Chapter Five
Claire went straight home from the concert, texting Mack something vague about a stomachache. She’d explain later, when her heart wasn’t beating so fast. She paid the babysitter for the full night anyway, and then hugged Maya so tightly she squirmed in her arms.
“This is my life,” she whispered softly as she watched Maya sleeping, and then again as she looked at herself in the mirror the next morning, twisting her hair into a messy bun and ignoring the tiredness in her eyes.
Ryan was just in town as part of his tour. He didn’t know she lived here. It was possible he hadn’t even seen her.
Even if he had, they were ancient history. He’d made his choice when he found out she was pregnant, and she’d made hers. One night singing a few songs in Gold Mountain didn’t change anything. No doubt he was already back in Seattle, or New York, or wherever he was heading next. She should pretend it never happened and move on.
She dropped Maya at kindergarten and went straight to work. Sonia was already in the massage room setting up a client she’d been able to squeeze in last minute. Having a massage student work as her assistant in exchange for practice hours had been a godsend, giving Claire an extra set of hands in the mornings, when she needed it most.
Sonia told her everything was ready, and Claire walked in. See? It’s just a normal day.
But as soon as she saw who her next client was, she stopped dead in her tracks.
This isn’t happening. It isn’t real. I’m going to pinch myself and wake up, and everything’s going to be fine.
But all that did was leave a sore spot on the back of her hand. The half naked man was still there, lying face down on her massage table, awaiting her touch.
He couldn’t see her, but she could certainly see him. As was customary, he’d stripped down to his boxers—or briefs, she had no idea and had better not think about it. A white sheet was pulled to his waist, right where his back dipped into what she knew was a very nice ass. She took in every cut of muscle down his back. The swell of his shoulders. That tattoo on his forearm, the one she hadn’t known he had.
She’d been so unfocused walking in that she hadn’t really looked at the information sheet Sonia had handed her. But she didn’t need to see his name on the page, or even the tattoo, to know. She could trace the lines of his body in her sleep, no matter how many years it had been.
She took a quiet step back. She could still sneak out. It would be good practice for Sonia to take over. There was no way she could work on this man.
Then the door clicked shut behind her, and he stirred.
“Is that you?” he asked, turning his head so he could see her.
As soon as his eyes landed on her, she could feel every second of their history mix up inside her. How could he be so calm? Blood was pounding in her ears.
“I found you.” He said it with just a hint of a smile, that secret look he gave, a tightening around the mouth that let her know that no matter how much he had filled out or hardened around his eyes, he was still the same Ryan. Handsome, charming, tender, strong—and so closed off, she’d been a fool to think he could ever be hers.
She steeled her resolve. That face wasn’t going to work on her this time.
“Were you looking?” she asked, hoping she sounded composed.
The smile faltered. “No.”
They both knew the truth. Of course he hadn’t been trying to find her. He never made any effort to get in touch when she left. He would have known she’d go to her parents—where else would a pregnant twenty-something with no job, no degree, and no future wind up? But according to them, he hadn’t even called.
The silence stretched between them.
“I know this is weird,” he said with that same half grin.
Claire stared at him, dumbfounded…then at the curtains behind him, because staring at him meant taking in his naked torso, his chiseled shoulders, the dark scruff on his jaw… And none of those things were wise to look at right now.
“You’re the one who came here,” she reminded him.
“I had to see you.”
“Had to?”
“You ran out.”
He turned under the sheet to lie on his back and then sat partway up so she was finally looking at his eyes. And his chest. His pecs. The fall of his thick, dark hair.
“Last night,” he clarified, gray eyes darting away, and Claire felt her face flush. Yes, there were so many times she’d run out on him that he had to clarify. Way to go, me.
“I was surprised,” she said.
“Me, too. I thought if anything, I might see you in Seattle.”
“I was there,” she said. “To begin with.”
“And then?”
“And then I moved here.”
That strained silence again. But she wasn’t going to bring up Maya. He might ask about her, want to see her, start thinking that just because he’d managed to pull together a new band and a tour without totally flaming out, he could start laying some kind of claim.
It was never going to happen. He’d been so drunk the night she told him she was pregnant, it had finally become clear there was no hope of a future for them. She had no interest in talking more about those days. So what the hell was she supposed to do now?
