The Unforgiving Minute (6 page)

After the session, he got directions from Josh to the treatment rooms for a follow-up with the physio. Josh hung back to talk to Brad again. That left Ryan feeling like he was the child while they were the parents, but he guessed in terms of experience that wasn’t completely off the mark.

Josh came in as Ryan was just finishing up with Chris, the physio. “Supper’s at seven in the restaurant. Brad’s keen on us all eating together. It’s part of his whole team thing.”

“
Seven?
” Ryan queried. It was only ten after five now. “But I’m
starving
.” And also sounding like a disappointed five-year-old, he realized belatedly.

Josh’s lips twitched. “We still get our post-training carbs,” he assured Ryan. “You want to hold on till I’m done?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ryan said. He sat down and waited for Josh, and as he did so, he thought that their earlier encounter, when Josh had ignored him, must have been accidental. Because this Josh was perfectly approachable and friendly. Tommy must have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick.

The restaurant wasn’t yet open, but Josh guided them unerringly to a lounge that had a salad and sandwich bar. Almost everything on offer was on Ryan’s list of approved foodstuffs, which took away one concern, but his stomach was rumbling so hard that controlling himself when it came to portion size wasn’t easy. A quick glance at Josh’s plate, bearing oatcakes, grapes, and cottage cheese, helped reinforce his wavering self-discipline. If Josh was willing to eat stuff like that for the good of his game, then Ryan could certainly exercise some impulse-control. Especially as it wasn’t
that
long until supper.

The lounge was empty, so they took the seats that were in prime position by the large windows, overlooking the courts and colorful flowerbeds below. Once he’d guzzled down his roll, Ryan started to feel more human again. Josh was, predictably, eating at a more delicate—some, like Ryan’s mom, might say polite—pace. One day Ryan would catch him out in some sort of behavior that was less than perfect. It just didn’t look like that was going to happen today.

“You’re here without your usual—” Ryan somehow managed to stop himself before he got to “army”—“um, your dad, then?”

“Brad prefers it this way. I’m allowed my physio on speed dial in case of problems, but it’s part of his whole building a team thing.”

“You’ve done this for a few years, haven’t you? The Cup, I mean.”

Josh had just taken a bite of oatcake, so waved his hand around a bit until he’d chewed and swallowed. “It’s cool,” he said eventually. “Some people don’t like it so much because it gets in the way of tournament prep, but it’s pretty awesome to be out there representing your country.”

“Who wouldn’t like it?” Ryan asked, amazed. “I mean, I know there’s the whole prize money thing, but it’s the
Davis freaking Cup
.”

“Damn straight,” Josh said.

“Hell, yeah.”

They grinned at each other.

“Is this a private bonding moment or can anyone join in?”

Ryan jerked his gaze from Josh’s face to find a tall, dark-skinned guy sitting down in the chair next to him and a pale guy with ginger hair and a goatee planting himself down on the couch beside Josh. “Daniel Bolden,” the guy next to him said, “and that’s Finn Kirkland.”

“Ryan Betancourt,” Ryan introduced himself.

“And some guy who left us hanging last year,” Daniel concluded, looking at Josh. “Man, we actually had to
win
our matches without you in the singles.”

“Must have been quite a struggle,” Josh said.

“Well, so long as we can coast on your coattails this year. Yours too, Ryan,” Finn said.

Ryan knew they were joking around, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it until Josh leaned toward him. “These guys haven’t actually lost a Davis Cup match in eighteen months,” he confided. “They just like to mess with your head.”

“Speaking of which, hasn’t he heard of the tournament barbers?” Daniel asked, ruffling Ryan’s hair in a way that had Ryan jerking away, discomfited.

“Cut it out.” Josh’s tone was sharp.

“Sorry, man,” Daniel said to Ryan. “I forgot you don’t know us yet. It’s kind of like summer camp, coming back here every time, and we get a little amped. Your hair looks great, by the way.”

“Yeah, you might want to get your eyesight checked before you play any tennis,” Ryan said.

Daniel slapped him on the back. “I like this one, Josh. Can we keep him?”

Josh surveyed Ryan for a minute before he answered. “Maybe.”

D
ANIEL
had been right. The next few days were like the best summer camp Ryan could have imagined. Tennis was the focus, which was the biggest point in its favor. The food was good, plentiful, and came along regularly, which was another big plus as far as Ryan was concerned, and his fellow teammates were pretty awesome. Daniel and Finn shared a sense of humor that was distinctly frat boy in tone, but their teasing of Ryan was good-natured and helped him to feel part of the team rather than like the new kid who was waiting for someone to figure out he wasn’t really good enough to be there.

Josh, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the team, appeared to have made it his personal mission to make Ryan feel at home, even if he did laugh more than Ryan thought was either necessary or polite the first time he witnessed Ryan’s encounter with an ice bath. On the other hand, Josh laughing uninhibitedly like that was going straight into Ryan’s mental scrapbook of favorite memories—sparkling blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his body shaking with peals of laughter Ryan hadn’t known Josh was capable of. On court, Josh was buttoned-down and 100 percent disciplined, and so different from how he looked in that instant. It led Ryan to wonder just how Josh would be in other circumstances, with all that self-discipline slowly stripped away until all he
could
do
was react.

But even with those thoughts occasionally—well, okay, fairly often—buzzing round his head, Ryan made a supreme effort and stopped jerking off to thoughts of Josh. Now that he was getting to know the guy, it felt dirty somehow, and not in the good way. It also felt as if he was tantalizing himself with something he couldn’t have. He was happy Josh treated him as a friend and fellow player he respected. That was more than he’d ever thought he would have. It was just a shame Josh had to look so damn hot while doing it.

