Chapter 1

"I gotta go, man," said Mark. "I told Hilary I'd meet her."

"Right." Brody grinned. "You're just mad because I was kicking your ass at Madden."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's it. I'm so pissed about losing that I'm using my girlfriend as an excuse. Jesus, Brody."

Brody snickered. "You have been whipped since she moved in with you."

"Just get out." Mark glared at him.

"Man, I never thought I'd see the day..." Brody dodged Mark's half-hearted swing at his shoulder, grinning all the while.

"You should be so lucky." Mark managed to land one punch as Brody went to the door. They heard some thumps in the hallway, followed by a muffled voice.

"Mice?" Brody asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, that's Ryan, my neighbor," Mark said. After more thumps, he said, "Come on, let's see if we can help. Ryan's got a fractured ankle. Probably needs help carrying something."

"Okay." Brody opened the door and stepped out, Mark behind him, just in time to hear a few more thumps.

Brody turned around to offer some help, and was surprised to see a woman in the hallway. She had a cast on her ankle, crutches under her arms, and he watched as she threw her purse on the floor in frustration.

"Need some help?" Brody asked.

The woman dropped her head, sighed, and looked up. "Sure," she said. "It's obviously not meant for me to do." She ran a hand through wavy auburn hair in frustration, then tried a smile. "Hi, Mark."

"Hey. Brody, this is Ryan Bancroft. Ryan, this is my teammate, Brody Lang." Mark squatted and started picking up the fallen items. "He's mostly housetrained." That got a short laugh from Ryan and a glare from Brody. Mark looked up. "How's the ankle?"

Ryan shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Not great today."

"Well, we all have bad days," Brody said. He picked up cans and boxes as he moved forward, putting them into the plastic grocery bag they'd escaped from. He took the bag, refilled with the groceries, and gestured at the little metal cart that held a few more. "Do you need any help getting that stuff in?"

"Probably." Ryan sighed and unlocked her door.

Brody followed her in and dropped his bag on the table, then went out into the hall for the cart. Mark came through with another bag and her purse, and Brody maneuvered the cart through the door and into the apartment, leaving it outside the kitchen.

"Thanks, guys." Ryan took her purse and dropped it on the counter. "I appreciate it."

Mark looked at his watch and cursed. "Ryan, I'm sorry, I'd help you put stuff away but I've gotta run."

"No problem, Mark," she assured him. "Go on. I've got it."

"I can help," Brody offered.

Ryan shrugged as if to say it was up to him.

"Sorry, Ryan," Mark said again. "I'll talk to you later. Bye, Brody." He took off.

"So, you're Ryan." Brody stared at the woman in front of him. She had on faded blue jeans, a GMU sweatshirt, and a well-worn leather jacket. Auburn hair framed a slightly angular face that had a light dusting of freckles over the cheekbones. Mischievous green eyes met his own. She was not what he had expected.

She gave him a half-smile as she made her way over to one of the bags. "You were expecting someone with a Y chromosome."

Brody felt guilty. "I, ah, yeah, I guess so. Mark said his neighbor was Ryan and I assumed it was a guy. Sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't worry. It's not the first time, won't be the last. I should change my name."

"How about using your middle name?" Brody suggested. "I have a couple of aunts who do that."

"My middle name is Riley."

"Oh." Brody wondered how far into his mouth his foot would fit.

"Thanks." She shook her head. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be difficult. You didn't know, and I am grateful for the help."

Brody was silent as Ryan leaned over the cart and began pulling the bags out. When she grabbed a chair to keep from falling, he shook his head at himself and stepped over.

"Here, let me." He set the bags on the table, began taking out the contents. "Just tell me where they go," he said.

"Look," Ryan said, shaking her head. "You don't have to do that, I can—"

"I know." He gave her a breezy smile. "I just like making myself useful to attractive women."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yep." He held up a can of soup, gave her a questioning look, and turned to the cabinet she indicated. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face. Ask Mark, he'll tell you."

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, I guess Mark has a pretty face, when it doesn't have stitches on it."

