could say no.”
The last time Lucy had seen him had been before her liver transplant. She’d been in eighth grade, jaundiced and bloated, carrying close to a hundred pounds of extra water weight. Not to mention totally exhausted and head over heels in love with the high-school soccer star. She’d spent much of her time alone in her room due to liver failure. Ryland James had fueled her adolescent fantasies. She’d dreamed about him letting her wear his jersey, asking her out to see a movie at the Liberty Theater and inviting her to be his date at prom.
Of course, none of those things had ever happened. She’d hated being known as the sick girl. She’d rarely been able to get up the nerve to say a word to Ryland. And then …
The high-school soccer team had put on two fundraisers—a summer camp for kids and a goal-a-thon—to help with Lucy’s medical expenses. She remembered when Ryland handed her the large cardboard check. She’d tried to push her embarrassment and awkwardness aside by smiling at him and meeting his gaze. He’d surprised her by smiling back and sending her heart rate into overdrive. She’d never forgot his kindness or the flash of pity in his eyes. She’d been devastated.
Lucy’s stomach churned at the memory. She wasn’t that same girl. Still, she didn’t want to see him again.
“Ryland is older than me.” No one could ever imagine what she’d gone through and how she’d felt being so sick and tired all the time. Or how badly she’d wanted to be normal and healthy. “He was your dad’s friend, not mine. I really didn’t know him.”
“But you’ve met him.”
“He used to come to our house, but the chances of him remembering me …”
“Please, Aunt Lucy.” Connor’s eyes implored her. “We’ll never know unless you ask.”
Darn. He sounded like Aaron. Never willing to give up no matter what the odds. Her brother wouldn’t let her give up, either. Not when she would have died without a liver transplant or when Jeff had trampled upon her heart.
Lucy’s chest tightened. She should do this for Aaron as much as Connor. But she had no idea how she could get close enough to someone as rich and famous as Ryland James.
Connor stared up at her with big, round eyes.
A lump formed in her throat. Whether she wanted to see Ryland James or could see him didn’t matter. This wasn’t about her. “Okay. I’ll ask him.”
Connor wrapped his arms around her. “I knew I could count on you.”
Lucy hugged him tight. “You can always count on me, kiddo.”
Even if she knew going into this things wouldn’t work out the way her nephew wanted. But she could keep him smiling a little while longer. At least until Ryland said no.
Connor squirmed out of her arms. “Let’s go see him now.”
“Not so fast. This is something I’m doing on my own.” She didn’t want her nephew’s image of his favorite soccer player destroyed in case Ryland was no longer a nice guy. Fame or fortune could change people. “And I can’t show up empty-handed.”
But what could she give to a man who could afford whatever he wanted? Flowers might be appropriate given his injury, but maybe a little too feminine. Chocolate, perhaps? Hershey Kisses might give him the wrong idea. Not that he’d ever known about her crush.
“Cookies,” Connor suggested. “Everyone likes cookies.”
“Yes, they do.” Though Lucy doubted anything would convince Ryland to accept the coaching position. But what was the worst he could say besides no? “Does chocolate chip sound good?”
“Those are my favorite.” Connor’s smile faltered. “It’s too bad my mom isn’t here. She makes the best chocolate-chip cookies.”
Lucy mussed his hair to keep him from getting too caught up in missing his mom. “It is too bad, but remember she’s doing important stuff right now. Like your dad.”
Connor nodded.
“How about we use your mom’s recipe?” Lucy asked. “You can show me how she makes them.”
His smile returned. “Okay.”
Lucy wanted to believe everything would turn out okay, but she knew better. As with marriage, the chance of a happy ending here was extremely low. Best to prepare accordingly. She would make a double batch of cookies—one to give to Ryland and one for them to keep. She and Connor were going to need something to make them feel better after Ryland James said no.
The dog’s whimpering almost drowned out the pulse-pounding rock music playing in his parents’ home gym.
Ryland didn’t glance at Cupcake. The dog could wait. He needed to finish his workout.
Lying on the weight machine’s bench, he raised the bar overhead, doing the number of reps recommended by the team’s trainer. He used free weights when he trained in Phoenix, but his parents wanted him using the machine when he worked out alone.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d ditched his T-shirt twenty minutes ago. His bare back stuck to the vinyl.
Ryland tightened his grip on the handles.
He wanted to return to the team in top form, to show them he still deserved the captaincy as well as their respect. He’d already lost one major endorsement deal due to his bad-boy behavior. For all he knew, he might not even have a spot on the Fuego roster come opening day. And that … sucked.
On the final rep, his muscles ached and his arms trembled. He clenched his jaw, pushing the weight overhead one last time.
“Yes!”
He’d increased the amount of weight this morning. His trainer would be pleased with the improvements in upper-body strength. That and his core were the only things he could work on.
Ryland sat up, breathing hard. Not good. He needed to keep up his endurance while he healed from the surgery.
Damn foot. He stared at his right leg encased in a black walking-cast boot.
His fault. Each of Ryland’s muscles tensed in frustration. He should have known better than to be showboating during the friendly with Mexico. Now he was sidelined, unable to run or kick.
The media had accused him of being hungover or drunk when he hurt himself. They’d been wrong. Again. But dealing with the press was as much a part of his job as what happened for ninety minutes out on the pitch.
He’d appeared on camera, admitted the reason for his injury—goofing off for the fans and the cameras—and apologized to both fans and teammates. But the truth had made him look more like a bad boy than ever given his red cards during matches the last couple of seasons, the trouble he’d gotten into off the field and the endless “reports” on his dating habits.
The dog whined louder.
From soccer superstar to dog sitter. Ryland half laughed.
Cupcake barked, as if tired of being put off any longer.
“Come