B
Y
THE
time they flew out for the tie against the French, Ryan knew he was playing at least as well as he had at the US Open last year. He was relaxed, he was happy, and he was confident. He was also beginning to realize how lonely he’d been on the tournament circuit. Ryan thrived on company, and while he was perfectly happy to chat with anybody he encountered who’d talk back to him, the transience of interactions with drivers or housekeeping staff or random road-sweepers didn’t compare with being surrounded by this sort of effortless friendship.

The draw for the first day had Josh playing Philippe Martin, followed by Ryan playing Guillame Rouze. Ryan had known he’d have to play Rouze, but he’d really hoped it would have been his second match, by which point he might not need to win for the USA to take the tie. Martin was good but Ryan had beaten him before, giving him the confidence he could do it again. Rouze was another matter entirely. His game was strong and aggressive, and he was amazingly agile around the court. Ryan would have given anything not to have had to face him first.

Josh won against Martin in straight sets. Ryan, despite playing his heart out for himself, the team, and his country, lost to Rouze in straight sets.

Josh was waiting for him as he came out of the locker room, and Ryan could scarcely look him in the face. He was sure he’d never felt this bad over any other loss. He felt as if he’d let down Josh, let down Brad, let down everyone who’d ever thought he could be good enough for the Davis Cup team.

Before Josh could say anything, Rouze came out of the locker room. Josh and he exchanged a brief greeting as he walked past them. And then Josh put his hand on Ryan’s bowed neck and steered him back into the empty locker room and over to a bench.

Ryan sat down. “I’m sorry,” he said, and to his horror, found his voice was thick and his eyes were suddenly damp.

“Hey, you played well out there.” Josh sat down next to him. “You didn’t do anything wrong; Rouze just outplayed you today. It sucks, but it happens.”

Ryan sniffed and ran a hand under his nose. “I guess.”

Josh shook him gently by the scruff of his neck. “I’ve played more matches than you, and I say so,” he said. “And revenge is sweet—we have rematches the day after tomorrow, and we are going to kick their collective French ass, yeah?”

“Damn straight,” Ryan said, looking at Josh and giving a slightly watery smile. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed by his emotion.

“Ryan, you practically left your heart out on that court. Of course it’s going to hurt that you didn’t win. Don’t ever apologize for that, you hear?”

“Yeah.” He sounded more like himself this time, and drew a steadying breath. “Reckon Brad would mind if we had a post-match beer?”

Josh snorted. “He’d probably schedule you an extra-long ice bath for even thinking about it.”

Ryan sighed. “Juice it is, then.”

“Oh, super,” Josh said brightly. “Just for a change.”

“Thanks, Josh,” Ryan said, clapping him briefly on the shoulder as he got to his feet. “First round’s on me.”

“You do realize we don’t have to pay, right?” Josh checked.

Ryan looked back with a grin. “Why d’you think I offered?”

And then ran for his life as Josh chased him out the door.

Chapter 7

D
ANIEL
and Finn won their doubles match the next day. That left the final day’s play to decide which country would win the tie, with the US leading by two rubbers to one. Josh was playing first again, this time against Rouze. Ryan caught bits of their match on the television in the locker room, in between keeping himself warmed up and in the right headspace. It became more difficult not just to sit and watch as the match continued because it turned into an epic battle, with Rouze finally winning 10-8 in the fifth set.

For the brief instant before it dawned on him what that meant for him, Ryan felt disappointed for Josh. And then he realized: they were at two rubbers each, which meant this final rubber between him and Martin would be the decider. Great. No pressure, then.

He was still trying not to panic when the locker room door opened and Josh and Rouze came in, their shirts and shorts saturated and clinging after their long, hard match. Ryan congratulated Rouze, then moved over to Josh, who sat down on a bench with a slight groan. “Bad luck,” Ryan said awkwardly, then noticed Josh was massaging his left knee. “You okay?” he asked. “Need me to get the trainer?”

Josh shook his head. “It’s fine. I just feel it when I’ve overdone things these days.” He shot a quick, glinting smile up at Ryan. “Age comes to us all, young Padawan.”

“Please tell me you did not just say that.”

“I did not just say that.” Josh glanced over at where Martin was turning his iPod off, getting ready to go courtside. “Now go kick some French ass.”

“I will if you promise not to misquote really bad movies at me again. And also to remember I’m only two years younger than you.”

“Consider it done,” Josh said, leaning back with another small groan.

Ryan reckoned he deserved to win the match simply for the self-control he employed not to look at the way Josh’s wet, muscular thighs were splayed in front of him. “Go see the physio,” he said, and carried on warming-up while he waited for the knock on the door to let them know they were needed.

Perhaps it was all the psychology work he’d done with Stefan, with Brad, and with Zoe, or perhaps it was just one of those times when everything came together for Ryan, but despite the importance of the match, his nerves disappeared once he was on court. He beat Martin in four sets. The deciding point culminated in perhaps the finest passing shot Ryan had ever delivered, resulting in a standing ovation from the Americans in the crowd. Ryan, as was his way, applauded them right back, to their obvious delight.

The grin on Ryan’s face didn’t fade once during the round of interviews and photo calls that followed. It scarcely faltered even when Josh swept him into a hug and his face got pressed against the warmth of Josh’s neck and he breathed in the scent that was a mixture of shower gel with a faint echo of cologne, and something else, something that was pure Josh and completely addictive. He slapped Josh on the back in a manly way and swiftly disengaged. All that self-discipline over his fantasies wouldn’t mean jack if he got a boner while hugging Josh.

Finally, Brad declared them done and they climbed into the waiting cars and were taken back to their hotel. Josh turned to Ryan as they walked in through the lobby. “You want to go out, grab a bite somewhere?”

“It’s food. You need to ask?”

“Good point. See you in the bar in twenty.”