Brody grinned. "I'll tell him you said that."

That seemed to break the tension and Ryan sat while Brody put the rest of her groceries away.

"You know, you should buy some real food sometime." Brody closed a cabinet and turned to look at her.

"I have plenty of real food." Ryan crossed her arms in front of her. "You just put it away."

"I don't think you had anything that wasn't microwavable. That's not healthy."

"I manage, thanks. Are you a chef or something?"

"No." He shrugged. "But I like to cook, and it kills me to see more fake food than real food in a person's kitchen." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Come on, not even bananas?"

"I don't like bananas. There are grapes in the fridge."

"I don't believe you."

At Ryan's wave, Brody went to the fridge and opened it. He spied a small, sad container of what might have been grapes but were halfway to being raisins.

"These, Miss Bancroft, are not grapes. They are pitiful."

"I have canned peaches." She paused. "I think."

"Stop, you're killing me." Brody closed the fridge and sat across from her at the table. "So, what happened?" He gestured at her leg.

"I jumped off the Washington Monument."

Brody stared at her. That couldn't be true, but she kept her eyes on his and there was no trace of a smile on her face. He thought for a minute, then said, in a tone as serious as hers, "Where did you land?"

"The Reflecting Pool."

Her expression didn't change much, but he could see the slight grin at the corners of her mouth.

"Good call." Brody nodded. "I'd have gone for the Tidal Basin, but you'd really have to get some distance for that."

They stared for another minute, then both started laughing. Ryan shook her head.

"If only it was that interesting," she said. "No, this was the result of a 'friendly'—" she crooked her fingers in the air as she said the word "—game of touch football with my family."

"Wow." Brody looked down at the cast, then back up to her green eyes. "A little sibling rivalry at work?"

"Something like that. I'm not much on sports; I shouldn't have played. But you know how it is, it was family." Her eyes clouded and Brody suspected there was a little more to it.

"Too bad you don't like sports," he said, "I'd get you tickets to a game."

"Thanks." Ryan smiled, a genuine one, and it softened her face. "I've gone to a few; Mark's given me extra tickets. Not so many now since he has a girlfriend, but that's okay."

"Maybe you can use mine. I don't have a girlfriend. And I only live a few floors up, so delivery is no problem."

Ryan nodded. "Thanks, but it's awkward on steps with this right now. Maybe another time."

"Maybe." Brody smiled, pleased he hadn't been shut down outright. "It was nice meeting you, Ryan. You need any help with groceries again, let me know."

"I'll do that."

Later that night, Ryan lay on the couch, reading and listening to some music, her ankle propped up on a pillow. She had turned on iTunes and set it to shuffle. Some might have found it odd to hear Bad Company, then Sara Bereilles, followed by John Coltrane, but she liked it.

She put her book aside and pushed herself up, trying but failing to stifle a groan of pain and irritation as she did. She used the arm of the couch to push herself up, got her crutches, and went over to turn off the music. Normally she would have used a quiet evening to work on her own music, but the ache in her leg made it difficult to focus.

Just let it go, she told herself and took a few deep breaths. It was an accident, could have happened to anyone. Let it go.

She tried, but she was still pissed about what had happened to her leg. They'd had a family reunion two weeks ago, at her parents' house in Chantilly, and it had been fun. She'd caught up with her cousins, talked to her aunts and uncles, and had agreed—in a fit of idiocy, it seemed now—to play in the football game.

Her whole family liked sports, so the game was a tradition at most gatherings that had enough people to support two teams. Ryan had grown up on the Redskins, the Wizards (né Bullets) and Capitals. When the Nationals had come to town, the family had been stalwart in their support.

Ryan had liked sports, too—for a while. Until she realized that anything else she did never got the same respect or attention as her brothers' athletic achievements. A piano solo in the school orchestra performance? That's nice, dear. We'll make sure to record it so Dad can watch later. Top marks on the AP Chemistry test? Good job, Ryan. We'll celebrate after JT's game.

