The Right Move
About this book
Ryan Shay protects his career with routine, distance, and a home arranged for one person. Indy Ivers needs somewhere to live after a breakup, and his sister’s solution places her bright disorder directly inside Ryan’s controlled space.
A public relationship can solve problems for both of them: Ryan appears more approachable to management, while Indy can stop presenting herself as abandoned. The arrangement becomes credible because domestic life has already shown them parts of each other a staged date could not.
The novel balances professional sport with loneliness, fertility choices, and the unequal ease with which people ask for help. Ryan’s reserve is not treated as absence of feeling, and Indy’s sociability does not mean she is unhurt.
The Right Move is the second Windy City romance and follows Mile High. Its central couple stands alone, while returning friendships give the series its shared Chicago world.
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From the opening
RYAN
I’m not a dreamer. Not in the traditional sense, at least. My dreams are within reach, attainable moments in time, not romanticized notions of the impossible.
Grown men fall to their knees and pray to their gods over these forty-eight minutes of basketball. Me? I don’t glamorize fate or leave things to chance. I believe in hard work and dedication. My life has a plan. Opportunities are in my path because I’ve willed myself in their direction.
The rest of my teammates, however, have certainly romanticized the idea of a championship if they think they can walk into the first week of practice as out of shape as they are.
“Dom, you need to roll off that screen twice as fast. You’re slow as fuck right now. What the hell were you doing all summer?”
“Living my life, Shay. You should try it sometime.”
Dom Jackson, our big man, slumps over, his palms on his knees, trying to catch his breath along with every other guy I call my teammate.
I use my practice jersey to swipe sweat from my brow as one of the rookies passes me the ball at the top of the key.
“Let’s run it again.”
“Ryan, practice was over an hour ago. Some of us have wives and kids we need to go see.” Ethan Jeong, our veteran shooting guard, stands with his hands on his hips in the corner of the court.
“Yeah, and some of us have dates with…” Dom looks over to one of the young guys on the sideline. “What was her name?” he silently mouths. “Raquel! Some of us have dates with beautiful women named Raquel.”
My eyes wander around my teammates, everyone exhausted but me. “Fine,” I resign. “We’ll call it.”
“Thank God!” Dom turns around, throwing his hands up and slipping his sweat-soaked jersey over his head. The rest of the team quickly follows to the locker room.
“It’s still pre-season, Ryan.” Ethan puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “They’ll get it together.”
“I’m tired of losing. We can’t even win a wildcard game to make the playoffs. I spent my entire summer running two-a-days to get in shape for this season. Everyone else needs to get on my level.”
“They’ll never be on your level. That’s why you’ll be one of the greats, but as a new captain, you need them to respect you, and I’m not referring to the way you play.” He backs away, following the rest of the team. “Besides, I don’t want you tiring yourself out too much. I need you to carry me on your back and get me a ring so I can retire.”
Ethan’s lips slide up in a smile before he ducks into the locker room.
He’s a good guy. Family man. Father of three children and long-time NBA vet. He was the team captain for the last seven years until he asked to step down this season, wanting to have a better work-life balance.
And as of last week, I earned the title and am now the newest captain of the Devils, Chicago’s NBA team.
I knew it’d happen one day. I just didn’t know it’d be when I was twenty-seven and before my fifth season in the league. I still have a lot to learn at this level, and now I have the weight of being the team leader, on and off the court.
The General Manager of the Devils was against the promotion, but that’s not how it works around here. Our captain is determined by a team vote, and after unanimous support by my teammates, I was given the title.
I want to be good for my guys, but I want respect for more than the way I play. I get plenty of it for my talent throughout the league. I’ve dedicated my life to my craft, sacrificed relationships and most of my twenties for this game and it shows.
Year after year, I’ve beat my own records on my path to greatness, not letting distractions get in the way of what I want—to be one of the best to ever play the game.
