by Alley Ciz
“Apparently”—Em chances a glance over her shoulder—“Casanova has a death wish.” I don’t miss how she’s fallen back into calling him by his old moniker.
“I’ll say,” Tessa says from somewhere behind me.
“I know you’re a King, Cart, but maybe you should channel a queen and be all Off with his head,” Savvy suggests to her brother as she too makes her way over.
“Not now, Sav,” Carter warns.
There’s a snort and my gaze snaps to the left to see Trav flanking Mason. His presence is another punch to the gut, reminding me a boyfriend isn’t the only thing I lost this weekend.
There’s more bickering, but I tune it out, too focused on Mason. The agony in my heart makes it painful to look at him.
“This is a closed party,” Carter declares.
“It’s okay, King.” I reach out, placing a hand on his knee to keep him from getting up. Mason’s eyes blaze as they lock on the touch and his nostrils flare. He can be jealous all he wants, but he lost the right to be possessive over me when he broke up with me. Besides, me controlling Carter is more for his benefit. All it would take is one tilt of his chin to set his Royals in motion.
“Why are you here, Mason?” I ask.
“I came here for you.”
Again…
What the fuck?
#Chapter11
After instructing both Trav and me to change, neither Em nor Grayson speak to us except to say to follow them. When we drive past the Welcome to Blackwell sign an hour later, I’m not surprised to see this is where Kay is. What does come as a shock is that we don’t go to her house.
Probably a good thing. I know he has a game tomorrow, but what if E came up for the weekend? *takes ball cap off and scratches head* I don’t think he would be as inclined to let you off as Grayson did—at least for now.
Real helpful, Coach, I snark back, my hand gripping the gearshift with a little more force than needed to drop into third for the turnoff.
We pull into a massive lot that’s home to two large buildings—one that looks like a garage and the other a warehouse—and dozens of sports and muscle cars, most of them in matte black paint. In the midst is a familiar candy-colored Jeep.
I follow Em’s Lexus RX to an open section to the left and park. Given how Kay reacted when she saw my 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 the night of our first date, the way people swarm my car should have been expected. Same goes for the chilly reception I receive from Kay herself.
Here’s what I didn’t expect.
The simultaneous punch to my gut, balls, and heart at the sight of her. Instead of curls, her long hair hangs around her shoulders straight, the colors hidden in the strands that peeking out in the flipped ends curling around the swells of her cleavage, which is displayed by the dip in her tight t-shirt. She has a badass biker chick vibe going on in her leather jacket.
Then there’s the extra whammy of her sitting in JT’s lap.
As if I’m not reeling enough, there’s also the way Mr. Poster Bad Boy sitting in the next chair tries to act like he can make me leave.
Followed quickly by how wrong it is to see Kay’s tiny hand on him when she tries to prevent him from getting up.
“I came here for you.”
At my declaration, Kay’s beautiful stormy eyes bounce around the area surrounding the bonfire burning my back. “You shouldn’t have,” she says, no longer looking at me.
“Can we talk?” My words come out like the plea they are.
“Are you serious?” Her eyes snap to mine, a hurricane swarming in the gray depths.
“Yes.”
I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from snatching her away.
“Now? Now you want to talk?” Her arms fold defensively across her chest.
“Yes.” The word is sure even though everything inside me is fueled by uncertainty.
Kay stares at me like I’m out of my mind—and maybe I am—and the vacant, almost-looking-through-me gaze kills me. What I wouldn’t give for an eye roll from her right now.
I will her to give in and speak, but when she does, it’s not what I want to hear.
“No.”
Who knew one word could hurt so badly?
“Please,” I implore.
“Seriously?” Her voice screeches at the end.
“Come on, Skit. Ple—”
“DON’T.” The word comes out as a whisper and a yell. “Go home, Mason. I’m not getting into this here.”
I hate that she’s calling me Mason. It’s like we’re back to when we first met, when she did her best to keep me from getting close, like dropping the shorthand of my name is just one more way to keep me at arm’s length.
I didn’t put up with it then, and I’m sure as shit not going to now. I widen my stance and cross my own arms. I’m not going anywhere.
“Dennings.” Bad Boy—I think she called him King earlier—holds up a small black card, similar to a hotel keycard, pinching it between his fingers. When Kay glances his way, he jerks a chin at the warehouse-looking building.
I don’t think my heart beats at all while Kay stares at the tiny piece of plastic.
“Thanks, King.” Her entire body sags under the weight of the sigh she expels, but she accepts the offering, not even waiting to see if I’ll comply before pushing herself up and striding toward the structure.
Every eye in the vicinity is on me, each of them asking, Well? You going to go after her or what?
Inhaling a deep breath and a nod of encouragement from Trav, I jog to follow, my hand catching the door a second before it latches.
I pause at the threshold, taking in another deep breath, praying I can find the right words to fix my epic mistake.
