“It’s my first game outside of Chicago.” I force a smile, as if I’m not zoned out and staring at the visitors’ tunnel, waiting for Ryan to come out.
Both the Raptors and the Devils are in Phoenix and playing tonight. Ron and Caroline called and invited me to sit with them, but I can only stay for the first half. I’ll have to get to the airport during halftime to prep the plane so I can fly the hockey team home tonight.
Ryan assured me I didn’t have to come. That just because I missed one invite from the Morgans, they wouldn’t question it. But I didn’t come for some ruse or to convince them of our authenticity. I came for him.
Finally, both teams come out for warm-ups, the court swamped by giant basketball players stretching and running through layup lines. But behind the blur of them, I find Ryan across the court, standing in front of his team’s bench, dressed in his normal clothes with his eyes locked on me.
He’s such a good man, and my heart aches seeing him so concerned. He doesn’t look happy. He seems stressed.
Arms crossed over his broad chest, Ryan’s lips lift in a slight smile, but it’s not big enough to show off his dimples.
“Is Ryan doing all right?” Caroline asks from beside me.
“I’m not sure.” I keep my attention on him, but he refocuses on his team and the game he can’t play in. “I had a conversation with someone from my past a few days ago, and I haven’t had the opportunity to explain to Ryan that it didn’t mean anything. I think he’s been stressed over it.”
“Well”—she puts her hand over mine and squeezes—“that’s because he loves you. He doesn’t want to lose you.”
An awkward chuckle bubbles out of me. “He hasn’t told me that yet.”
“No?”
Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that to Caroline. Here she thinks that Ryan and I are happily in love and living together. Things have moved backwards for us. Living together, pretending to love each other, then developing real feelings.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that out loud, but I feel too vulnerable to lie right now.
“You know, Indy. Ryan doesn’t strike me as the type of man to be loud. He might not say it, might not scream it from the rooftops, but I could bet good money that he says it without words every single day.”
Cold coffee waiting for me in the fridge.
Fresh flowers, though sometimes dead because he tried too hard to keep them alive, sitting on the kitchen island for me at home after every road trip.
Refusing to let me pay rent.
Even giving me time to process my conversation with Alex.
“Sometimes the quietest love is the loudest,” she continues.
A sharp burn stings my eyes and nose as I sit courtside, surrounded by eighteen thousand fans. I’ve never thought of it that way. I once assumed that Alex’s loud declarations of love, showing me off, and saying it daily was what it meant to love someone. But that belief was quickly diminished when his actions no longer lined up with the words.
As much as I’m a hopeless romantic, I no longer need the over-the-top declarations. I don’t even need to be told. I simply want to feel it, be consumed by it. And Ryan has consumed me since the day I moved in.
That realization overwhelms me as warm-ups end. Ron finds his seat next to Caroline and after the team introductions, about twenty elementary-age kids are led out to the court.
The players, including Ryan, are each paired up with a student, ranging from ages seven to eleven. Apparently these twenty kids are from a local elementary school and are being honored for making their school’s dean’s list.
The students are given a jersey by each player they’re paired with as a photographer goes around the group and captures the moment.
It’s pretty adorable if I do say so myself. These men are huge, ranging from 6’3” to well over seven feet. Some of these students’ heads don’t even reach the players’ hips, but the awkward poses, to get both people in a photo, makes the moment even cuter.
Ryan is paired with a little girl who looks to be the youngest of the group. She doesn’t say a word to him as she stands at his side, doesn’t tell him her name or ask his. She only stares at his face with wide eyes. She could very well be nervous. How intimidating to be seven years old and standing in front of a crowd of thousands next to Ryan Shay of all people.
But when the photographer continues to call for her attention and she doesn’t turn to face him until Ryan points in his direction, it’s then that I realize her wide eyes are set on his lips, prepared to read them when he speaks. She’s deaf.
Surprisingly, Ryan picks up on it too.
As soon as the photographer gets his shot, Ryan crouches down on his haunches, making himself eye level with her.
He does the sign for “hello” with his hand touching his forehead and waving outward. He follows that up with a hand on his chest before the index and middle fingers on each hand cross over one another and tap twice, saying “my name.”
Then Ryan fingerspells his name. Slowly and cautiously.
Anyone in the Deaf community would pick up that he’s a beginner as he takes his time remembering each sign, but that’s not what matters.
The little girl’s face lights up as she watches him, catching on to how new he is when she slowly signs her name back.
Sarah.
He repeats her name with his fingers, also mouthing the word to confirm.
Her smile widens as she nods with so much excitement.
He points at himself again, followed by a motion that looks as if he were taking information from an open palm to his head, finished with the sign for “sign”—index fingers circling each other backward.
I am learning sign.
He mouths the words as well, but his sign was so clear that Sarah understands with no problem.
She grabs his hands, hopping around on her toes, unable to contain her joy, then gives him a double thumbs-up to tell him he’s doing a good job.
Ryan’s stunning smile beams, the two of them sharing a moment. I don’t know how much he’s communicated with a deaf person. I didn’t even know he was learning the language, but this moment is special for him, I can see it. The pride in his eyes, the joy radiating off him, successfully speaking to another with his hands.
“I didn’t know Ryan knew sign language,” Caroline says next to me.
“He doesn’t. He didn’t, I mean. I didn’t know he was learning.” My stare is locked on him. “I offered to teach him, but we hadn’t gotten around to starting yet.” I take a sharp inhale, attempting to compose myself. “My dad is deaf.”
“Oh, Indy.” She places her hand on top of mine, the both of us watching Ryan and Sarah. “That man loves you. That right there is quiet love.”