Though, I have quite the shoes to fill, seeing as my home court is the same as the GOAT himself. The championship banners that hang from the United Center remind me of the greatness that came before me and the gaps in years since we’ve had one, taunt me to earn my own.
I need my guys to take this game as seriously as I do. I need them to live, eat, and breathe it the way I do if we’re going to have a shot this season, but how do I voice that without sounding like the controlling point guard they’ve come to know me as? Now, as the team leader, I need to figure out how to communicate with them in a way I haven’t been able to before because “listen to me, I’m the best player you’ve ever shared a court with,” doesn't exactly work when you’re the team captain.
I’m not particularly close with any of my teammates besides Ethan, so the vote was a bit surprising. My game has always spoken for me, and I got away with being domineering on the court, but now I have another title to wear and I’m not sure how to adjust.
“Casey!” I call out to one of the interns as he quickly scurries my way. “That’s your name, right? Casey?”
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“Yes, Mr. Shay.”
I roll my eyes. “Call me Ryan or Shay or literally anything other than Mr. Shay. You got plans? I need someone to rebound for me.”
“I uh…I…well, my mom…”
“You got plans or what?”
“Nope.” He quickly shakes his head. “I can rebound for you, Mr. Shay.” His eyes go wide. “Ryan! I can rebound for you, Ryan.”
His nervous strides take him to the net where he stands underneath it, wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a polo shirt with our team logo. He can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen, but the staff has him dressing like he’s in his mid-forties.
I take my spot at the free-throw line where I plan to stay until I get at least a hundred shots up, but by shot number seventy-six, the doors to our private practice get thrown open.
“Ry!” my sister calls out. “Practice was over two hours ago. I went by the apartment looking for you.”
“Hey, Vee!”
Shot number seventy-seven barely touches the net as it floats through the hoop. Casey cleans up the rebound and passes it back.
“You already worked out this morning. What are you doing?”
“Getting my free throws in.”
My twin sister stands a few feet away from me with a hand on her hip. I don’t look her way, but in my periphery, I can see her shaking her head at me, her curly hair bouncing with the movement.
“What’s your name?” She directs her attention to the intern.
“I’m Casey.”
“I’ll take over for you, Casey.” Stevie intercepts his pass to me and steals his spot under the net.
The intern’s nervous gaze bounces between my sister and me.
“Do you have a ride home? It’s late.” My twin is as sweet as can be, and unlike me, I didn’t even realize the kid might not have a ride home.
“Yeah. My mom is parked out back waiting for me.”
“Ryan!” Stevie scolds. “His mom has been waiting for him.”
“I didn’t know!” I throw my hands up. “Sorry, man.”
Casey quickly shakes his head. “It was an honor, Mr. Shay.”
My eyes narrow at him.
“Ryan, I mean. It was an honor, Ryan Shay. Anytime.” Casey awkwardly waves before scurrying out the main doors.
Stevie turns back to me, standing under the net. “His mother was waiting for him,” she laughs. “How fucking adorable is that?”
“Adorable,” I deadpan, clapping my hands together and asking for the basketball that’s resting on her hip.
“How many do you have left?” She passes the ball, perfectly nailing it in my shooter’s pocket.
After twenty-seven years together and her rebounding for me more times than I could count, my twin sister has it down.
Sinking another shot, I tell her, “Twenty-two.”
She passes it back.
“What’s up? Tired of Zanders already? You ready to move back in?”
“Ha-ha,” my sister says dryly. “Not a chance. I’m obsessed with that guy.”
My lips quirk in a proud smile. Evan Zanders, who I thought was going to be an absolute piece of shit, has turned out to be anything but. He plays professional hockey for Chicago, and my sister met him last year when she was a flight attendant on their team’s plane. Their relationship was under wraps until early this summer, and the past four months have been a nonstop public love fest between the two of them.
Stevie moved in with him, which is thankfully just across the street from my place, and as much as I like to be right, when it comes to Zanders, I’m happy I was completely wrong about the guy. He lights my sister up like I’ve never seen before, allowing her to own who she is with confidence. Hard to hate the guy when he’s the best thing to happen to your favorite person.
