by Alley Ciz
I make excellent time, shaving off thirty minutes from my estimated travel time, but as I look at the gates in front of E’s home, I can’t decide if it’s a good or bad thing.
I’m feeling a little bit like I’m a prince in one of those Disney movies my sister Livi loves and E is the dragon I have to face to get my princess. I should have asked Grayson how homicidal E has been feeling toward me these last two weeks before heading straight to his lair.
With a deep breath, I gather my courage and push the intercom button.
“Mason?” Bette’s voice sounds from the box.
I look for the camera that must be there and give a small wave when I spot it. “Hey Bette.”
The gate buzzes and swings open. I take that as a good sign.
Heading up the paved drive, I park near the front door, where she waits in the open doorway. She’s wearing a faded Penn State football t-shirt, knotted at the side. Based on the size, it must be one of E’s. My Hawks’ pride urges me to make a crack about wearing something from a subpar football program, but I’m probably in enough trouble and wisely keep my mouth shut.
Herkie rushes to greet me, and I bend down to love up on Kay’s favorite canine. I can’t help but notice Bette is giving me the disappointed mom look I’m familiar with from one Grace Nova-Roberts.
I hope you’re okay calling an audible, because I don’t think this is going to go how you were expecting it to, Rookie.
“Eric, get your ass down here,” Bette calls out after motioning for me to follow her into the living room.
“Damn, woman. What’s with the Eric-ing?” E jokes, running down the stairs. The smile on his face falls the instant he spots me.
Shit!
“What’s he doing here?” The fact that he directs the question to his wife and not me is another strike against me.
“Not sure. We haven’t gotten to that yet.” Bette reaches out a hand for him to join her.
I look around for Kay but don’t see her anywhere.
“I haven’t seen anything new on your Instagram, so tell me”—E crosses his arms over his chest—“what did you do to Kay now?” The snap in his voice is expected, but the question itself confuses me.
The post he’s referring to was from two days ago, but the rings…
Those were delivered yesterday.
Kay left The Barracks suddenly…yesterday.
Wouldn’t she have told them when she got here?
Should I take it as a good thing that he was internet-stalking me instead of driving four hours to kick my ass? Or is Kay hiding somewhere waiting to see how I handle the third degree?
“You’re more concerned about me vague-booking than the rings I gave her?”
His hands clench into fists at his sides. Bette, reading her husband’s emotions flawlessly, puts an arm up when E takes a step in my direction.
“You gave Kay rings?” she asks calmly while her husband grinds his teeth.
“Yes?” I ask more than say.
Shouldn’t they know this?
“If you think you can propose—even if it’s supposed to be some grand romantic gesture to fix your colossal fuckup—without asking me for permission first, you’re insane.”
If the growly way E laid down his declaration is any indication, I guess it’s a good thing Kay hasn’t told them about the rings, or the corresponding note. I may not have actually proposed, but I did insinuate that I plan to one day.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Bette gestures to the couch, bringing E with her and draping an arm behind his back.
“Okay.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Rings—go.”
I swallow thickly, once again looking around for Kay and coming up short. This is about so much more than the rings, but they are as good a place to start as any. All my attempts have failed. I’ll take all the help I can get. I need Kay in my life.
I tell them everything, starting with the birthstone bands and Tarantino-ing back from the night I tracked her down to Carter King’s party. The two of them listen without comment, but there’s no missing the concerned looks they share when I mention the times Kay shut down.
“I know you have no reason to help me…” I mirror E’s position and meet his narrow-eyed gaze unflinchingly. “But I love your sister very much.”
My heart rate kicks up as he remains silent, not giving any hint of his feelings.
Bette looks from E to me and back again. “She loves you too.”
Hope soars like one of Trav’s beautiful spiral passes, and I latch onto it like it’s a Hail Mary to win the game. “You really think so?” Vulnerability bleeds into my tone.
“Without question.”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes in a rush, and I sag back into the couch. I’ve held on to the belief that Kay loves me, but it means something to have it confirmed by her family.
“Why are you here?” E asks.
Isn’t it obvious?
“For Kay.” I lift my hand to stroke Herkie’s head when he jumps onto the couch. Are they going to let me see her? Do I have to pass a test before I’m granted access?
“While I can respect that you wanted to have this discussion in person…” E shifts, the defensiveness of his posture easing. “Doesn’t driving all the way down here take away from the time you could spend with my sister?”
“I figured as long as I could convince you to not kick my ass when I showed up, I’d get to see Kay sooner if I was where she is.”
“Wait.” Bette holds up a hand. “You think Kay is here?” She points to the floor to indicate the house.
“Yes?”
“She’s not here.” There’s a self-satisfied curl to E’s lips that tells me he’s taking great pleasure in delivering this information.
Herkie lets out a sigh of pleasure as I absentmindedly stroke one of his ears in an attempt to digest what this could mean. If Kay isn’t here, where is she? Where else would she run off to?
