Fight Like You've Never Lost (Summer Lake #14) - S.J. McCoy Page 0,4
it off, feeling as though her lifeline to Dan—to anyone who could save her—had just been cut.
Ryan turned to her with a grin. “So, how’ve you been?”
Chapter Two
“Do you seriously expect me to sit here and chat to you like … like we were old friends or something?”
Ryan’s heart was still hammering as he stared back into those beautiful blue eyes. He’d lived through plenty of dangerous situations in his life, but they all paled in comparison to facing Leanne’s wrath. His heart thudded to a stop when that thought drove something home for him. Sure, he’d faced danger many times during his career, but he hadn’t reacted the way he was now. He’d faced those situations with calm determination—okay, sometimes with reckless aggression. He hadn’t had the kind of palpitations his heart seemed to be experiencing now. His palms hadn’t sweated so much that he needed to wipe them on his pants. When his life had been in danger, he’d never been afraid. Because since Leanne—without Leanne—his life hadn’t meant that much to him. He was not going to examine what that might mean about how much Leanne still meant to him. Nope. She meant nothing. Not anymore.
She was still glaring at him. Perhaps the safest move would be to agree with her to say that yeah, sure, she was right—they had nothing left to say. But the safest move was rarely the one that Ryan chose. He preferred to blow shit up, burn it all down. He pursed his lips.
“Good.” She nodded and settled back into her seat, apparently taking his silence as … what? Acquiescence? A victory?
He must be getting older, because the thought of letting her win didn’t make him want to continue the battle until he came out on top. It just made him sad. Not that she’d won. But that between the two of them, there always had to be a winner and a loser. If they could have found a way to work together, they would have been an unbeatable team. Maybe that wasn’t true. They had worked together for a while. It had been amazing. They had been a great team—formidable, but not unbeatable.
He looked around, wondering how long it’d be until the flight attendant could bring him a drink.
Life had beaten them. Broken them apart. He risked a glance at her, but she was pulling the magazine out of the seat back pocket. She turned her body away from him and started to read.
She was right. He hadn’t really expected her to talk to him, had he? He didn’t want to talk to her. He just couldn’t help himself. He’d gone on the offensive because that was what he did. That was all.
~ ~ ~
Leanne rested the magazine on her lap. She couldn’t hold it up because the damned thing gave away her shaking hands when she did. What the fuck? There was no other way to put it. He hadn’t really expected her to talk to him, had he? She wasn’t going to risk peeking at him. Nope. He was trained to spot that kind of thing. She didn’t want to give herself away. Though she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d be giving away. She just didn’t want to risk making eye contact with him, having to engage with him. This was a short hop. They could be in the same space physically but remain a million miles apart in every other respect.
She had to swallow around an unexpected lump that formed in her throat. She’d spoken those exact words to him back then. He’d come back physically, but other than his body being present in the room, it was like he wasn’t even there—he’d still been a million miles away.
There was no way she was going to let herself cry. She closed her eyes and waited for her tear ducts to get the message. There. She straightened her shoulders—with the secondary and unintended effect of pushing her boobs out. It was a move she’d first learned as a way to feel stronger. Shoulders back, chin up, girl. You’re strong. You can face anything.
She’d soon learned that she could use it for more than that. The move itself made her feel stronger, more self-assured, but the effect it had on the men around her had taught her much more about her personal power. She didn’t abuse it—she wasn’t like that, even though most people assumed she was—but she was aware of it.