by Alley Ciz
Her body vibrates against mine she’s shaking so hard under the weight of her sobs. This was not the type of reaction I expected, and I’m at a loss for how to help her.
I run a hand up and down her back, brushing my fingers through her hair in the way that can soothe her to sleep, but none of it seems to help; she only cries harder.
I did this. The thought whispers through my brain.
I do the only thing I can in the moment: hold her closer, resting my face on top of her head, breathing in the peppermint scent I’ve missed this last week.
“It kills me to see you this way, baby.”
Nothing. No response.
The old me, the campus Casanova, wouldn’t be caught dead with an emotional woman while spewing his own feelings. But the new me, the one who knows he needs Kay, doesn’t give a fuck. She is it for me, and given her love for comical t-shirts, I thought having one made about us was the best way to prove it.
I hate this. I thought it was painful to see how her shoulders would slump and she would tuck her chin to hide her face with each not-so-quiet whisper about us, but seeing her like this and not knowing how to help her…I’ve never felt so powerless in my entire life. Even my inner coach is silent.
“Do you want me to call E?” I doubt I’m her brother’s favorite person right now, but I’ll do anything if it means it will help her.
“I wouldn’t.” She finally speaks, loosening the knots that have formed between my shoulder blades. “I think he’s spent this last week trying to figure out how to kick your ass through the phone.”
“Fuck, baby.” A bark of relieved laughter escapes me.
She still hasn’t pulled away, and I’ll enjoy the feel of her in my arms for as long as she’ll allow it. Then, like she read my mind, she jackknifes in my hold and scrambles off my lap like a crab.
“Skittles.” I reach for her, but she darts around the lecture podium, hiding behind it to keep away from my touch.
“Fucking jockholes.” Her voice is scratchy from her crying jag. “Who are you all to think you can use t-shirts against me?”
Huh?
“Seriously, fuck you both.” She slaps her hands against her thighs.
Both? What is she talking about?
Sure, my friendship with Grayson has cooled in the aftermath of breaking up with his best friend, but he would never try to move in on my girl—I don’t for one second believe the people who have been saying that shit on the Gram.
I’ve never realized how much my actions were tracked. Why do people care what I had for lunch on any particular day? Do people really have nothing better to do with their time than try to stir up drama? I used to live for my status and the notoriety my football stardom afforded me around campus. Now, not so much.
My dogged determination to fix things with Kay has moved Grayson over to the not-fully-hating-me side of the line. He keeps me updated on how Kay is doing—or more accurately, how she’s not—so why don’t I know who else she’s talking about?
“You know what?” she asks, aggressively digging through the messenger bag slung across her chest. “Here.”
The muscles of my stomach contract from the impact of her fist punching it. Looking down, I see she has her own shirt balled in her grasp.
“I didn’t think any of these existed anymore, but I guess I was wrong.” The pressure to my gut increases as she digs her knuckles into me harder, until I work her fingers loose enough to free the white cotton. “You doubt I was bullied in high school? Think it was something I just made up for funsies?”
Her gray eyes are hard as steel, her glare unwavering. Bile crawls up the back of my throat at the cutting edge to her tone.
“Well, try going to school and seeing hundreds of people wearing those.”
Her eyes narrow and drop to the shirt I hold limply between us, silently daring me to look.
Swallowing down what feels like a chunk of turf lodged in my throat, I pinch the material at the shoulders and let it fall open.
What is that?
Is that…
Fuck! Swollen eyes pinched closed, cheeks ruddy and wet, mouth caught open in a wail—it’s a giant picture of Kay’s crying face with the words Train-Wreck Crybaby printed above it.
Who the fuck would make this into a shirt?
You really are a special kind of asshole, aren’t you, Nova?
I look up, another apology on my tongue, this one soul-deep—but like she’s been doing to me all week, Kay is gone.
#Chapter17
Yesterday I did something I never do—I skipped class.
