even my teeth are aching at this point. I need to go home but can’t even replace the strength to stand. I’m running on empty, trying to make today perfect, and now I have to sit and hear this? I’ve been doing my very best to let my nonexistent future with Alex lay to rest.

“You cannot be serious right now. What if Kevin did this to you? You’d just forgive him?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t write us off so completely. Twenty-two years of friendship because of one night? And it’s not just with him, it’s with all of us.” She motions to the other women in the room. “You can’t deny the dynamic has changed.”

“Of course, it’s changed! You all stopped inviting me to things because you wanted Alex there.” Taking a deep breath, I try to keep my volume down. “If having me in the wedding is your attempt to get me to rekindle things, I don’t think I should go.”

“Indy, he wants everything you’ve ever wanted. He had a moment of weakness. He wants the marriage, the kids. There’s no way you’re close to that with that basketball player. Are you really seeing that guy?”

“Ryan!” I burst. “His name is Ryan.”

She looks around and lowers her voice. “If that’s all for show you need to tell me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because,” she laughs half-heartedly. “You’ve loved Alex your entire life and you’re the most loyal person I know. Regardless of what he did, I can’t imagine you moving on to someone else. It’s always been him.”

I’m far too sick to be having this conversation. It’s the same words I’ve repeated to myself for months, assuming it was too soon to move on. But things have changed. I’m not sure when my heart and head decided to finally get on the same page, but they did. Now, there’s someone else who has my loyalty, and it isn’t Alex.

“I need a minute.”

Slowly standing, I head to the drink station for some water. My hands and forehead are clammy, my muscles are sore, and I’m desperate to go to bed. Resting my palms on the edge of the drink table, I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, trying to swallow down the aches and pains.

The front door to the banquet room swings open as Ryan bursts in, halting in place when the eyes of twenty women land on the only man in the room.

“Hellllo,” an older woman catcalls from the back of the room. I’m not sure who it is, and I don’t have the strength to turn around and replace out who’s hitting on my roommate.

Ryan scans the room, replaceing me in the corner. His ocean eyes widen with shock as his strides pick up pace to meet me. He’s beautiful and commanding, but I have no idea what he’s doing here.

Is this part of the deal? Him acting like a protective boyfriend in front of my old friends?

His warm fingers push my hair away from my face before testing the temperature of my forehead with the back of his hand. I brush him off without much authority, but he ignores me and checks again.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, finally giving in and leaning into his touch.

“I’m taking you home. You’re sick, Blue.”

“I’m fine, and your sister is a little snitch.”

He chuckles a warm laugh. “Yeah, well her stubborn best friend wouldn’t listen to her.”

“Who says I’m going to listen to you?”

I don’t know why I’m acting as if I have the energy to put up a fight. I’m about two seconds away from falling into his chest from exhaustion.

“You don’t have to.”

In one simple motion and with one single arm, Ryan swoops me up, chest to chest with my legs slung around his hips. Without fight, I wrap my arms around his neck and drop my head to his shoulder.

He carries me to the exit, grabbing my coat on the way and covering my body with it.

Ryan doesn’t give me time to say goodbye to anyone, but I replace myself perfectly okay with that.

The cold Chicago air hits me as soon as we exit the restaurant, but I welcome it, hoping it calms my burning skin. I close my eyes, needing to rest as Ryan walks us back to the apartment.

“You left the house for me.”

He exhales a sigh. “Yeah, I seem to do that quite a bit for you.”

His hands are hooked under my legs, keeping me from sliding down his body. I’m not much help, I have almost no strength left, but Ryan seems to be able to handle me just fine.

I pull back slightly to look at him. He’s as beautiful as ever this afternoon, but his eyes are narrowed with concern, seeing me.

“Why aren’t you at practice?”

“I called out.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Ind?”

“Can’t you get in trouble for skipping practice? Or fined?”

He places a hand on the back of my head, ushering me to lay on his shoulder once again.

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m rich then.”

Inhaling sharply, Ryan’s clean scent invades my nostrils and even though I’m frustrated about last night, I can’t help but relax into him. “I told you I was going to be an expensive girlfriend.”

“Welcome back, Mr. Shay,” I hear our doorman say. “Miss Ivers.”

“Thank you, David.”

“Should I have some chicken noodle soup sent up?” I can picture the look of concern painted on his face as he eyes the dead weight in Ryan’s arms.

