Racing Toward Love: A Second Chance Romance by Everleigh Clark

Author:Everleigh Clark [Clark, Everleigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Everleigh Clark
Published: 2018-01-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Ryan tossed and turned in his too-firm—make that too-soft, too-hot, no, wait it was too-cool—bed. This was the third night since leaving Shaylee’s house. The third night of being unable to sleep. The seventy-third hour of checking his phone to make sure it still worked. Max had texted twice. Chase had called him to tell him, “Don’t worry, she’ll come around.” Yeah, his damn phone was working. Max had even sent him home early today after he snapped at Ruth during a set of medicine ball rotations. Luckily, Ruth hadn’t batted an eyelash, and had given him a hug and told him “Honey, women are complicated. Give it some time.” Everyone around him seemed to feel sorry for him. Which pissed him off even further. They all acted like he had tucked his tail between his legs and run home. Poor Ryan. Pitiful young man with the broken heart.

But that’s not how he saw it, damnit. He was giving her the space she requested—no, demanded. And he had been respecting her wishes. For three long, lonely nights and two equally stressful and blood pressure-raising days. He’d called Ruth this evening and apologized again. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper like he had.

But Shay... God. The woman had wrecked him, torn his heart from his chest and stomped on it, before handing it back in a lasagna tray. And she hadn’t even meant to—he saw it in her eyes that night. It killed her to end the relationship, probably as much as it destroyed him. That’s why he was giving her the space. He didn’t want to hurt her. The woman was going through some serious shit and had the emotional scars to prove it. He had hoped to help her get past all of it. Let her see herself for the amazing, gorgeous, talented, hilarious woman she was. He didn’t care about her age. He didn’t see numbers—he saw her heart. And theirs fit together.

He scrubbed his two-day-old scruff and punched the pillow again. Dammit, he couldn’t sleep. He picked up his cell phone and winced at the time. Four a.m. Too late to go back to sleep, but too early to get up and have a well-functioning day. A few weeks ago, he would have been up and at the club in half an hour, waiting for the most beautiful woman in the world to finish her workout in the eighty-plus temps, while he sweated and pretended not to worship her from his chair.

He was going to call her. She’d be up soon anyway. She still needed to log some miles before the big day. He wouldn’t push her—she deserved that much—but he would put his foot down. He was the best trainer in the area and the only one who had ever raced something longer than a marathon. She needed him professionally and, whether she liked it or not, he would be there while she trained, ready to hand her gels. Ready to administer an IV.

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