And I’m not going to lie, he’s become a good friend of mine as well.
“Well, I’d say he’s equally obsessed with you, if not more so.”
My sister rests the ball on her hip. “I know. Isn’t it great?”
Lightly laughing, I shake my head and clap my hands together, needing the ball back.
There’s no denying I’m a different guy around my sister. I’m the man I was before the fame and fortune. Money has never gone to my head in the way you’d expect it to for a young first-round draft pick, but it has made me more wary and paranoid than most people realize. Stevie is the only person I unequivocally trust with my life and having that freedom, not watching my every turn, allows me a moment to relax. To be myself.
“So, what’s up?” The ball slips through the net with another made shot. “What’s so urgent you had to come down here and rebound for me?”
Stevie doesn’t pass the ball back. Instead, she holds it in front of her with her arms across her chest. “I have a favor to ask.”
I hold my hands out for her pass, but she refuses.
“What is it?”
“Well, you remember how I moved out?”
“Yes, Vee. I’m pretty sure I remember I live alone now.”
“In your huge, beautiful, empty-when-you’re-on-the-road apartment.” Her eyes sparkle.
“And?”
“You know my friend, Indy, right? My old coworker.”
“The chick who showed up at our apartment and sobbed all night, then puked on my shoes in a bar the only other time I met her? Hard to forget.”
“Because she caught her long-term boyfriend with someone else,” she reminds me. “You see, her parents moved to Florida—”
“No.”
“Ryan,” Stevie protests. “I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“I know. And I’m stopping you before you do. You know I’m terrible at saying no to you, so I’m not going to let you even ask the question. She’s not moving in with me.”
“Ry, she has nowhere to go. She got promoted at work, and she’s going to have to give it up if she can’t find a place to live in the city. You know how little we make.”
“You make enough to pay for a place to live.”
“She’s…” My sister hesitates. “She’s going through some financial stuff and can’t afford to live alone here. Chicago is expensive.”
“Then she can find a friend to mooch off. I don’t even know her other than she got cheated on and can’t hold her liquor.”
“Ryan, don’t be like that. You have a huge apartment and you’re on the road for work half the time. Indy travels for work as much as you do. Hockey is the same season as basketball. You’ll barely see each other.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it was one thing when you lived with me. You’re my sister and my best friend, but I don’t want a roommate. You know how sacred my time at home is. End of discussion.” I clap my hands together, needing to get the ball back from my twin so I can finish my daily shots.
Instead, Stevie’s shoulders drop in disappointment before she turns on her heel and heads to the exit, taking my basketball with her.
“Vee, what the hell? I need to finish shooting.”
“You can rebound for yourself then.” She continues towards the exit, not bothering to turn around.
“You can’t be mad at me for saying no.”
“Not mad. Just disappointed. Would it kill you to care about someone or something other than this orange ball?”
“I care about you,” I remind her, but she charges through the double doors leading towards the hallway, dropping the basketball in the corner before she goes.
Fuck.
I try not to give a shit if I disappoint people. Their standards are never as high as the ones I hold for myself. However, my twin sister? Her opinion is the only one I care about besides my own.
I jog after her.
“Vee,” I call out as I open the doors to the hallway. She’s almost to the exit but turns on her heel to face me. “Tell me why I have to do this. Are you really that upset? Why does this matter so much to you?”
“You don’t have to do anything, but she’s my friend. She was my first friend in this city. You know how hard it’s been for me to make friends that weren’t just looking for a way to get closer to you. Well, Indy has been that friend, and if she can’t find a place she can afford, then she’s going to move to Florida so she can stay with her parents. I don’t want her to leave Chicago, and I don’t know how else to help her. The guy she was planning to marry cheated on her and she was the one who had to move out. She needs a win.”