I relay the telephone-esque game of details that had me driving almost four hours. A headache starts to form at the base of my skull, and I grip the back of my neck to alleviate the pressure.
“King picked Tessa up from practice yesterday?” I nod at E’s question. “This was after you sent her the birthstone bands?” I nod again. “And he said T and Savvy had to make new plans because Kay wouldn’t be around?” I’m not quite seeing the significance, but Bette sure does. She has me recount each of my gestures and Kay’s reactions.
The helplessness from witnessing Kay fall apart is so visceral that even now I feel like I’m drowning in it.
Bette sits up suddenly, her back straightening like she’s a marionette and someone pulled her string. “I know where she is.”
“Where?” My keys are already in my hand, desperate to get to her as quickly as possible.
“She’s gotta be with JT.” She turns and speaks more to E, as if searching for confirmation.
Another memory surfaces, this one of Tessa telling me something along the lines of how JT was the only one able to get through to Kay when she broke down heartbreakingly after her dad died and the bullshit Liam put her through. The color leeches out of my knuckles as I ball my hands into fists. Even an indirect thought of that asshole Parker has a wave of rage assaulting my sanity.
“Okay.” I switch my keys out for my phone.
“What are you doing?” Bette studies me closely.
“Looking up flights from Newark to Lexington. The flight itself is about two hours, and I’m just trying to figure out which one I can take given my drive back to Jersey first.”
For as poorly as I reacted to the picture of Kay and JT when I first saw it, I would never begrudge my girl her friends. I respect them for their unwavering support of her through the years; I just want to be the person she runs to from now on.
“Aww.” Mama bear Bette seems to give way to a romantic.
“Before you do that”—E shifts a few inches closer—“you need to ask yourself
if you can handle the full weight of Kay’s insecurities.”
Why does everyone think I’ll run because things aren’t easy? I do play football, a full-contact sport. I’m made of tougher stuff than most.
“Don’t try to tell me you think she’s right in saying she’s not good enough for me, because I’ll tell you the same fucking thing I told her.” I’m not even aware I’ve stood up until I feel the soft press of Bette’s hand keeping me back from being toe to toe with her husband. “There is not one person on this earth better for me than her.”
“You’ve got that fucking right, Romeo.” And now we’re back to arms crossed, death-glaring E.
“It’s actually Casanova.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to remind me of the nickname you earned by being a manwhore?” E cuts me a sharp look.
“Just trying to lighten the mood.” I shake my hands out to dispel the tension pumping through my veins. Getting into a fight won’t earn me any favor with Kay when I get to her.
“What my overprotective husband”—Bette sends E a Behave look—“is trying to articulate is that Kay may never be able to handle being in the spotlight that follows you. I get and can appreciate what you were trying to do with your Instagram post, but would you really be okay if you had to keep your relationship out of the public eye?”
I don’t care about any of that. The validation I used to derive from my social profile has lost its appeal. It started with seeing Kay get stressed out when we would trend, and after learning the—too few—details of her past, I understand her reactions better.
“My relationship with Kay is nobody’s business except ours. If it helps, I’ll delete my accounts right now.”
Bette and E share a look I can’t decipher beyond it being some type of silent communication.
“Look.” Bette places her hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. “When Kay talks about—and when she’s with you—she’s more like her old self, her true self than we’ve seen in years.”
She isn’t the first person to say something along these lines, and I hope and pray it’s true.
“Then why is she working so hard to convince me she’s no good for me?”
“Because,” E cuts in, “being with you leads to things that prey on Kay’s insecurities, and they—among other things—can lead to her falling apart. In her mind, by not being with you, she’s protecting you.”
“I don’t need her to protect me. I just need her to love me.”
I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again—Kay is my girl, plain and simple.
E takes my measure, his head tilting to the side as he does so. “Okay.” He reaches for the iPad on the coffee table and starts swiping across the screen. “We have to move quickly, but there’s a flight out of BWI in just over an hour. Let’s go.”
Everything happens in a rush after that. I grab my overnight bag from the Shelby then pass the keys off to Bette, the three of us climb into her Range Rover, and my boarding pass is downloaded onto my phone.
Bette leans over the center console. “Any idea how to find Kay when you get there?”
“I’m going to have Grayson pump his brother for information.”
“Good plan,” E agrees, taking the turnoff for the airport. “JT won’t give away anything about Kay, but D”—he nods as if answering himself—“he’s the weak link.”
I pull out my phone.
ME: I need your help.
GRAYSON: What do you need?
#Chapter30
I still have my doubts about attending a house party, but I know when I’ve been outvoted. Here’s hoping that earlier anonymity will extend to tonight, because JT refuses to even let me wear a hat.
He thinks I don’t see it, but I know what he’s doing; this knowing a person as well as they know themselves thing works both ways. JT wants me to see that I can handle the possibility of being recognized in a less pressured atmosphere, like away from the U of J.
“Stop worrying.” JT puts his hand over mine to stop it from picking at the top of the thigh-high boots Rei lent me to wear. The rest of my outfit is pretty casual—a simple white tank top and stonewashed skinny jeans—but I couldn’t resist the shoe porn suede boots. They called to me.
