Wildcard: Volume One

“You can’t let it get you down, Ryder. Trust me, once you fall into depression it’s really hard to crawl your way out.” She sounds like she’s speaking from experience.

“I’m just not sure what to do. I can’t handle any more nothing,” I groan.

“So do something,” she laughs. “You have the opportunity to do anything you want.” She makes a face. “Well—apart from playing tennis, but you know what I mean. Don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You weren’t even really happy when you could play tennis, were you?”

“No,” I grumble.

She nods smugly. “Exactly. Anyway, you’ll have us back over there in five weeks to keep you company.”

I smile. That was the one shining light in my life at the moment.

“Look, I have to go. But think about what you want. Look at this as a chance to try something new,” she suggests.

“Yeah, maybe,” I mumble. “I’ll speak to you later, okay?”

“Okay. ’Night, Ryder,” she says with a smile and I laugh. “What?” she asks.

“Nothing.” My face reddens. “You said ’night Ryder, and I thought of the Hoff. You know, that old TV show Knight Rider?”

She giggles. “You’re an idiot.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Ticket, sir?”

I smile and hand over my ticket and passport. Her eyes widen as she reads my name but she recovers quickly, tapping my details into her computer. I smile, ignoring the small crowd of paparazzi trying to get a picture of me.

She hands my ticket and passport back to me. “Enjoy your flight, Mr Stevens.”

It was actually Matt’s idea—not that I go to the States to surprise Scarlett and Jake—that was all mine, but to do some work with my sponsors while I was injured.

For three weeks starting on Monday, I’ll be helping kids at a tennis camp for young elite athletes. The camp is conveniently located in Chicago, where Scarlett happens to live.

Her advice for me to do something different had hit a nerve. Mentoring kids isn’t something I’d ever really considered doing, but the chance to be close to her—even only for a few weeks—was too good to pass up.

I walk through departures and into the first-class lounge, stopping at a newsstand on the way. I pick up a copy of The Saturday Mail and hand the attendant some change.

She smirks at me. “Your girlfriend not with you?”

“Pardon?” I ask. For a moment I think she’s confused, but then I see it. I pick up the magazine and groan. “Bad Boy’s New Romance” is splashed across a photo of Scarlett and me kissing. I recognize the setting from our walk along the river. I look at the date on the magazine and realize it’s been out for nearly a week.

I snatch up my paper and stalk off. Has she seen this? No. She would’ve said something if she’d seen it. I’m nervous because I have no idea how she is going to react to being an international news story. I sit down for less than five minutes when my flight is called for boarding.

On the flight I try to sleep. The people who can afford to travel first class tend not to give a shit about me, which is good because I’m not in the mood to socialize with fans.

“Sir, wake up.”

I stir and open my eyes.

The flight attendant smiles at me. “It’s time to disembark,” she explains.

Huh. I slept through not only the entire flight, but also the landing. Grabbing my carry-on, I exit the plane. I’m the last person to leave, so when I reach customs, it’s almost empty.

I’m out of the terminal with my luggage in record time. Flagging down a taxi, I give him Scarlett’s address. I should go to my hotel so I can shower and change, but I don’t want to wait another second to see her.

I chuckle to myself, which earns me an odd look from the driver in the rear view mirror. I’m amused because this is so unlike me. This woman has me whipped—and bad, at that.