In my defense, I did have a mini breakdown, and if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have comprehended anything anyway.
Still, I ran—literally—from both Mason and the very real, very big feelings I still have for him. I love him. I love him the way Bette loves E, but unlike my amazing sister-in-law, I don’t have the strength to weather the storm coming for us.
So, I did what I do best—run and hide.
First, I went to The Barracks. Of course I went to the gym. It’s my second home, and I feel safe there. Plus, there are things to distract me there, to take my mind off all the things I don’t want to think about.
Mason.
My broken heart.
Instagram.
Unwanted packages with reminders of a past I wish I could forget.
Calls and questions from Jordan about what to do about…all of it.
E freaking out.
JT virtually holding my hand.
Mason.
Mason.
Mason.
Why are you fighting him? He wants you back. He apologized, told you he loves you. Holy shit! *pulls shirt from behind back* Did you see this? Did you? Did you? *slides hand under the writing like Vanna White* This boy couldn’t get you more if he were plucked out of one of Tessa’s romance novels.
I look down and curse both my inner cheerleader and myself at the sight of the black cotton covering my chest. Yes, I’m wearing the shirt, the same one that brought on my breakdown, the same one that is like the antidote to the poison Liam dropped on my doorstep.
After tumbling until I almost couldn’t move then joining in to help coach the Marshals, I came back to the Taylors’. Unable to be alone or anywhere Mason would know to look for me, I spent hours talking with both Taylor siblings.
As I drifted off to sleep, wearing the shirt, I had pieced together enough of the old Kay to believe I could do it, to believe I could be with Mason.
Then I woke and was reminded exactly why I need to stay away.
#Chapter18
TightestEndParker85: Hold up, time out. *stop sign emoji* Is this real life? @CasaNova87 are you really dating my sloppy seconds? #IHadHerFirst
*side-by-side picture of Liam and Kay smiling from when they dated and a snapshot of Mason in his football gear during a game looking upset*
UofJ411: *wide-eyed emoji* *mind blown emoji* #IHaveSoManyQuestions #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl
*REPOSTED—side-by-side picture of Liam and Kay smiling from when they dated and a snapshot of Mason in his football gear during a game looking upset—TightestEndParker85: Hold up, time out. *stop sign emoji* Is this real life? @CasaNova87 are you really dating my sloppy seconds? #IHadHerFirst*
@Lagerlefsebookblog: And the plot thickens #SomeonePassThePopcorn #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl
@Lala_powergirl: Was the U of J just her safety school or something? Looks like @CasaNova87’s girl has a thing for Nittany Lions #WhereDoYourLoyaltiesLie #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl
@Lonniegallahan: I know ESPN is going to cover the game, but does anyone think this might be better broadcasted on E!? #ISmellDrama #ScoringMoreThanTouchdowns #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl
TightestEndParker85: Hey @UofJ411 I have so many stories #ICouldWriteABook
*boomerang of Liam waggling his eyebrows with a smarmy smirk*
@TheQueenB: This has GOT TO BE good #ImAllEars
@UofJ411: Do tell #WeAreListening
“Still no progress on the Kay front?” Alex and I claim seats in the den as soon as we return from our walkthrough practice.
Snapshots from yesterday flash through my mind.
Kay trying to run away.
Kay telling me to let her go. Yeah, right. That is so not happening.
Kay crying, each tear like acid on my soul.
And the one that has haunted me through all my waking hours and followed me into my dreams: Kay crumpled on the floor.
“I talked to her yesterday.” Sure, the conversation didn’t go at all like I’d hoped, but after days of avoidance, it was one step forward before what feels like all the steps back.
“What did she say about the shirt?” Trav asks, and all I can think is, Which one?
Grayson was the only person I showed the shirt Kay shoved at me. I don’t know why I haven’t shared it with anyone else, but a part of me feels like I would be betraying her if I did so without her permission.