The Ubers come to a stop in front of a large UK-blue-sided house. Unlike the AK house, the Kentucky basketball house is less mansion and more classic American suburban family home with its wide white trim, tan wooden pillars, and wraparound porch.
The lawn and landscaping are manicured and well maintained, and even with a few people dotting the porch, it’s not littered with empty beer bottles or Solo cups.
“We’re gonna go in there”—JT points at the house as the rest of our party files out of their respective vehicles—“drink some beer, and have a good time.”
“But—”
“What we aren’t going to do is worry about any of tonight ending up on social media,” he continues, without giving me a chance to offer an objection.
D leads the way, and as the door opens, I am surprised by how much this does remind me of the nights we attend Carter’s Royal Balls.
There’s music, the volume enough to be heard but not requiring to be shouted over. The sixty or so people in attendance are scattered around playing NBA 2K, talking, dancing, and congregating around a beer pong game.
From those I recognize, it’s mostly the members of the Blue and White Squads, the basketball team, and a sprinkling of others.
The knots in my shoulders loosen a tad at the realization. For as bad as my history is with cheerleaders who aren’t from NJA, JT certainly fell in with a good group here.
“KayKay, play pong with me.” D reaches out to pull me toward the table.
“Hells no,” I say with a laugh. “The last place I’m playing beer pong is in a basketball house.”
“Why?” D gives me a pout and bats his unfairly long lashes at me. Naturally, I roll my eyes at him.
“You guys drill free throws for a living.”
“That’s big talk coming from a football queen.” D may be teasing, but it doesn’t prevent me from checking to see if that raised any interest. No one is paying us any mind, but it’s a hard habit to break.
D goes full-on puppy-dog-eyes on me to convince me to play. Not gonna happen.
“What about a game of flip cup?” I point toward the kitchen.
He looks over my head, an easy feat for him, scoping out the empty table sticking out into view. “Works for me.” He drops an arm around my shoulders and turns back to the room. “Anyone who wants to help me kick KayKay’s ass in flip cup, we’ll be in the kitchen.”
Enough people break off from various rooms at D’s bellow to play a game of eight-on-eight.
With each flip of the cups, my earlier apprehension drains like the beer down my gullet. It’s a good thing beer is such an appetizing beverage because it should pair well with the crow I’m going to have to eat when I admit to JT he was right to drag me out tonight.
We trash-talk and laugh almost more than we actually play, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in two weeks.
Our teams are pretty evenly matched, trading off who comes out the victor. Rei and I fall onto each other in a fit of giggles at the guys’ attempts at victory-dancing in such a confined space. Let’s just say a man closer to seven feet than six should not try to running-man without warning his neighbor.
I roll my eyes as JT shoots me an I told you so grin and reaches for the blue pitcher to refill for our next game. I’m concentrating on making sure the beer hits the fill line two inches from the bottom of the cup when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
#Chapter31
By the time my flight lands in Lexington, Grayson has come through for me with a text saying his brother is at a party at the basketball house. Personally, I have my doubts that Kay will be at this house party, but Grayson seems more than confident.
He had to guesstimate the address from an old visit since asking Dante for it would
raise suspicion. If Kay is in attendance, I don’t want anything to spook her before I get to her.
Thankfully, it’s easy to ascertain it’s the correct house by the handful of people milling about and drinking on the front porch.
My hands worry the strap of my duffle as I pause on the sidewalk, staring at the house as my Uber drives away. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t leave here without Kay. Looking down, the gray cotton of my U of J football hoodie mocks me. My attire sure isn’t going to help me stay incognito, but I didn’t have anything else to work with since this was an unplanned trip.
I sure hope Grayson is right and Kay is here, because I’m unsure how my presence will go over otherwise.
“Aw, shit,” says the guy closest to the door as I make my approach. “You’re Mason Nova.”
I’m used to strangers knowing who I am, and it’s not from ego—it’s fact. I’ve had more plays on the ESPN highlights reel than any other college player in the past few years and have been featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated with other players speculated to go in the first round of this year’s draft class.
“Hey, man.” We exchange the typical dude hand-clap-shake-bump. I have a reputation for always being gracious when meeting fans, and hopefully this time I can use it to my advantage.
“What are you doing down here?” His own hoodie declares his status on the basketball team, so I’m even more certain I’m in the correct place.
“My girl is down for the weekend. I decided to come and join her.” I point to the door behind him. “Is it cool if I just head in?”
“Oh, yeah. Door’s open.” He steps to the side and motions to the strap across my chest. “Everyone drops their shit in the room to the left if you wanna ditch your stuff. It’ll be safe.”
Offering my thanks, I head inside and take him up on his suggestion.
A smidge less recognizable without my sweatshirt, I proceed unimpeded as I make my way through the downstairs. This party is a lot more low-key than Alpha parties and reminds me more of how things are in the den with a few people dancing and others playing video games.