Page 8 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Owen

“NO, I’M FINE, MAN. Drop by anytime. It’s your sister’s place, too.”

“We try not to impose on Walter, so she usually comes over here.”

“Walter loves seeing the girls.”

“Especially their noise.” Simon laughed. “Unlike me, if he gets tired of it, he doesn’t have to take it.”

I pulled over. “Okay, I’m here. Send my love to Nicole and the kids.”

“Good luck at the appointment. Let me know what he says,” he signed off just as I reached the large facility in Santa Barbara.

It had only been seventy-two hours since I arrived, and Simon was already apologizing for not seeing me yet. I kept reminding him—he was a busy family man with a demanding job in the city. I wasn’t expecting him before the weekend anyway.

Simon was one of the few constants in my life. Walter, too, in his own way—though he still resented me for not being a constant in his .

My parents ceased being that a long time ago. My dad opened an RV business with his second wife, and though it failed in the UK with my mom, it thrived in Florida.

My mom had remarried and moved to Spain, into a house I bought her. She loved bragging about my success, loved the money I deposited in her account every month, but never once offered to help, not even when I was injured.

Simon had. Just like the last time I had surgery, he was ready to drop everything and stay with me for a few days.

He was the brother I never had. Which made keeping a secret from him all these years a heavy burden to carry. Rio that night—the only secret I’d ever kept from him. And since he hadn’t torn me a new one yet, I figured she never told him either.

I hadn’t seen much of her since we took Walter to the pool.

Climbing out of this rented Range Rover Autobiography was easier than Rio’s ridiculously tiny car, but my knee still screamed with pain that reminded me why I needed to be here.

Two hours, several X-rays, pokings, and an extra CT “to be on the safe side” later, I clambered back to the wheel of the silver car.

My companion on the way back was the vague promise that physiotherapy sessions four times a week with their highly-priced, world-renowned professionals would get me “closer to a satisfactory level where we could start considering long-term recovery options.”

“Too many words. World Cup next year, will I make it?”

“We can’t promise that,” the doctor said.

So why the fuck am I paying you shit tons of money ?

At least my limp was almost gone, and he said I could take the brace off.

Crashing for two hours of sleep in the late afternoon was something I rarely allowed myself.

My schedule was always crammed with training, matches, team events, team preparations, physical therapy, PR photoshoots, charity and sponsor events, hospitality matches, product launchings, fans meet & greet gatherings, interviews, and more. Being an It Boy was a lot of work.

But now I woke up refreshed, ready for coffee and for compartmentalizing the verdict I had received earlier.

I took a shower and went downstairs.

Passing by Walter’s door, I heard The View blaring again.

Either he had short-term memory loss, or he just really needed to hear the same arguments twice a day, because he was already watching it when I left this morning.

He must have taken out his hearing aid this time.

Thank God for the thick walls keeping the noise contained.

I was heading to the kitchen when I spotted Rio on the couch, her back to me, completely absorbed in her phone. Before I could say hi, I caught a glimpse of what had her so enthralled.

A ripped guy in a gym was ... not demonstrating proper foam rolling technique so much as giving an X-rated lesson in his pretty impressive bedroom mobility.

The video looped on repeat and I had a full view of it as Rio’s hair was tied up, soft brown strands escaping the ponytail and resting on her exposed nape.

“Hi,” I said from behind her .

Rio practically leaped off the couch, spinning around. “Hi!” She sounded breathless. “I didn’t think you were up, or home, or ... Hi!”

The music from the video kept playing, over and over. Her face went pale. Then red, matching her shirt.

“This looks like the kind of physical therapy I’m about to start,” I said, nodding toward the phone she was now clutching behind her back like evidence at a crime scene.

With crimson cheeks, she yanked the phone in front of her and slammed the screen off. “I hope Walter’s TV and my... phone didn’t wake you.” She peeked at me, then cast a glance at the now-dark screen.

“No, you’re good. It was time for me to wake up.”

“It’s just a funny video a friend sent me.” She raised her gaze back to me with a casual smile.

“Good friend. I’d be riveted too.” I was riveted. By the fact that Rio had been so into this video—and the vivid mental image it sparked. One that involved her beneath me, once upon a time.

Maybe the same image crossed her mind, too, because while she was still smiling, she picked at the phone case’s edge, her thumbnail chipping at the rubber, like she was testing its durability.

I exhaled. No. Nope. Not going there.

“Going to grab something to eat,” I said quickly, before Rio took up space she wasn’t supposed to take and that I had sworn she wouldn’t take again in my mind, my pants, and my heart. “Wanna join me? Maybe Walter too? Sync dinner time? ”

“It’s almost six so I’ll go get him, he usually has dinner by six.” She was gone while still speaking and was already knocking and calling Walter’s name.

She entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

I was taking plates down from the top cabinet.

“He’ll be here as soon as his show ends,” she said.

“Thought I’d make my killer frittata.” I swiveled toward her. “Wait. Is he allowed to eat eggs?”

“As long as he’s not overdoing it.” Rio smiled then hid behind the fridge door and pulled out ingredients. Only her jeans-covered ass peeked from the thick door she kept open—I looked, of course I looked. “I’ll make a salad,” she announced, her voice muffled.

We were both busy at the two ends of the counter—she was cutting salad, and I was peeling potatoes—when she broke the silence.

“Last time you were here you switched between accents all the time. Now you don’t.”

