Winning Ruby Heart

She didn’t want to hide anymore. She didn’t want to be hounded, but she didn’t think she should have to live in a hole in the ground, either. She lowered her hands so they no longer blocked her face and looked him in the eye. “I don’t think I know what forgiveness is, so how do I know if I need it to move on with my life?”

Micah made a low whistling noise. Ruby looked down at her food, pushing the last bits of enchilada and beans around in the take-out container. After such an embarrassing confession, she should want to close the container, open the room door and encourage Micah out. Instead, she wanted to hear what he had to say. His opinion mattered—as it had five years ago. Only then it had sent her scurrying into her parents’ house in shame. Now she hoped to use what he told her to bust out forever.

The sucking of air through his teeth that had made the whistle ended, followed by a short laugh. He shook his head. “This is a much weightier conversation than I expected tonight.”

“What did you expect?”

“To lower your inhibitions with a margarita, fill your belly and quiet your mind with Mexican food, and get you to confess the secret, nefarious reason that you’ve started running again.”

A hot glimmer of betrayal flickered in her belly. “You said this wasn’t an interview.”

“You said this wasn’t going to be an interview and I agreed. I made no promises about not using my knowledge to get an interview later.”

His food was mostly eaten, she noticed, compared to the putty she’d made of her meal. She had to eat, so she reached across the table for a chip to dip into her concoction, asking, “And now?” before shoving the mess into her mouth.

“This series can help you.”

“Help me what? Help me win, right?” she said, mocking every lie she’d already been told. This will make you better, stronger, faster. The easy way her coach had led her from adding protein powder to her breakfast shakes to shoving an oxygen mask over her face to finally sticking a needle in her arm. “Tell me a lie I haven’t heard before.” The lip-puckering sweetness of the margarita would help wash the taste of deception out of her mouth, so she wrapped her lips around the straw and sucked in, her sip noisy and harsh.

“The whole world has been told their version of the rise and fall of America’s Darling. Don’t you want the chance to tell your side of the story?” He rested his arms on the table and leaned into her, the magnetism of his personality reaching across the table and pulling her into him as easily as if she had a cord coming out of her chest and he held the other end. “Tell the American public why you did it, what lessons you learned and how you’re a new and better person. Be an example of how a past can be remade into a stronger future. The public loves a good redemption story. Look at Mike Tyson and his pigeons.”

The cord snapped when she laughed. She fell back into her chair, causing the straw to bump her top teeth and the melting lime and tequila to burn the back of her throat. “Did you just compare me to Mike Tyson? He bit off some guy’s ear.”

“It wasn’t a great comparison....”

“He went to prison for rape—it was a terrible comparison.” She was silent for a moment. “Though I suppose cheating is cheating, whether it’s an ear or a needle.”

“And you don’t have pigeons.”

“I have a flock of backyard hens.”

“Really?” A smile as rich and decadent as chocolate melted across his face. Foolish hunger spread across her belly. Why Micah?

“No,” she said, reluctant to admit the truth. Seeing him completely reevaluate everything he knew about her had felt good, even if only for a moment. “My parents would never allow it. I’ve never even had a pet—not so much as a goldfish.” Her volunteer work at the shelter was for her, so she didn’t mention it. Besides, they weren’t her pets. “Look, I get that you’re trying to help. Or you think you’re trying to help. But America’s not interested in a redemption story, and I’m only running to prove to myself I still can. And it’s great.”

“A run around the block can’t teach you your feet still work?”

“A block is hardly the same thing as fifty kilometers.”

And fifty kilometers wasn’t the same thing as fifty miles. There weren’t many ultras in the summer, which gave her plenty of time to train for a longer race. Telling herself she was going to casually run a 50K hadn’t stopped her from putting together a training schedule for a fifty-mile race. And she’d planned to finish in line with the other elite runners, too. No casual run in the woods; it would be a race to the finish even if she crossed the finish line and fell over.