She had tried. Ryan had held her own on the track and softball teams. She had kept at it, even though she preferred music, even though her sports accomplishments never seemed to please her parents the way her brothers' did. College had been liberating as she left sports behind. Her parents didn't care, as they had her brothers to focus on. JT was a football star in his third year at University of Maryland; their younger brother, Evan, was in first year at the same school and had earned a basketball scholarship.

Get over it, she told herself irritably. You're an adult. It's over. Get on with your life.

She decided to go to bed. It was early—before ten—but the ache and fatigue in her leg tended to spread to the rest of her. She might read or watch TV for a bit, but she'd had enough of lying on the couch.

Despite her best efforts, memories of the football game surfaced while she got ready for bed.

It had started out fun, and she'd been enjoying herself, almost to her own surprise. They'd been playing for maybe half an hour when she'd caught a pass and started running for the makeshift end zone. Laughing as she dodged the attempts to tag her, she had stepped into a small gopher hole in the yard and tumbled, one of her brothers landing on top of her.

She'd gone white from the pain, but hadn't screamed or shouted as she might have expected. Her brother, JT, had taken her initial struggles as part of the game, until she had shouted at him and freed an arm to push him away.

What had made her furious was that instead of someone taking her to the ER at that point, it was decided to wait until the game was over.

"Nothing broken," her father had said, clapping her on the shoulder. "We'll finish up and someone will run you over."

So for another half an hour, Ryan had sat on a lawn chair, a picnic table bench brought over to keep her leg elevated. Her mother had brought some ice before returning to the game, but that was it. Ryan had been tempted to call an ambulance, but her purse with her cell phone was in the house and she couldn't get it, nor could she get anyone's attention to get it for her.

No one, she thought, had been as nice as her neighbor, Mark Gaines, and Brody Lang, a complete stranger. Who, she had to admit, she wouldn't mind seeing again. Not just because he was tall, with a great build, shaggy brown hair and gold-brown eyes, although that didn't hurt. No, he'd been fun to talk to, and she'd liked him.

You should have gotten his number, dimwit, or given him yours. She thought about that, then shrugged. She could give her number to Mark, perhaps.

She considered it again as she climbed into bed. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea. Getting involved with an athlete, given her current feelings about sports in general, probably wasn't the best way to start anything. And of course, there was no particular reason to think he wanted to get involved with her.

Still, he'd been nice.

"So, Mark, what's the story with Ryan?" Brody asked a couple of days later. They sat in the dressing room, lacing up their skates before practice.

"What?" Mark looked up. "What story?"

Brody shrugged. "She seeing anybody?"

Mark narrowed his eyes. "I don't know. Why?"

"Just curious."

"I don't think she's your type."

"My type?" Brody raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Mark stood and grabbed his helmet. "Her IQ is bigger than her bra size and her voice doesn't squeak."

"I like smart women."

"Since when?" This was from Drew Stamenski and drew hoots from the rest of the team. Brody's penchant for hooking up with women who weren't exactly intellectuals was a constant source of amusement to his teammates.

"Since always," Brody said. "They're more fun to talk to."

"Is that what you do?" Ray Callahan, the team's tough guy, grinned and tapped him on the leg with his stick as he walked by. "And here I thought you were getting laid all this time."

"If you spent less time thinking about what I was doing, maybe you'd get laid," Brody tossed back.

More snickers and catcalls rattled through the room, along with mocking advice for Ray on finding some post-game company. Brody grabbed his stick and helmet and headed out to the ice, eager to get a little skating in before practice started in earnest.

Ryan looked up from her endless data entry when her phone rang.

"Hello. Ryan Bancroft."

"Hey, Ryan. It's Lara."

"Oh, hey. What's up?" Ryan took advantage of the break to stretch. Lara Cohen was her best friend since high school, her roommate and the band's lead singer.

"Not much. Just checking in. I might be a couple minutes late to pick you up for practice."

"Okay, thanks. Thanks for picking up the synth and the guitar. Sorry I couldn't help load it in." Ryan felt guilty about that. Her keyboard was nominally portable, but not with her cast, so Lara had had to take it with her the night before.