Why does my sister have to pull at my goddamn heartstrings all the time? Someone else could give me this same exact speech and I wouldn’t blink an eye, but with Stevie saying it, my resolve is crumbling, wanting to give her anything she asks for. I’m the reason my sister has had a hard time making real friends, and now she’s giving me an opportunity to make it up to her, even just a little bit.
“I trust her,” she continues. “You can too.”
I care about Stevie’s happiness far more than my own. In fact, I’ve given up on that idea for myself, which causes the next thing to slip out of my mouth.
“To make it clear, I don’t want to do this.”
“I know.”
“There needs to be a move-out date.”
Stevie’s lip twitches as her eyes begin to sparkle.
“I want some sort of makeshift leasing agreement, and she’s paying rent. This is not a free ride.”
“Of course, she will. But could you make it affordable? It’s not like you need the money.”
Here I am doing her a favor and she’s making special requests. “This is temporary. She’s not staying with me forever.”
“Got it.” Stevie’s smile is unable to hide. “Have I told you that you’re my favorite person in the entire world?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I turn back to the gym. “Come rebound for me. I have fifty free throws left.”
“You said you had twenty-something.”
I continue to the free-throw line, not bothering to turn around. “Looks like I lost count while I was letting my sister talk me into having a random chick move into my apartment.”
Stevie’s beaming smile radiates in her tone. “Fifty it is.”
2
INDY
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no.’”
“I mean no. I’m not moving in with your brother.”
Stevie’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Why not?”
“Hmm, let me think. Because it’s a terrible idea.” Yes, moving in with my best friend’s brother sounds like a plot pulled straight from one of my favorite romance novels. Not to mention, said brother is Ryan Shay—basketball superstar who looks like he just walked out of one of my wet dreams. But more important than all that is… “Because he hates me.”
“He hates most people.” She pops her shoulders, and the casual-ness of her tone is a bit alarming.
“Really selling him, babe.”
Stevie takes a seat on the hotel room’s couch as I finish cooking my breakfast on the single burner stove. My vegetarian sausage looks like dog shit thanks to this god-awful cooking pan the hotel provided.
Extra-flavor, I tell myself, hoping I can put up with living in this hotel for a bit longer.
“I know Ryan is my brother, so I’m probably biased here, but he’s great. Sure, he may come off cold because he doesn’t exactly wear his emotions on his sleeve, but he’s a good guy. I love you and you’re my best friend. Ryan and I share the same DNA which means he’s going to love you too. Eventually.”
“Nice logic, Vee.”
“It’s science.”
I don’t honor that with a response, so she continues. “You both travel for work so much that you’ll barely cross paths. Plus, he doesn’t date, so you don’t have to worry about random girls coming in and out of the apartment.”
A single brow raises. “Just because he doesn’t date doesn’t mean he doesn’t sleep around. Have you seen the man?”
“I don’t want to think about that, thank you.” Her face scowls with a bit of disgust. “All I’m saying is he never had anyone over, and I lived there for almost a year.”
Probably saves his hookups for the road. Smart. And it would be nice not to worry about finding random girls in my home for once.
“I’ve offered our place, but you don’t want to move in there either. Zee has two extra bedrooms,” she continues.
“Vee,” I sigh. “The last thing I want to do is play third wheel and I sure as shit don’t want to hear the two of you going at it like a couple of rabbits every time we come home from a road trip. Really, I’m fine.” I take a seat on the ottoman next to the coffee table with my breakfast in hand. “Look at these places.” I toss the stack of printouts across the table, hoping my future home is in that mix, seeing as they’re the only places I can afford in this city.
The more papers Stevie flips through, the harder it is for her to hide her disbelief. “Indy, no. You can’t live in any of these places. Some of these are sketchy as hell and look at this.” She begins reading one of the descriptions. “Fifty-something-year-old male looking for a twenty-something year old female roommate.”
“I’m a twenty-something year old female and that place is only five-hundred bucks a month!” I take a bite of my veggie sausage, but it’s burnt to shit so I spit it back on my plate.
“Yeah, probably because you’d have to pay the remainder of rent in a different way.”