“Kay?” My voice echoes in the vast space, the scent of leather and motor oil hitting my nose as I take in the handful of sick sport bikes and the matte black Camaro she’s perched on the trunk of.
My steps falter at how broken she looks with her feet propped on the bumper, elbows braced on her spread knees, face buried in her hands.
Seeing her like this makes every muscle inside me feel like it’s been pummeled and in need of an ice bath.
She doesn’t move when I call her name. In fact, she doesn’t react at all until I lean a hip against the car and reach out a hand to touch her back.
“Don’t.” It’s a strangled plea.
“Please, Kay.”
Her head whips around and she shoots daggers at me with her eyes. “What, Mason? What could you want from me?”
There’s my full name again. I swallow it down and ask, “Can we talk? Please?”
Her eyes widen in shock. “Talk? Talk? Are you kidding me with that?”
It feels like I’m buzzing underneath my skin. I’ve admitted to myself and to others that I fucked up, but I don’t think I understood the extent of it until now. I’ve never seen her seem this…distraught before.
“Please?”
“What’s different about today?” She drops her gaze, running her thumb back and forth over the skinny purple metallic paint outline of the glossy black racing stripes. “I wanted to talk to you the other day and you shut me down. It didn’t matter what I had to say, or that I could explain. It didn’t matter that that particular post was taken out of context. No. All that mattered was what was posted on social media. So please, please tell me why I should talk to you when you wouldn’t give me the same courtesy.”
Her words and the pain evident in them tear my already beaten heart to shreds.
“Look.” I grip the back of my neck to keep from reaching for her again. “I’m sorry, okay.”
“You’re sorry?” she squeaks, each sign of her pain stabbing me like a hot poker.
“Yes, Kay.” I put every bit of sincerity I have into my words. “I fucked up, I know.”
“Yeah you did.”
I hate that she still won’t look at me.
“You know what I don’t get?” she says, finally lifting her head so I can see her face, the
rims around her eyes red. “You”—she points to me—“pursued me”—points to herself. “You were the one who actively sought me out.” She repeats her pointing. “You barreled your way into my life.”
She’s right. From the moment I saw her—even when I thought she belonged to another—I felt drawn to her. If she thinks I’m going to give up after having her, loving her, knowing what it feels like to be loved by her, she has another thing coming.
Two days ago, the ghosts of my past had me throwing in the towel. Not anymore. Time to leave the past where it belongs—in the past. I’m recovering my fumble and running it in for the most important touchdown of my life—my future.
“Lord knows I haven’t been perfect in our relationship.” She buries her hands in her hair, fingers tangling in the straightened locks with a tug. “I was scared and kept things a secret because of my fears, but I never lied to you.”
“So what I really want to know, Kayla—if that’s even your real name—”
I shake off the memory. “I kno—”
She throws up a hand, cutting me off. “Yet that’s exactly what you accused me of doing.”
“Were you even bullied? Or is that just some lie you used to get me to stop pushing the issue of posting about us on my social media?”
My mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out. I genuinely don’t know what to say. I decide to go with the truth. “You weren’t the only one who kept secrets.”
“What secrets could you have that would lead to you coming over to my dorm only to accuse me of cheating on you by thrusting a picture of JT and me in my face? A five-year-old picture was your great proof, proof that PF was some alternate identity I used to…what? Have an affair with you?” She rambles on in an attempt to figure out my reasoning. “But when you think about it, that doesn’t make sense since you were around for some of my video chats with JT. Is social media really that important to you that you would only believe in my love for you if it was posted for strangers to see and dissect?”
“I gave you an easy solution to shut the haters up. You wouldn’t have to do a thing except smile for the camera, and yet you refused.”
“In high school I dated this girl who also wasn’t big on social media.” My explanation cuts off the tumble of her words. “Unlike you, she did have accounts and did let me post pics of the two of us on mine.”
“You told me you don’t like having your full face show in pictures.”
“I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but they were only ones like her kissing my cheek or with one of my hats blocking most of her face.”
The urge to punch something hits me with force. Now I’m the one who can’t look at Kay. The parallel between our relationship and the one I had with Chrissy is not something I wanted to admit to myself most days—forget about explaining them to Kay.
“What I didn’t know at the time was she did that because I wasn’t the only person she was dating.” I swallow and force myself to search out her comforting grays. “She was also dating Trav.”
“How?” Kay sputters at my confession, jaw going slack, eyes blinking in confusion. “How is that even possible?”
Because you were a stupid-as-fuck seventeen-year-old who let himself get led around by his dick. My inner coach is so nice to me. Not.
“Her name was Christina Hale, and she went to school a few towns over from ours.”
“For how involved Trav was in our relationship, I find it hard to believe you two didn’t talk about the girls you were dating.”
“Oh we did.” I let out a humorless chuckle. “I told him all about Chrissy, and he did the same about his girl—Tina.”
#Chapter12
Wow.
I’m not sure I have any words right now.
Of all the ways Mason could have explained his kneejerk reaction that led to our breakup, this was not one I could have predicted.