Your job. You can at least do your job.
She took a breath and smoothed down the front of her shirt. “It says here your shoulder is bothering you,” she said, glancing at the info sheet.
“Yeah, I think I did something to it on tour. I’m sure you’ll feel it right away.”
Like she really needed the reminder that she was going to have to touch him. Her hands—and her heartbeat—were anything but steady as she approached his nearly naked body on the table.
He turned onto his stomach and settled into position. She’d given plenty of massages to attractive men before. That he was her ex, and the father of her child, and way more built than the twenty-something she’d left behind didn’t change the fact that she was a professional who knew what she was doing.
But as soon as she felt the soft glide of his skin and the hard, unyielding muscle underneath, she didn’t feel so professional anymore.
“Where does it hurt?” she asked, trying to keep her voice under control.
“Everywhere,” he said, and for a second she could feel her heart breaking all over again.
Then he laughed and said, “I’ve been on tour for months, sitting in that goddamn van. Hunched over with the guitar on stage. My back is a mess. My right shoulder especially. You know the spot.”
Of course she did. It was where he used to be sore when he stayed up late in their cramped basement apartment, picking out chords on the guitar, trying to catch the notes of a new song. Where she used to rub his back as he fell asleep at night, when it still seemed like they’d always be together.
“Here?” She pressed with her thumb.
He let out a groan. “You always go right for the kill.”
She wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a dig or not, but she made herself move past it.
“You have a minor tear, but I can loosen up the muscle to reduce strain.” She used her hands to glide over the tender spot, pressing to see how much he could take.
He sucked in his breath when she kneaded harder. But when she asked if it hurt, he told her not to stop. “Whatever it takes,” he said.
“It’ll feel good after,” she promised him. “Even if it hurts for now.”
“Better than the opposite,” he said. And she fell silent, his dry humor hitting way too close to home.
“How long have you had this place?” he finally asked.
“Three years,” she said, using both hands to get deep into the muscle. “My parents helped me open it.”
“So, no law school.”
“No,” she said, moving across his shoulders, trying to focus.
He had cords of muscle now, exaggerating the divot of his spine. She worked her hands down to the dimples on his lower back. Her fingers dipped just below the sheet, finishing the long slide down his spine.
It was the same thing she’d do to loosen anyone up. But when she felt the elastic of his boxers—that answered that question—she pulled her hands away. Better stick to his upper back.
Not that his shoulders were much safer.
“No law school,” she repeated, her concentration faltering. She paused. “No college.”
She felt him stir and reminded him to keep his head down. “You didn’t go back?” She had no idea why he sounded so surprised.
Once again, she didn’t know what to say about Maya. Were they just going to pretend that nothing significant had happened? Something that might have made it hard for her to pick up her life where she’d left it when she so stupidly dropped everything for him?
She went back to the knots in his shoulder, kneading the muscle. He had a long scar along the ridge of his left shoulder blade, and she felt hard tissue underneath. It was new. Well, not new. It had been almost six years since she’d last had the right to know anything about his body. But new to her.
“What’s this from?” she asked, changing the subject. She knew it would be better not to talk, but silence was worse. It eclipsed everything, so all she could think about was his body, her fingers, how bizarrely familiar he still felt after all this time.
“Rock climbing,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
Her hands paused in their work. Forget familiarity—the Ryan she knew had been naturally skinny. He only worked his biceps to lift another beer.
“It happened when I first started. A buddy belayed me down too fast. I spun around in the ropes, got all twisted up, and slammed into the rock, right against one of those points that stick out. Handy when you’re looking for a foothold—less convenient when it’s jammed into your back.”
“Ouch,” she said, because she felt like she had to say something. Because since when are you a rock climber, and, are you just making that up so as not to tell me you were shitfaced and fell down the stairs, weren’t the kinds of things she could say to him. Not now, after so much time had passed. She wasn’t supposed to care about him—whether he was rock climbing, whether he was still drinking…whatever the hell he was doing with his life.
But she pressed her fingers more gently to him, tracing his skin until he told her to do it harder and they both, she thought, had to catch their breath at the request.
It doesn’t change anything, she reminded herself.
But the voice in her head wasn’t very convincing. Not everything between them had been bad, and she’d be kidding herself to pretend that it had.