“And the second race?” His words brought her attention back to the present and the foolishness of the fifty-mile dream, especially if she did want to stay away from the attention of the press.

“To prove to myself that my parents couldn’t stop me.” And those three fucking minutes.

“And what will your excuse for run three be?”

She scowled at him.

“King Ramsey knows I was interested in someone other than Currito. And he’s not as oblivious as he seems. He’s going to figure out who you are, and he’ll be a lot more of a pest than I am. Any interview he gives you is likely to be a trap.”

“Getting out of traps is my specialty.”

“Don’t let your newfound sense of success trick you into being stupid. The interview I’m offering could be gold for your reputation. You could get your life back.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

“What happened to trusting me?”

“I never said I trusted you, only that you would tell me the truth, even if your intentions for not lying to me are questionable. Five years ago you showed me the truth about myself, and it was devastating to me.” An understatement. “That it was also the kindest thing anyone could have done was an accident that I think you would have prevented had you known.”

When Micah reached across the table and took one of her hands in his, the shock waves of his touch reverberated through her body to her belly. His hand was more callused than she had expected. It was also warm and solid and strong. “I’m not sorry that what I said devastated you. But give me a chance to show the world the new person you’ve made from that devastation.”

She wished she could leave her hand in his all night and into the next morning. Crawl into bed with him and feel his strong arms wrapped around her. Find comfort in the warmth of his bare chest against her back. Not just sex, but a night in which she could pretend she was loved. “I hope I’m a new person, but it’s been five years and I’m still running and still living with my parents and I’m not sure what parts of me are new.”

“Be patient.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “One morning, I woke up in a different body than the one I remembered.” Then he laughed and gave her a rueful smile. “Of course, when everyone told me to be patient, I told them to fuck off, that I’d never been patient before in my life and I didn’t intend to start now.” He shrugged and his hand tightened against hers once again. “It’s still good advice, though.”

“You can’t run fifty kilometers and not be a model of patience. Or perseverance.” Not to mention the fifty miles she was planning in the back of her head. Stop that, Ruby. But thinking about Micah was no safer. “And we haven’t even talked about how patient I have been and will continue to be about my finances, because I’ll probably be dead before the lawsuits against me are resolved.”

“Let’s both hope it doesn’t come to that.” Micah slipped his hand out of hers, leaving it feeling limp and empty. “I should go. This has been a far more interesting—and more pleasant—conversation than I expected.”

He backed his chair away from the table and was maneuvering himself out of the tight hotel space when she thought to ask another question. “Why did you interview me? That first time?”

Micah moved so that he was looking at her, his face as expressionless as his voice when he answered, “The ratings, of course.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” She knew—had known at the time—that her father had only agreed to the interview because he’d confused Micah’s loss of agility in his legs with a loss of agility in his mind. It was a miscalculation her father regretted to this day, though he blamed Micah for the mistake.

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Micah sat, suspended between the table and the door, assessing her yet again. “I was angry at your father and his arrogance. And I could have let my anger get in the way of the fabulous opportunity he offered on a silver platter wrapped up in gold ribbon. Or I could have harnessed my anger to do the best interview of my life. I decided on the latter.”

He put his hands on his wheels and the chair rolled forward, just slightly, then stopped. “Halfway through the interview, I was angrier at you than at your father. Your father is nothing. His position in life is due to his parents’ money, a good education and other people wilting under his bluster. You, though—you were something special.”

She grimaced at the past tense, the mistakes she’d made in her life floating around her. They weren’t threatening specters anymore, but they were ghosts all the same, and no exorcism she’d tried had rid her of them yet. “Patience, you said, right?”

“Whatever you remake yourself into, you won’t be the same as before. And no distance you run will bring that back.”

“I know.” She bit back angrier words. Of course she knew. The details of her suspension had been explained to her over and over and over until she could recite them in her sleep. There were no medals in her future, no matter what she did. She took a deep breath; she’d asked Micah for honesty. “I’m running for me.”

