Thick & Thin (Thin Love, #3)(32)

“I’m fine, Aly. You need to calm down,” he’d said the second he’d walked through the door that game day. He didn’t even bother to return my kiss or accept my hug. He was too pissed, I knew, about losing. My worry wasn’t even a factor anymore. Like a fly buzzing at the window.

I made up my mind to leave when he abandoned me for his media room and the analysis of why he’d gotten hit. It had taken me a week to work up the courage to actually prepare: there was a month’s worth of frozen home cooked meals in the freezer and all the bills had been paid. My stuff had been in suitcases for months. I was always gone, back to New Orleans or to New York for a fill-in gig when Tommy or one of my other off-Broadway dancer friends needed me.

My dresser was mostly empty. It wouldn’t take me long to pack. Only one thing was left—telling Ransom I was going.

Night number four and he was back in front of the screen watching his tapes. The light flickered from the television as he turned it off and I heard him move out onto the balcony that ran the length of our condo. The silhouette of palm trees lining the shore looked pitch black against the Miami skyline where the city shone brighter than a new penny. There was so much activity, so much chaos and life being led out there that Miami, no matter how beautiful it was, how rich the culture, had me aching for the slow pace and sweet taste of New Orleans.

That fast pace, was just another factor. We’d been there nearly three years and I had never completely unpacked. Ransom wouldn’t be surprised by my leaving. I knew that. It had been months that we’d gone without touching. Weeks where we kept missing each other, where responsibilities and schedules kept us from being in the same city for more than one or two nights.

“I miss you, Ransom and I’m so lonely,” I’d told him just a month before.

“Come here, makamae. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he’d soothed, taking me on his lap right out on that balcony with the lights of the fast moving city all around us. At the time, I thought we were the only things still. I thought we were the only things taking a second to see the life spinning around us.

Now Ransom leaned on the railing, his gaze all over that skyline, his stance a little unsteady as he gripped the metal edge of the balcony in front of him. I closed my eyes, reminding myself to call the nurse before I left. He couldn’t be left alone in the morning. It was too dangerous.

Ransom’s mouth was drawn down, his body so rigid, so filled with tension. I wanted to pull that away from him, to slip inside his bones and break away the knots and pressure that had him unable to relax.

“You okay?” I’d asked, slipping through the glass door. The night was hot, the humidity booming at ninety-five percent so that my skin felt damp and my already curly hair tightened in the night air.

“Just the game. Same as usual.” He pulled me in front of him so he could wrap those massive arms around my body. I loved how tightly he held me, that I felt every inch of his muscle, all that glorious skin as his pulsed around me. “I’m thinking about getting Kenny to put out some feelers for other teams.”

That had me turning, leaning against the railing to look up at him. Ransom hated the business of playing and though his agent Kenny was good to him, the idea of Ransom asking him to do anything was a struggle. Second round draft picks got decent deals. Defensive line players, which Ransom was, less so. Usually. But I knew Ransom’s option for another season was coming up. I had hoped to convince him not to take the option. We should have been back in New Orleans. Away from the league, starting a life that didn’t involve injuries and an uncertain future. Going home would make things so much better for us.

“Where would you go?” I asked, knowing in the pit of my stomach that it had all been wishful thinking—he wasn’t even considering retiring.

“I don’t know.” Ransom slipped a finger through the ends of my hair, not seeing me, his gaze once again focused on that skyline over my head. “New York maybe, or Colorado.”

My chest ached a little and I couldn’t help the disappointment that burned like fire in my gut. “What about back home? We could go back to New Orleans”

“Nah. Their defense is terrible now.” When he looked down at me, there was no expression on his face. “I want to play somewhere that will get me a shot at a ring.”

“Oh.”

“I know you’re homesick.” That flat tone was enough to tell me he was saying what he thought I wanted to hear. New Orleans wasn’t an option. Not for him. Ransom rubbed his neck, wincing, when stretching his shoulders didn’t give him the release he needed.

“Go lay on the bed and I’ll rub you down.”

Normally, he’d refuse me, tell me not to bother. We hadn’t spent much time together and when we did, there was always something that kept us from touching—the roughness of the game doing its worst on his body, wearing him so thin that most nights he barely managed to crash on the bed when he returned from a game. But it wasn’t just Ransom. I always searched for things to do— teaching dance camps for the Miami Dance Project, filling in now and then when I was needed in a chorus line here or there. I was desperate to find my place in this damn city. But it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t ever been enough. Leann asked if I wanted to buy out her studio. I hadn't even mentioned that to Ransom, not yet. And I knew why: I couldn’t operate that studio here in Miami. I’d have to move back to New Orleans.