"Don't worry about it. I'll meet you at the door."

"Thanks. These damn things are a pain in the ass." Ryan glared at her crutches.

"No problem."

"So, how's Trout these days?" Trout was Lara's boyfriend, and Ryan could never figure out how he'd come by his nickname. At least, she hoped it was a nickname.

"He's good." Lara sounded happy and Ryan smiled. Lara went on a little more, but Ryan let her mind wander and launched the app on her smartphone to start writing down a melody that had begun to coalesce in her mind. She was soon engrossed and it wasn't until Lara shouted her name that she realized she hadn't heard anything for the last few minutes.

"Ryan! Geez. Are listening or not?"

"Sorry. Song."

"Cool. Tell me later." It was an exchange they'd had many times before.

Ryan was silent for a moment as she got the basics of the melody down. "Okay. So, is it just Trout that makes you go on like this, or would it be any guy?" She snickered at Lara's indignant huff.

"Stop that. You know I love him."

"Ah." Ryan nodded. "I see. If love makes a person this goofy, then I'm glad I can live vicariously through you."

"You're just jealous. You'll see. When you find someone, you'll be crazy like I am."

"If you say so." Ryan let the subject drop. They talked for a few more minutes, setting up details for the evening, and then Ryan got back to work. The next two hours zipped by as she worked to get all of her data entered and fill out her work log in time to meet Lara. She finished with a few minutes to spare, grabbed her bag and crutches and got down to the door of her building around 5:15. Lara was there ten minutes later.

"So, I went on about my guy," Lara said as they pulled onto 395 South to head to Lorton. "What about you? Any prospects?"

"Don't think so." Ryan's mind was only half on the conversation. The melody that had gotten into her head at work was coming faster now and she tried to follow it as she tapped at her phone's screen. "I met a guy the other day, though."

"Who? Who?" Lara reached over to poke her in the ribs, but Ryan caught her hand and placed it back on the wheel. For once, she was grateful for the slow traffic, as it kept Lara's speed under control.

"A friend of a friend."

"Come on, you can't leave me hanging like that. What's his name?"

Ryan sighed. "Brody Lang. He's a friend of Mark's." Lara would figure it out in a minute, she thought.

"That's kind of neat." Lara hadn't processed the last statement. "You don't meet a lot of Brodys. I mean, the only one I've even heard of is the one that plays..." She gaped and stared at Ryan. "Oh, my God. You met Brody Lang? Mark's teammate?"

"Eyes front," Ryan ordered.

Lara complied but couldn't stop talking. "Ryan, that's fantastic! Did you meet him through Mark? If Mark is an example, hockey players are way cool."

"He's fine. And you don't even like sports." Ryan tried to deflect the conversation. Lara, however, was a guided missile.

"I like sports just fine," Lara countered. "Trout's a big sports fan, we watch a lot of games. You're the one hating on sports. Anyway, what was he like? What did you say?"

"You're going to miss the exit."

"I am not. Now, talk. Or I'll make you talk in front of the guys." Lara turned on her blinker and slid into the right lane.

Ryan decided to talk in the car. The band was great. Except for the guitarist, they'd all known each other for a few years now, having met and formed the band in college. Still, Ryan had no desire to have this discussion in front of them, and she doubted they would want it either.

"Okay. The other day I came home from shopping, and of course I dropped everything. I ran into Mark, and Brody was there. Mark introduced us, and they helped get my stuff inside. Brody even put stuff away." She couldn't suppress a smile at that. "We talked a little, then he left. That's it."

"Ryan, you're hopeless." Lara shook her head. "You didn't get his number? Or give him yours?"

"It never came up."

"Did he seem interested?"

"I think so," Ryan admitted. "We were both ... testing the waters, maybe."

"Think you'll see him again?" Lara pulled into Mitch's driveway.

"Maybe. I see him come and go. He lives in our building, a few floors up." She didn't say that she'd considered giving Mark her number so he could pass it on. "You'd know him, too, if you didn't spend all your time at Trout's. Why do you even pay rent on our place?"

