Chapter 11: The Drawer

Gianna’s POV

I walked into Ryker’s private bathroom. It was large, clean, and smelled like cedar wood. I went straight to the sink and pulled open the bottom drawer to look for the medical kit.

Inside the drawer, there was a roll of athletic tape, a bottle of pain pills, and a thick wrap for ice. But under the tape, the corner of an old photograph was sticking out.

I picked up the wrap first, but my hand stopped. I couldn't help it. I reached down and pulled the photo out from under the heavy tape.

It was a picture of Ryker when he was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He was standing on an outdoor ice rink, holding a hockey stick. Next to him was a tall, older man with bright red hair and thick wire glasses. The man had his arm around Ryker’s shoulder, both of them smiling at the camera.

My chest felt tight. The man with the red hair and glasses looked familiar. His sharp nose and the shape of his jaw made a small alarm bell ring in the back of my mind. He looked a little bit like Coach Moreau, my toxic ex-coach.

But I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. No, I thought to myself. That is impossible.

Coach Moreau had dark black hair and never wore glasses. The man in this photo looked kind and happy. My ex-coach was a monster who never smiled like that. I was just tired and paranoid because of the stressful night. Everyone starts looking like a threat when you are running for your life.

I brushed the thought aside, slid the photo back under the tape, and closed the drawer. I grabbed the ice wrap and the pain pills and walked quickly back into the hallway.

Ryker was still sitting against the wall. His head was leaned back, his eyes closed. His bare skin looked pale under the light, and the purple bruise on his shoulder looked even bigger now.

"Here," I said, kneeling down beside him again. I handed him two pills and a small cup of water from the counter.

He opened his eyes, took the pills from my hand, and swallowed them fast. He did not say thank you, but the tight line of his jaw relaxed just a tiny bit.

"Hold still," I murmured. I leaned close to him, unrolling the cold ice wrap.

To put the wrap on correctly, I had to reach completely around his broad upper body. My arms went around his back, my chest inches away from his bare torso. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He was massive, his muscles hard as rock under my fingers.

Ryker went totally stiff the moment my hands touched his back. His breathing seemed to stop for a second.

"You're freezing, Cole," he whispered, his gray eyes burning into mine, as I pulled the strap tight across his shoulder.

"And you are burning up," I replied, keeping my voice steady as I fastened the clip. "Keep that on for twenty minutes. Don't move it."

I started to pull away to give him his space, but his left hand suddenly shot out. His large, warm fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me in place. He did not squeeze hard, but his grip was unyielding.

"Where did you learn how to wrap a sports injury like that?" Ryker asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at my hands. "You didn't do that like a normal student. You did it like a pro."

My heart did a dangerous flip inside my chest. I had wrapped my own ankles and shoulders a hundred times during my figure skating years, but I couldn't tell him that.

"I watched a lot of sports videos," I lied, keeping my face perfectly blank. "Let go of my wrist, Barrett. The contract says no touching behind this door."

Ryker did not let go immediately. He stared at me, his gray eyes searching my face for a long, heavy beat.

"You're a runner, Gianna," he murmured, using my real name in a low, gravelly whisper that made my skin prickle.

“But you're a terrible liar."