“I’ve got it handled,” he reassures. “But we appreciate it.”

“Bye, Dave.” I give him a weak wave over Ryan’s shoulder, reminding myself to bring him a coffee soon for being the sweet little angel he always is.

In our apartment, Ryan sheds my jacket by the front door, hanging it on the rack next to his keys. He continues across the living room, headed for his bedroom door.

“My room, please.”

“No.”

“Ryan, I’m still mad at you.”

“Okay, you can be mad at me all you want while you sleep in my bed.”

I have absolutely no fight left in me, which really is a shame. It’s one of my favorite things to do, volley back and forth with him.

Through the threshold of Ryan’s room, he carries me to the mattress, laying me on the side opposite his. His bed is big and luxurious, and I sink into it, both in pain and reprieve.

A clammy sweat lingers on my forehead as he begins untying my shoes. “This is how I know you’re really sick. You didn’t even wear heels today.”

I nod quickly. “That should’ve been my sign.”

He places my embroidered sneakers on the ground, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants from his dresser. Guiding my feet through, he slides the pants up my legs before folding them down a few times around my waist.

“Do you mind if I get you out of this dress?”

I shrug. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Typically, I’d add some humor in my tone, but my feelings are hurt over last night and I’m too tired to try to hide that.

Ryan exhales as if the words punched him in the gut. He lifts my dress up and over my head, before pulling off his own t-shirt, leaving himself bare-chested. He slips his worn tee over my body, enveloping me in his warmth and scent.

“Do you want your bra off?”

A smile spreads across my closed lips. “Well, if those aren’t the six sexiest words in the English language strung together.”

I open one lid to peek at him. He’s shaking his head at me, but that kissable mouth is tugged up on each side. “I think that fever of yours is going to your head.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Actually, you do. You’re burning up and I’m fairly certain you have some kind of flu.”

Without hesitation, Ryan slips his hand under my back and unclasps my bra with a single motion, sliding it out from under the shirt. I watch his backside as he hangs my dress in his closet, draping my bra over the hanger, and before he returns to me, he places my shoes neatly by the door.

My little clean freak.

He pulls the comforter up to my chin. “Try to get some sleep. I’m going to make you something to eat.” Brushing my hair away from my face, he places a soft kiss on my damp forehead.

“Ryan,” I call out, stopping him in the doorway. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I like taking care of people. You, especially.” He closes the door behind him.

Alone in his room for the first time ever, I allow my eyes to wander, taking in my surroundings. There are no photos in here, no color. Only the large window showing off downtown Chicago. His room is minimal, just as the rest of his apartment was until I moved in. It’s as if he’s passing through, though he’s lived here for four-plus years already.

It’s sad when you consider it. You’d think he’d want to set down some roots. To come home and have it feel like home.

My fever must be causing hallucinations because I could swear there’s a pop of green on his dresser. I recognize it from the terracotta pot I replanted it in. A succulent plant sits in plain view, and I can’t help but smile from the small sign of life in his otherwise lonely room.

With a grin on my lips, a fever running through my veins, and his clothes on my body, I fall asleep looking at the tiny pop of color he stole from our living room.

Sometime later, after I’ve eaten some of Ryan’s homemade vegetable soup, with a sweat lingering on my forehead and chills running rampant over my skin, I replace the strength for a shower.

Ryan sets me up in his bathroom, grabbing my shampoo and conditioner from my own before checking the temperature of the water and leaving me. I take my time, anchoring my palms on the cool shower tile and allowing the warm water to fall over my back. It takes me far longer than normal to wash my body and hair, but I soak in every second, letting the heat of the shower seep into my bones and by the end of it, I feel a tad more like myself.

Finally, once I redress, I open the bathroom door to replace him sitting on the floor, his head leaning back on the wall right next to the doorway as if listening to hear if I might need him.

He looks up at me. “Are you okay?”

I nod and he stands, handing me my hairbrush he was holding on to while camping outside of the bathroom.

With shaky hands, I run it through my strands, but I’m tired and weak, and I honestly don’t care that my hair will be a matted mess if I don’t brush it.

Ryan’s brows are creased with concern as he watches me struggle. “Let me do that, Blue.”

I give in without a fight. Ryan ushers me to sit on the ground in front of the chair he has in the corner of his room. He takes a seat behind me, legs spread on either side of my body.

Gently, he begins to brush my hair.