"Okay, Ryan." Lara ignored the last part. She turned off the car, released her seatbelt, and turned to face her friend. "That was an opportunity. Maybe you both missed it, that happens. But don't let it happen again."

"Yes, ma'am." Ryan saluted and laughed at Lara's frustrated glare.

Brody whistled as he walked to the lobby to check his mail. He nodded at a few of the other tenants that he knew, and was about to turn around to go back up when he saw Ryan and another woman outside the door. Ryan was still on her crutches, and had a laptop bag on one shoulder and a guitar over the other, while the other woman had her own bag and was pulling a large rectangular case behind her.

"Here, I've got it," he said. Ryan looked up with a small but grateful smile and he wondered why his stomach took a sudden lurch.

"Thanks."

He held the door back as she shuffled in, and kept a hand on it as her friend followed. Once inside, Ryan leaned against the wall and sighed in relief. Her friend did likewise.

"Thanks," Ryan said again. "That was so much easier. Brody, this is my best friend, Lara Cohen. Lara, this is Brody Lang."

"Hi. Nice to meet you." Lara smiled and shook his hand.

Brody gestured at their bags. "Hi. You look loaded down. Can I take something?"

"Absolutely!" Lara handed him the handle of the case with an exaggerated sigh. "Ryan, you really need a smaller instrument. Like a piccolo." She shook out her arms.

"What is this?" Brody asked.

"My keyboard." Ryan shifted the bags on her shoulders and pushed away from the wall, then balanced on her crutches. She turned to Lara. "Thanks. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"You better." Lara pretended to scowl, then smiled. "Are you good here? I was going to head to Trout's, but I could help you get that upstairs."

Ryan turned to Brody. "Would you mind taking that up to my place? If you have the time, I mean."

"No problem. I can get the guitar, too, if you want."

"Thanks." She slid it off her shoulder, handed it to him and turned to Lara. "Looks like you're free to go fishing."

"Oh, you're hilarious, Ryan." Lara shook her head, then blew blond curls out of her face. "Nice to meet you, Brody, really. Ryan's told me a lot about you." Ryan glared but Lara ignored her.

"No kidding?" Brody looked from one to the other, and decided to say no more.

"No kidding." Lara laughed. "Take it easy, Ryan. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She went back out the door as Ryan waved.

"Never mind her," Ryan told him as they walked to the elevator. "She just likes to put me on the spot. It's a best-friend thing."

"Guys do that, too, but it usually involves beer first."

Ryan laughed as the elevator doors open. Brody stood aside to let her in first, then pressed the button for her floor.

"So," he asked, "what's in there?" He gestured at her laptop bag.

Ryan stared down for a moment, then looked back up. "How melodramatic does it sound if I say it's my hopes and dreams? My passion?"

"Sounds cool, actually," Brody said. He held the door open as Ryan shuffled into the hallway, then grabbed the keyboard case handle again and followed her out. "You pack them very efficiently."

Ryan laughed. "It's just a laptop, but that laptop has my life's work on it."

"Well, now I have to ask: what's your life's work?"

She gave him a half-smile as she unlocked her door. "My music, my songs. I want to see my name in lights, play Carnegie Hall, all of that stuff. Well, Madison Square Garden anyway." She pushed the door open and swung herself inside.

Brody followed, taking time to look around. He'd barely noticed anything about her apartment when he'd helped her with the groceries almost a week ago. Now he saw the vacant keyboard stand in the living room and an acoustic guitar propped up in one corner, along with a small amplifier and an empty guitar stand. There were guitar strings in packages and broken ones strewn on the counter, and he saw some cables in a pile on the floor.

"Wow, you're serious about it, aren't you?" He set the case he was carrying down by the keyboard stand at Ryan's direction and set the guitar case in the corner.

"I try to be." Ryan set her purse down. She wobbled as she tried to struggle out of her jacket and put the laptop bag down at the same time and gave Brody a grateful smile when he took the bag and set it down. He put it on the table gingerly, seized by the odd feeling that her dreams might break.