If the beaming smile on Trav’s face is anything to go by, he’s feeling uber-proud of himself for having been the one to help me find the Etsy shop I used to commission the shirts I had made. Once I have Kay back, I will be making fun of him for even knowing about Etsy.
“She took it.” It’s not a lie. She did take the shirt, but they don’t need to know about the reaction I received when I presented it to her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I send the call to voicemail when I see it’s Brantley calling—again. I don’t need another pep talk about the game tomorrow. Last week was an anomaly. I may not officially have Kay back yet, but my head is on straight and my performance won’t be affected by my broken heart.
“I get that your girl is all about her t-shirts and stuff,” Kevin calls out, bending over to line up a shot at the pool table, “but I really hope you have more of a plan than that.”
“Truth,” Noah agrees, groaning as the eight ball sails into the corner pocket with Kev’s shot.
More so now than before, I think as Kay’s words from yesterday play back inside my mind. “Fucking jockholes. Who are you all to think you can use t-shirts against me?”
“All I’m saying”—Kevin’s voice breaks me out of my memories—“is we need to make sure you have your shit together. I swear when I saw her on campus the other day, she left a Kayla-shaped cloud of dust in her wake when she ducked inside the library.”
“Agreed,” Alex adds, scrolling through the Madden menu with the game controller. “It’s one thing for your girl to avoid you, but to avoid us? Not cool.”
I want to be pissed at them for razzing me about something I take so seriously, but I can’t. They have been amazingly supportive of my campaign to win Kay back.
There are times I wish she were talking to me so I could tell her about the guys and how they’ve been. I know she harbored huge fears of people trying to use her if they found out who her brother is, but with the exception of a handful of questions when the news first broke, the guys seem like they couldn’t care less. They’ve been more concerned about not having their friend—Kay, not me—around.
“I don’t think taking wooing advice from a group of bachelors is going to help me much,” I say as I tap another call to voicemail. Geez, Brantley is persistent tonight.
“Dude.” Alex snorts. “I can’t believe you just said wooing.”
“Whatever, bro.” I shrug. “I love her.”
Alex drops the taunting smirk, turning serious. “Respect, man.” He holds out a fist for me to bump, which I do.
“Oh, bruh, this is too good,” Adam chortles as he and two other Alpha brothers enter the den.
My hackles rise at the Cheshire-cat grin blooming on his smarmy face when he spots me in the room. I wish I could kick him out, but as an Alpha, he has as much of a right to be here as the rest of us.
“I think we should set up a whole wall of prop bets for the game against Penn State.” He waves an arm at the back wall, which is coated in chalkboard paint, where the AKs keep odds for each week’s games. “I have a feeling we’re going to be able to tap into a whole new market with this.” He points to something on his phone, and I force myself to ignore him.
I’ve just accepted a controller from Alex to join the Madden game when Adam butts in. “What do you say, Casanova? Wanna be our inside scoop?”
“What the fuck are you going on about?” I keep my attention on selecting my team; he doesn’t deserve the politeness of eye contact.
Adam laughs again like he’s some type of deranged hyena, and when I finally look over, he’s rubbing his hands in glee. All he needs to do is put his pinky to his mouth to complete his Dr. Evil impression.
Before he can answer, the door leading into the den from the hallway swings open with a BANG!, letting in a pissed-off Grayson.
Instinct has me instantly on alert and out of my seat.
“I know you have to leave for The Huntington soon, but can I borrow the Shelby?”
I was not expecting him to ask that. “Why?”
“Em was too impatient to wait for me to get out of practice, so now I need a way to get to Blackwell.”
Why? Why would he need to go to Blackwell?
“What’s wrong with Kay?” She’s the only reason that makes sense.
Trav is the only one I’ve ever trusted to drive my baby, but it’s not the Shelby that has my feet pepper-stepping, ready for action.
“Oh, this is great.” Adam claps. Yes, the motherfucker claps.