The slight tension pulling at my scalp feels far too heavenly that I can’t help from falling into his leg, resting my head against his knee.

“Why’d you go today?” he softly asks.

“I had to.”

“Why’d you go today, Ind? The real reason.”

“Because.” I close my eyes, leaning into him. “They’re my friends. They were my friends. I don’t know anymore.”

He pauses his movements and I refuse to turn around and see the disappointment on Ryan’s handsome face. He knows, the same way I know that I’m holding on to those friendships as if I’m holding on to the life I had with Alex.

As I replay Maggie’s words of how Alex regrets the way things have played out, an unexpected peace washes over me.

Because I don’t regret it at all.

If Alex hadn’t done what he did, I never would’ve had the opportunity to know Ryan the way I do. I never would’ve had the chance to be immersed in this man’s world and realize how right it feels. How at home I feel.

It’s an overwhelming realization to have, that I truly want no part of the life I once wanted.

Softly, Ryan uses the pads of his fingertips to guide my head to lean against his opposite knee so he can brush the other side of my hair.

Ryan doesn’t make me feel like a burden. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m too much.

I’ve offered him absolutely nothing other than exactly who I am, and he’s embraced every part of me, good and bad.

I don’t think I fully understood that until today.

“Indy,” he whispers from behind me. “What you offer in a relationship, as a friend, a woman, a partner, by simply being who you are is more than enough. And if someone can’t see that you’re everything, then it’s them who’s missing out. I know you’re faithful. It’s one of my favorite things about you, but there has to be a limit. Some people don’t deserve your unwavering loyalty.”

Tears leak from my closed eyes, partly because I’m sick and partly because I’ve never had someone take care of me like this, body and soul. Today’s realizations are overwhelming me, and in true Indy fashion, crying is my favorite outlet.

“No one has ever taken care of me,” I squeak past the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Ryan.”

He halts once again, so finally, I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”

He shakes his head, resuming his task of untangling my hair.

Ryan doesn’t like faking intimacy, but this, him brushing my hair and taking care of me while sick seems far more intimate than anything we’ve ever done.

I’m certain the fever must have stolen my filter when I ask, “Are you faking it?”

“No, Blue. I’m not faking anything.”

Then I feel his fingers slip into my wet hair, separating the strands into three equal parts.

“Are you braiding my hair?”

“Yes.”

Jesus. This man. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He chuckles quietly. “My twin sister has a head full of natural curls and you’re asking where I learned how to braid?”

And now I’m picturing a little Ryan helping a little Stevie with her hair and I’m sick and swooning and I want to cry all over again.

I lean into the moment of vulnerability. “Did I do something wrong last night?”

“No. God no. You were perfect.”

“Then why’d you leave me?”

He exhales a long sigh. “Because I’m fucked up, Blue.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am,” he bursts. “I had…” He pauses, his long fingers holding onto my partially braided hair. “You’re a fucking gift, Ind, and I cannot believe I made you feel anything less than that. I’m so sorry. I truly am.”

Turning back, I look at him. There’s a world of apology in those blue-greens and I’ve come to learn though Ryan is sometimes sparse with his words, the ones he does say are intentional.

“I don’t know how to be casual with you, and that scares the shit out of me. I’m trying to. You’ve made it clear you don’t have anything left to give, and at the same time, I’m still so fucked up from things that you don’t even know about.” His face screws up in pain, quickly reminding me that I’ve barely scratched the surface of Ryan’s past. “It all hit me like a freight train last night.”

It’s evident this is weighing on his shoulders, maybe more than it’s affected me since last night. This conversation is important, and as much as I want answers, I know I don’t have the mental strength to give it the attention it deserves. The attention he deserves.

I turn back around, wrapping my hand around his calf.

“We can talk about it another day,” I suggest. “When I’m feeling better.”

Hand slipping around my neck, he palms my opposite cheek and drops a desperate kiss to the top of my head, lingering his lips there for a moment.

Then he resumes braiding my hair, leaving that conversation on hold.

His words were laced with desperation and honesty, but he is wrong about one thing. I do have something left to give. I’ve quickly learned that when I’m not putting on an act, when I’m encouraged to be unapologetically myself, the exhaustion from wearing a perfect mask is gone. I have the energy to love someone, and my heart has the space to accept it in return.

Alex may have drained the old me, but the real me, I have plenty left to give.

And I think I’d like to give the real me to Ryan if he wants it. I think he’d treat my heart with kindness.