“Okay, gross.” Pulling that page from the stack, I crinkle it up, adding it to my plate of inedible garbage.
“Indy,” Stevie sighs, dropping the papers on her lap. “Please move in with Ryan. If not for you then for me. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing you’re staying in one of these places. You can text me daily updates of how it’s going, and I can keep Ryan in check if I need to.”
Pulling out my phone, I decide to send her one now.
INDY
Daily update—if you make me move in with your brother, I will sexualize him every chance I get. I will text you every single day and remind you that he is the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Daily, you will hear just how badly I want him to do dirty, dirty things to me.
She pulls her phone out, a grimace forming on her lips.
Stevie blinks rapidly as if she were clearing the image from her mind. “I’m going to gamble here and hope you’re bluffing.”
“Well, this is going to be fun.”
“If you move in with Ryan, we’d be neighbors!”
I can’t help but allow the smile to pull at my lips, thinking of living across the street from my old coworker and her boyfriend. I love them together, and I got a front-row seat to watch their relationship unfold last hockey season. As much as I’m going to miss having her on the road this year, I’m glad she and Zanders don’t have to hide their relationship any longer. Love like that shouldn’t be hidden away.
“That would be fun,” I agree.
“See! Plus, your favorite coffee shop is two blocks away and Ryan’s doorman is an absolute gem. You’re going to love him.”
While the idea of living in a luxury apartment in downtown Chicago stacked with every imaginable amenity sounds like a dream come true, I can’t help but hold back from saying yes.
I guess in part, I’m still convincing myself that being back in Chicago is a good idea. Every corner, every building, every street reminds me of him. That’s what happens when you spend your entire life loving one person. Every memory includes them.
And now I’m left grieving a version of my life that no longer exists.
It took everything in me to finish out the hockey season last year after I walked into our apartment and found Alex with someone else, but as soon as the Raptors won the Stanley Cup, I threw my shit in storage, packed a bag, and followed my parents to their new beach-front retirement home in Florida. Spending my summer there was a nice reprieve from the heartbreak, but being back in this city, where my entire life fell apart, it’s like I’m starting the healing process all over again, regardless that the initial shock occurred six months ago.
And after living in this hotel for a few weeks and training two new flight attendants to work under me, I can’t say for sure that I made the right choice by coming back here.
As if she could read my mind, Stevie shifts the subject. “First road trip of the season starts in a few days. Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be with a completely green crew. Watching hockey boys strip down every flight won’t be the same without you.”
She tilts her head, shooting me that sweet Stevie smile. “Part of me will miss flying, but mostly I’ll just be missing you and Zee while you’re on the road. Though, I am excited to catch all of Ryan’s home games this year. How does it feel to be the new lead flight attendant and boss everyone around?”
“Weird. I never thought I’d be in charge of the Raptors’ plane in my second year, but I’m excited. And unquestionably stoked that Tara is gone for good.”
“Fired for fraternization,” Stevie laughs. “The irony.”
There’s a strict no fraternization rule as far as flight attendants spending time with our passengers—the Raptors, Chicago’s NHL team. And last year, Tara, the previous lead flight attendant, made sure to rub that in Stevie’s face as much as possible, but part of accepting my promotion was getting those rules to bend a bit. There’s still a strict no dating, no sleeping, no fucking around with the team, but we are allowed to be friends now. Kind of had to change the rules when my best friend’s boyfriend is the alternate captain, and we see each other around too much to pretend as if we’re not friends.
“It’ll be good to get away from Chicago for a few days too,” I add.
“What are you talking about? You were in Florida all summer. You’ve only been back here for a couple of weeks.”
A long stretch of silence lingers between us as I keep my eyes down on my lap.
“Oh, Ind. I’m an idiot. This has nothing to do with living with Ryan, does it? If you don’t want to be in Chicago, I get it. Trust me, I get it. I was trying to help you stay in town by finding you a place to live, but I didn’t even think about the fact you might not want to be here.”