“Shut the fuck up, Adam,” Grayson snaps. I don’t know if it’s the curse or the uncharacteristic outburst from the power forward, but it doesn’t matter—whatever it is causes Adam to listen. “She’s fine. I just need to get to her.”
She’s fine my ass. I’m going to catch all sorts of hell from Coach Knight for this, but there’s no fucking way I’m not going with Grayson.
“What. Happened?” I bite out, already pulling my keys from my pocket.
Except for the clenching of his jaw and his hand flexing around his phone hard enough I fear he might crack the screen from the force, he doesn’t react.
“G?” Kay’s name for him slips out. I don’t usually call him by the shorthand, but I’ve also never seen him…so…volatile.
“It seems…” His jaw works side to side as he thinks over what to say. “All the posts about you and Kay have found their way to Penn State with all the ‘you dating the enemy’ bullshit hashtags floating around.”
Fucking Instagram. I’m starting to see why my girl has such an aversion to it.
“What? Have more pictures of her cheering for E at his games surfaced?”
“Oh, shit. You don’t know?” Adam’s chuckles ramp up again, and I’m this close to putting my fist through his face. “Classic.”
“You really don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?” Fire flashes in Grayson’s eyes.
The atmosphere in the room grows charged as I rack my brain for what I could have missed. Brantley wasn’t the only one I’ve been avoiding. Outside of checking to see if Kay texted me—she didn’t—I haven’t scrolled through my notifications.
“Grayson, what’s going on?” Now Trav is up and at my side.
More silence, and this time I swear I hear a crack coming from the hand holding the phone, but the screen is fine when he holds it out for me to see the picture on it.
Similar to the last time I saw Kay’s smiling face staring back at me from an Instagram feed, the sight has a red mist coating my vision.
Liam Parker. Liam motherfucking Parker is the one to post the shot, and then to add insult to injury, he has the fucking balls to call her sloppy seconds? He’s dead. D-E-A-D.
“Oh, shit,” Trav curses.
“What—ohhh,” comes from Alex as he stands up from the couch.
Kevin and Noah close ranks, having similar reactions, and the four weeks until we play Penn State feels like an eternity.
“Trav, I’m going to need you to tell Coach Knight I
had a family emergency, but I’ll be at the hotel before curfew.” I jerk my chin toward the door, silently telling Grayson, Let’s roll.
“It’s cute you think you’re going without me.” Trav claps me on the back, falling into step beside me.
“Seriously, Nova, it’s like you forget we’re a team,” Kev says as the others agree.
I pause, meeting the eyes of each of those who are as much my teammates off the field as they are on it. Not even the bullshit Adam’s still spewing registers. I’ll deal with him later.
#Chapter20
“Aren’t you supposed to let me drink when I’m in crisis?” I complain, shooting a death glare at Carter when he exchanges the tequila bottle in my hand for a Smartwater. “Isn’t it in the friend handbook or something?”
This is the second time in a week King has stopped me from drinking my troubles away. I’m not a fan.
“You can angry-eye me all you want, Dennings, but when you barely meet the height requirements to ride the rides at Six Flags, it kinda takes away the intimidation factor.”
I roll my eyes and push off the counter. If he won’t let me drink, he better let me eat some Ben & Jerry’s.
“It is so refreshing to see someone not be intimidated by you.” Wes attempts to hide a smirk behind his hand, but it’s a massive failure. He’s one to talk, though. King may be—well, the king of the Royals, but Wes is just as, if not more feared as the leader.
I was touched when they showed up. Sure, they came because JT asked them to check up on me, but the sentiment remains the same.
“You’re not a very good monarch if you don’t know not to replace her liquor with H2O.” Em hip-checks Carter to the side and stretches across the counter to hand over a to-go cup with a familiar Harry Potter themed coffee logo printed on it. I must be in worse shape than I thought if they stopped at Espresso Patronum before showing up. I don’t have it in me to tell her coffee from my favorite shop only makes me think of Mason.