Page 37 of Rush
“In more ways than one,” he muttered under his breath.
I wasn’t sure if he realized I’d heard or if he wanted me to, but I pulled away, shoving down an odd sense of disappointment.
Outside, he flagged a taxi, and we rode down to St. Kilda beach in silence. He sat on one side and I on the other, the distance opening between us once more. Whatever had overcome us—or me—back in that club was left behind, and it was back to Ryan and Jade, bucket list BFFs.
We got out along The Esplanade and walked down to the beach. A few people were sitting on the sand, couples and groups of friends coming down after nights out just like ours. We found a spot some distance away from the rabble, and I sank down onto the sand, kicking off my heels. Moaning with satisfaction, I dug my aching toes deeper, cooling off.
“That’s nice,” I muttered, inhaling the salty scent of the water. My head was starting to clear, the heady effects of the alcohol wearing off.
Ryan sat next to me, kicking off his shoes and socks and digging his toes into the sand beside mine. Before us was the flat surface of Port Phillip Bay, and to the right, the lights of greater Melbourne curved around the coast and faded into the distance. Behind us and to the left, the urban sprawl was hidden over the rise, and the only indicator there was even anything there was the artificial orange glow.
The sun would rise to the east, behind us and over the city, but it didn’t matter. It was less about the colors in the sky and more about the person sitting next to me. Besides, nothing could top the morning we’d spent in the hot air balloon.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Yeah, a little.” I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, attempting to soothe the goose bumps that had prickled over my exposed skin.
He draped his arm over my shoulders, pulling me close. I sank against him, inhaling his scent.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
We sat, watching the water lap at the shore and listening to the sounds of music floating from The Esplanade Hotel behind us.
“What’s next for you?” I asked.
“What’s next? What do you mean?”
“Tuesday we both have to go back to reality,” I replied. “I have to go back to work and deal with the post-Hunter fallout. All fun things.” I rolled my eyes. “What about you?”
“Back to training…and waiting,” he grumbled.
“Waiting for your fight?”
“I’ve been waiting for my first pro fight for almost six months,” he said, sounding frustrated. “It’s gotten to the point of ridiculousness if you ask me. Out of all the fucks out there, there’s no one who wants to fight me.”
“Why?”
“Who knows. Politics.” He shrugged. “I would fight an established guy, you know, but it seems like there’s no room for me at the moment.”
“That sucks…” I said lamely. “To work so hard, but…”
“Be blocked right when everything should fall into place.”
The analogy didn’t escape me. Our lives were so different, yet there were startling parallels. We’d both been derailed in more ways than one. Him with his career, me with my engagement.
“What happened to you after high school?” I asked, burying my fingers in the sand. “You just…disappeared.”
He glanced up at the sky, his brow creasing. “It’s a long story.”
“We have time,” I prodded gently. “Sunrise is still a way off.”
His arm fell away from my shoulders, and he seemed to shrink away. Had I really been such a bitch to him back then? He was a guy I’d known, a friend, but he’d said I had used him to tide myself over until Hunter had come crawling back. Knowing it, stung. All that time and I’d never realized.
“After… I didn’t go to university. I barely graduated high school,” he began. “Deadbeat, deadshit, good for nothing…”
“You’re not like that,” I complained. “You’ve made something out of yourself. You’re—”
“Lucky,” he interrupted. “I dodged a bullet.”