“You’re not an idiot. You’re a good friend. It’s just kind of hitting me, you know? Being back here, knowing I could run into Alex at any moment has me sick to my stomach, but at the same time I’m tired of his decision ruling my life.”
I was days away from taking a job in Florida and making the move a permanent one before I got the call about the promotion. Alex took everything from me that night—my future, my apartment, my friend group. I wasn’t going to let him take this too.
“Indy, I get it,” she says gently. “Sometimes leaving is easier. Are you sure you want to be here? In Chicago.”
“I want to feel better.” I hold my head up high. “Maybe being back in Chicago, where everything went down, will force me to face the situation and heal quicker.”
“Well, if you change your mind and decide Florida is a better fit for you right now, I’ll help you pack your bags, but I hope you take Ryan’s offer. He won’t charge you more rent than you can afford. You can save this way. Things will be different for you, but I think they can be better.”
“You didn’t tell him anything—”
“Of course not,” Stevie interjects.
Looking around, I take a quick inventory of my hotel room. A mini-fridge so mini that I have to go grocery shopping every three days because full-sized items won’t fit inside. The suitcase I’m living out of because there aren’t enough hangers in the closet for my exorbitant wardrobe. Towels so tiny they barely wrap around my hair.
I miss having a home base, even if said home base is shared with one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’ve only met Ryan Shay twice in all these months, but you don’t forget a face or body like that. However, if I could have one wish right now, it’d be that we could both forget our previous encounters.
“If I knew I was going to live with the guy one day, I would’ve made a better first and second impression.”
Stevie’s blue-green eyes shine as she mashes her lips together, holding in her laugh. I was waiting for her to ease those worries and tell me her smoking hot brother doesn’t remember me at all.
“He hasn’t forgotten, has he?”
“Not even close.”
* * *
It took all but ten minutes to move out of my hotel room and another twenty to empty my storage unit. The U-Haul was embarrassingly bare. It’s sad, that twenty-seven years of life can’t even fill half a U-Haul.
Every piece of furniture or kitchen appliance that was bought during our six years together is still at our apartment. His apartment, and I’ve succumbed to starting over and trying to be okay with that. I didn’t notice the absence of my things when I moved in with my parents for the summer but having next to nothing is becoming blatantly obvious as I sit in Ryan’s apartment.
My apartment.
Though, this apartment is so bare it feels like I’m sitting in the middle of a museum more than anything and maybe that’s why my lack of things is evident. He doesn’t have much either.
His place is spotless and minimalistic. Black and white with no pops of color in sight—besides my wardrobe currently skewed across his living room as I attempt to organize. Attempt being the key word here.
I’ve been to this apartment a handful of times since I met Stevie, but it never looked this empty and…lonely. Stevie is as bright as I am. I guess all the color left when she did.
However, the view is breathtaking, the city skylights and the sunset over the Navy Pier distracted me for the first hour I was here.
My self-guided tour takes me to the kitchen. A single-cup coffee maker with one mug nestled underneath, ready for tomorrow morning, I guess. Dishes—four big plates, four small plates, and four bowls—all in black, like they came in a set, as if he’ll never have more people in his home. Not so surprising, when I open the first drawer—four spoons, four knives, four forks, most likely purchased in a small set.
I get that he travels for work as much as I do, but what if he wants to have friends over? Or what if he brings a woman home one night and she’s hungry, but he hasn’t done his dishes from the previous day yet?
Seems impractical to me, but something tells me that Ryan Shay thinks having just enough to get by is completely practical.
Back in the living room, my finger trails over his bookshelf, praying, hoping it picks up a layer of dirt or dust. Something to tell me this guy is human and not a robot as the rest of his apartment suggests.
There’s not a single photo in his home, but countless books. Every kind of motivational or self-help book you could imagine lines the shelves and they’re organized by…Are you kidding me? Alphabetical order of the author’s last name. This guy is a monster who probably runs marathons for fun and passes out nutrition bars on Halloween.