“I think I believe you.” Micah looked at his watch. “I really do have to go.”

“Don’t leave on my account.” She didn’t want to be alone in this hotel room again. When he rolled out that door, the promise of friendship would fade into prepared questions, studio lights and a voice-over turning her life into a movie trailer.

“No, I have to go on my account. I have to use the bathroom.”

She glanced to the doorway of her bathroom, assessing whether his chair would fit. “You can use mine. If you can’t close the door, I’ll step outside.”

“Ruby, I didn’t bring a catheter.”

“Oh.” She felt stupid for not realizing that. She stepped around him, putting her hand on the doorknob and bracing herself to let him out.

“Maybe the arms aren’t so attractive now that you know the details of how I pee?”

Her face got hot, and she was sure she’d turned bright red. “I wasn’t...” She didn’t realize he’d noticed, but she’d probably all but drooled at the ropy definition in his forearms. He wasn’t oblivious.

“Everyone admires my arms. I’m the only person who seems to remember that my legs still exist and are living their own life, even if we’re no longer on speaking terms.”

She had remembered his legs and wanted to see them, but she couldn’t figure out if it was an athlete’s natural curiosity about bodies or because of the way her insides tingled and her breath stilled when she thought of him. Curiosity or desire?

Her motivations probably didn’t matter to Micah. She shrugged. “I had someone stick a needle in my arm and pump a stranger’s blood through my body in order to win a shiny necklace. It would be silly for me to be put off by the plastic you use to pee.”

The smile she surprised out of him was as smooth as sin and just as confident. “Good night, Ruby.”

When she opened the door, the real world rushed in with the sounds of a couple laughing in the hallway, the beep of the elevator and the false brightness of the light outside her door. Micah wheeled out her door, and she watched until he disappeared around a corner.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MICAH WOKE UP the next morning still thinking about Ruby and their conversation. Not only thinking—which would be acceptable—but caring. Much to his surprise, he was beginning to believe her when she said she was doing this for herself and not for notoriety and fame. The lady may be protesting too much, but he now thought she might be doing it because she really didn’t want the spotlight on her.

A shame, because he was more convinced than ever that the series he imagined would boost his career, along with rehabilitating her image. And, if he was honest with himself, he liked spending time with her. Worse, he liked the tilt of her nose and the slight curves of her breasts as much as he liked her perseverance.

Well, she wasn’t the only one made more tenacious and stubborn by life’s experience. So long as Derek didn’t pull the plug on the whole enterprise, Micah would keep showing up at Ruby’s races with Amir to get footage. Eventually she would say yes. She would cave, if for no other reason than that she would gain enough confidence in her new self that the thought of letting other people tell her story would start to piss her off. Hell, by that point he might have so much footage on her that he wouldn’t need an interview.

He swung himself out of bed and into his chair, respect for her tugging at his conscious. She was trying to redefine herself and her life with notoriety hanging over her head. Whether or not she should have awakened to her new life five or four or three or two years ago was beside the point. Rebirth was a hard and painful process. It didn’t matter if the world was rooting for you or against you, just cracking that old skin and letting the sensitive new bits see the light of day was scary. Many people didn’t even try it until it was too late.

Micah dug a pair of jeans and a Texas A&M T-shirt out of his bag, still mulling over his plans for Ruby while getting dressed. Her worry that the world wouldn’t accept her redemption story was justified. He could cook the story however he wanted, but the viewing public had to be in a mood to swallow rather than spit it out.

He patted the bed for his belt and didn’t feel anything. When he looked up, the silver in his belt buckle glinted at him from the top of his bag, and he weighed vanity against going to get it. Vanity won.