“I did? I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah. Like, when Bambi was next to you, you spoke in a British accent. When she wasn’t, you didn’t.”

“Hmmm.”

“What happened to her?”

“Who?”

“Bambi.” Rio seemed engulfed again, this time with the cucumber she was slicing.

“She went on with her life.” I shrugged, feeling Rio’s gaze on my profile now. I wasn’t surprised she didn’t know. Like my grandfather, Simon thought my relationships weren’t worth mentioning. He was right. “You’re my best friend and I love you, man,” he always said, “but I’m glad I’m not a woman.”

Good thing he didn’t know about Rio and me.

“Who’s the friend so invested in your workout routine?” I smirked, tossing the sliced onions, potatoes, and red peppers into the sizzling skillet.

Even without looking directly at her, I could feel Rio fidgeting. “A friend on Instagram. She follows my tutorials, we got to talking, and she thought I might enjoy it.” She was chuckling now.

“And did you?”

Rio halted and turned to me, which made me turn to her. “Obviously!”

I laughed. “He did give some great workout there, I’ll give him that.”

We both laughed now.

“What tutorials?” I then asked while adding the eggs.

Before she could reply Walter announced his entrance with a puzzled, “You cook?” directed at me.

“Cook isn’t the exact word, but I know how to make a few things.”

“Smells good,” he said.

Did he just compliment me?

Walking over to Rio, he leaned over the salad bowl. “No parsley, please.”

“I made that mistake only once , a year ago.” Rio chuckled. “You can take a seat, Walter. I’ll set the table.”

My grandfather sat at the round kitchen table and looked over at us. “Let me tell you, people these days don’t appreciate anything. I was just watching two idiots on TV arguing about—”

He went on and on to quote one panel member, then another, and complained about all of them equally, until the food was ready and served to the table.

“Watching these shows isn’t good for you, Walter. You have your blood pressure to think about,” Rio said when Walter’s mouth was full and she could finally squeeze in a word.

“I don’t have enough friends alive to argue with, so I argue with the TV,” Walter replied with his mouth full.

“You have friends down at the Seniors’ Center. But maybe it’s good you’re not arguing with them.” Rio gave Walter a challenging smile with her eyebrows raised.

The way she handled him was amazing and amusing to watch.

“How’s the frittata?” I asked.

“Nicely done, Owe—Where’s the salt? I need more salt.” Walter deflected.

“Can’t finish the compliment?” I teased.

“You shouldn’t add salt, Walter. I’ll tell Dr. Shae on you,” Rio said, taking a bite.

Walter waved a dismissive hand at the mention of the doctor. “What did yours say today?” he turned to me.

A half-compliment plus recalling I had a doctor’s appointment—Walter was starting to defrost. “That I have a good chance if I do everything he says. You should do what yours says, too.” I smirked at him.

“What do they know?” he sneered .

“The good ones know a lot. With enough physiotherapy and recovery techniques, I’ll be good as new.

” I might have embellished it, but just a little.

I could be a cruise missile when I wanted something, homing in on my target until I got it.

That was how I made it all the way up to the top league, and I wanted to believe I could beat this injury, too.

“They say it’s a career-ending injury at your age and with the number of past ones you already sustained,” Walter said dryly.

“I know what they say,” I replied in the same tone.

Rio was looking between us, but at this point she lowered her gaze to her plate, her fork hovering over it.

“What?” It came out more sudden than I meant to sound. Somehow, Walter’s disbelief didn’t rattle me as much as her inability to look at me at that moment.

She lifted her eyes to me. “What?” she retorted.

“I know what the media says, I know what you think.” I looked at them both, almost begging them to be on my side, to hang on to hope with me. I couldn’t fail.

“I don’t think anything, Owen. I don’t know enough about these things to form an opinion.” Rio replied, her eyes soft, too soft now, as if she was feeling sorry for me. Why did it hurt more than my knee did?

“I know all about doctors and hospitals,” Walter took an unconcerned bite.

“From your days in the IRS?” I smiled. I wanted to intercept the tension.

I needed to put their niggling doubts to rest. Football was the only thing I could do for a living, the one thing I never failed in.

Relationships—with the exception of Simon—I failed in left, right, and center.

Even with Simon—I kept a secret from him, I wasn’t there for him on a day-to-day basis.

And my grandfather, too. His treatment of me was evidence of my failure.

“No, from being old and infirm,” Walter replied.

The scowl on his face indicated that he was aware of his own exaggeration but hoped it’d go unnoticed. But Rio and I burst out laughing.

“You might be old, but you’re not infirm, Grandpa. Your doctor said you’ll live to be a hundred.”

“How much did you pay him to say that?” he countered.

I laughed again. “I love you, Grandpa. Even when you’re exasperating.” I put my palm on his shoulder.

To my surprise, he briefly put his hand on mine.

Hope.

“How about Scrabble?” I offered.

“Another time,” Walter replied.

He pushed his empty plate, got up, and went to his room.

“Too soon?” I asked, looking at Rio.

She scrunched her nose and mouth to the side in an I’m sorry.

“Wanna do something?”

“Sorry.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m meeting a friend.”

Male or female , I wanted to ask but didn’t. It was none of my business. Or should have been.

She left soon after, a flash of green passed by the kitchen window as her car drove out the back .

Male or female, it shouldn’t matter to me—just like the scent of her perfume shouldn’t still be lingering in my mind long after she left.