I wish that were our only issue.
“Please, Kay. Let me fix this.”
I jump off the back of the Camaro when Mason goes to reach for me again. I can’t have him touch me. If he does, I’ll crumble, and I can’t let that happen here.
Not in public.
Not where people can see.
I may be protected here, but it’s still too risky.
“I’m sorry, Mason.” I am. I really, really am. “But you can’t.”
“Bullshit!” he snaps.
The soles of my Chucks squeak against the painted concrete as I start to pace the width of the garage. I make the mistake of looking over at Mason when he curses, and damn him. Why does he have to look so good leaning against a car? This would be much easier if I wasn’t so damn attracted to him.
Or, you know, if you weren’t in love with him. My inner cheerleader rolls her eyes, so hard if she were a cartoon and not a manifestation of my conscience they would have popped out onto the floor.
“Mason—”
“STOP calling me Mason.”
The splintered pieces of my heart shatter into dust. He wants me to call him Mase. I can’t do it. I have to think of him as Mason. I need the distance it creates between the campus playboy he used to be versus the man who owns my heart.
As much as I wish it weren’t true, he does still own it, and if the last two days had never happened, I’d be closing the distance between us and letting him fold me into his strong, muscly arms.
But they did, so I can’t.
“You should go.”
Please, please, please go before I lose it completely.
“I told you”—he pushes off the car—“I’m not leaving until we fix this.”
“If you’re looking for forgiveness, I forgive you. I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t hurt—it does—but I understand now why you jumped to the conclusion you did.” I eye him warily as he starts to move.
“And I’m sorry. God, baby, I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His steps continue, and for each one he takes toward me, I take two back.
“I believe you, but when you broke up with me…you didn’t just break my heart.” I choke down a sob before it can escape. “You broke a part of me that was barely even strong enough to be with you in the first place.”
“Fuck! Don’t say that.” He stalks across the remaining space. A whimper that sounds more like a wounded animal than anything that could come from a human leaves my mouth when he cups my head between his large hands, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of my skull.
Fuck. Losing him was hard. I didn’t think I would survive it. But now? After almost three days of dealing with what I consider my worst nightmare since losing Dad, having to push him away because I realize I really am not strong enough to handle being with such a public figure? Gut-wrenching. Skinned alive, dipped in a vat of acid level pain.
“We each have our demons, Mason. The only difference is mine aren’t just winning…they won.”
I bring my hands up, my fingertips hovering over his chest for a second before I have the strength to actually touch him. Fire spreads through my veins at the contact, and I almost lose my resolve to do what I have to do. The fortifying breath I take almost does more damage than good when it brings the intoxicating scent of his soap with it.
“Maybe if you told me about them, if there were no more secrets, I could help you fight them.” He pulls me slightly closer, ignoring the way I’m trying to push him away.
I don’t know what’s scarier, revealing my secrets or letting him help.
Heat pricks at the backs of my eyes and I lose the battle to the tears I’ve been fighting.
My knees give out when Mason uses his thumbs to wipe them away.
The color leeches from my fingers as I pull up every ounce of determination I have to stand my ground.
“The reason I fought giving in to your charms so hard is because I didn’t think I would be able to handle the risks of being with someone in your position.”
The constant attention.
The probing into both my present and also my pa
st.
The judgment and ridicule.
“You can, baby.”
I shake my head, finally freeing myself from his hold and jumping away before he can reach for me again.
He’s wrong.
He needs someone who can stand by his side during all the good and amazing things coming his way.
One of my biggest regrets is hiding away inside a hotel room instead of attending the NFL Draft with E. I didn’t get to hug him or congratulate him when his name was called as the fifth overall pick. He had Bette, but the way he embraced me a little bit tighter, a little bit longer when he made it back to our suite after gave away his disappointment.
Mason deserves to have the person he wants to celebrate with by his side when his moment comes. I am not that person.
“I can’t. I’m too weak.” Too fucking scared of breaking down from the pressure. “Eventually you would have figured it out for yourself.”
#Chapter13
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I don’t accept this.
Kay thinks her demons have won? Thinks they can take her away from me?
I may not be all that religious, but I can be her motherfucking priest and exorcise those bastards.
I fucked up by ending things in the first place, but the main reason it only took a kick in the ass from Trav to set me straight is because deep down I knew the breakup should have never happened.
Now? Nothing, nothing is going to keep us apart.
When I move to touch her again, she skirts around me and takes off for the door, literally running away from me this time. I stand rooted on the spot, the slam of the door closing as harsh as a gunshot.
She thinks dating me is a risk? Sure, all relationships are to some extent, but to think she’s too weak to handle being with me?
She’s out of her damn mind.
There is not one person in this whole world who is more perfect for me than Kayla ‘PF’ Dennings, and I’ll prove it to her. It’s time for my inner coach and me to come up with the most important playbook of my life—the one for Kay’s heart.