The fact that he’d even forgotten his belt was a sign that Ruby gave him as much to worry about as he gave her. Conflict of interest was spelled out in the lines of her muscles as clearly as his promotion was. He tightened his belt, making sure to note the notch he was using and any pleats or excess in his clothing. The belt was vanity, but it also helped him monitor the condition of his stomach. He’d never have the muscle definition in his abs that he’d had in college, but it was good health practice to make sure he kept up what was physically possible.

If he was smart, he would leave Ruby alone until she came around to his point of view. And he’d keep all their interactions professional from now on. No more intimate dinners in dark hotel rooms with liquor to loosen inhibitions. Only the great outdoors and blinding studio lights.

None of which stopped Micah, before packing his bag, from writing a short note to Ruby to leave at the front desk.

* * *

RUBY HAD PASSED her signed receipt to the desk attendant and was easing her duffel bag onto her shoulder when the clerk said, “Oh, I almost forgot,” and slid an envelope across the desk.

The outside read, “Ruby Heart” in forthright printed letters. She flipped the envelope over and ran her finger under the barely sealed flap. There was a phone number followed by a short message. “Interview or otherwise. Micah.” The handwriting on the note was the same as the envelope. Honest. Blunt. They were qualities she’d never expected to appreciate in a man, but she’d also never expected to look back on a conversation with Micah Blackwell and hope to have another.

She slipped the note into an inside pocket of her purse before she could consider either the interview or the otherwise.

* * *

THREE DAYS LATER, Ruby stood outside the glass doors of the animal shelter and jogged in place to warm up her muscles. In deference to her race over the weekend, she’d made today a short volunteering day. A one-mile loop around a couple blocks times ten dogs would equal ten miles of running. She’d take it easy and slow, making sure her blood flowed through every cell in her body and rinsed out any lingering fatigue. And if a dog wanted to walk, she’d walk.

Three years ago, she’d sought volunteer opportunities because she needed to get out of the house, but every time she left to even take a walk or go to the grocery store, her mother fretted about photographers, running, rumors and scandal. As if they lived in a soap opera. Or like Ruby was Britney Spears.

Haley was the one who’d suggested the shelter. “They always need people to walk the dogs, and your parents aren’t heartless enough to complain that you’re volunteering at an animal shelter.” Her cousin had been right about the first and mostly right about the second. Ruby’s mother had obviously considered complaining and her father had made a snide comment about people who don’t take care of their responsibilities, but her brother, Josh, had countered by pointing out how good it would look if the press found out.

After about a month of walking dogs every day, Ruby had suggested that she take some of the more hyperactive dogs running. Ruby and the dogs had gone through an adjustment period where, with the help of one of the volunteer trainers, Ruby had learned how to be the alpha dog and the dogs had learned how to run with a partner. The idea had been a win for everyone involved. Ruby got out of the house and back into running on a regular basis. The shelter had upped their adoption rate of the bigger dogs, for whom better exercise meant they were less anxious around potential owners.

And Ruby had watched the shelter employees care for and be gentle with dogs too sick, too aggressive or too old to be easily adopted. The employees and volunteers might have become desensitized to the fate of many of the dogs and cats brought in, but their hearts hadn’t callused over. And so Ruby learned both what it meant for the careless to neglect their responsibilities and for the caring to do the hard thing because it was the right thing. More than Micah’s condemnation of her, the articles in the press and the lawsuits, volunteering at the shelter had taught her the cost of shortcuts in each and every frightened pair of eyes that peered through the cages at her as she walked past them.

Ruby reached down to touch her toes. A pair of boots and white dog feet appeared in her sight line. She looked up. Jodie, the volunteer coordinator, stood holding on to a leash attached to a Dalmatian. Even though the Dalmatian was sitting, the dog’s nervous energy was evident in the way it shook and how its eyes darted about. The dog looked young, scared and ready to bolt.

“This is Dotty,” Jodie said. “Dotty has just been surrendered to us. She’s a year old and needs to be worn-out. If you can stay an extra hour or so, we would appreciate it if you could run her five miles before the other dogs and five miles after.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.