by JB Salsbury
“Kitten, this is my teammate Ollie and his friends Jill and Brenna.”
All three of them look at me with pity.
I greet them all with a half-assed smile.
“Kitten?” Ollie says and the girls chuckle.
The taller of the two girls says, “Awww, that’s cute.”
“About as cute as your corpse will be—” I’m cut off when Theodore tugs me firmly between his knees and wraps his arms around my middle. My mind reasons that he’s exposing himself by this public display, but my stupid, traitorous body feels protected and safe and longs to curl into his chest.
But Ollie plays for my dad and if he doesn’t know I’m the coach’s daughter yet, he will eventually and I can’t risk exposing Theodore. I try to wiggle out of his arms without being too obvious.
“I’ll see you guys around.” Theodore stands but keeps his hold on me as he ushers me forward. Once we’re far enough away from the threesome, he buries his face in my neck and kisses the spot where his mark has mostly faded.
“You’re a popular guy.” I assumed the first night I saw him that he was more of an introvert, an outcast like me. It seems every time I turn around I learn something new about him.
“Ollie’s a good kid.” He untangles himself from behind me and walks alongside me toward the parking garage. “The girls are…”
I spot the discomfort in his expression. He’s hooked up with one, possibly both. “Huh…” I shrug. “At least you remembered their names.”
He throws back his head with a burst of laughter, and hooks me around the shoulders pulling that warm feeling once again from my belly. “Come home with me.”
“I have the truck.”
“We’ll drop it off.”
I stop walking and he stops with me. “You can’t be serious about outing us to your coach.”
He runs his teeth over his bottom lip toying with his piercing for a moment before he answers. “I’ve thought about it and yeah, I think we should do it. Legally he can’t do shit to me. He can push me harder on the field, but that’ll only make me a better player.”
“Listen, Theodore, when we started hooking up I would’ve been happy to throw it into my dad’s face. But then I got to know you and especially after seeing you play, I’m no longer comfortable using you to hurt my dad if it means ruining your future.”
“Your pops doesn’t have the power to ruin my future, kitt—”
“Yes, he does. Scouts are looking at you and asking your coach about you, what kind of player you are, what kind of person you are. He could ruin any dreams you have of going into the NFL and I’m far from an expert on football but you’re really good. I won’t be responsible for—”
His mouth covers mine before I’m able to finish and he kisses me so deeply my back arches and if not for his hold on my hips I’d fall flat on my ass. His tongue slides against mine in a gentle caress. The taste of hot coffee and spicy breath mint is a heady combination. My mind spins and I’m dizzy by the time he breaks the kiss. His eyes, shadowed by his brows, look down on me with hunger and something else. Something fragile and intense. Something new.
He drops his chin to rest his forehead against mine. “Hearing that you believe in me.” He shakes his head. “If I had any doubts about coming clean with coach, you erased all of them with what you just said.”
A group of students walk around the corner and I jump back and out of his arms.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and judging by his ridged posture it would seem he’s doing it to keep from grabbing me. He watches the group of students until they pass and then turns his glare on me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m keeping your NFL dreams alive. You’re welcome.”
His jaw ticks and a flicker of anger flashes in his eyes.
“I can’t be responsible for how he makes you pay, and he will make you pay.” The thought alone makes me nauseous. “He could stop playing you or not return phone calls to people scouting you or, I don’t know. He dropped me off at nine years old and never looked back. He is capable of doing the same to you.”
“So that’s it? We keep sneaking around, fucking in the dark, and acting like we don’t know each other on campus? That’s what you want?”
I blow out a breath, trying to organize my thoughts because there’s another force at play here. My heart is now involved and wants a say. “All I care about is what’s easiest for you. You’re a senior and football season is over in a few months, right? Who knows if we’ll even still be hanging out in a few months.”
He takes a threatening step forward. “Who knows? I fucking know.”
I rub my forehead, feeling feverish, confused, and flustered. “Theodore, please, this is getting way too intense.”
He chuckles but the sound is deep, dark, and lacks humor. “Too intense? You proudly wear my mark on your neck, my art between your thighs, and you let me fuck you like you can’t live a day without my dick.”
The way he describes me sounds weak and needy and I hate it. This is why life is easier without attachments, because giving someone a part of me gives them permission to demolish me. I was careless, caught up, let my guard drop and I’m suffering the bitter consequences. I like Theodore, but being with him means throwing away the protective detachment I’ve spent the majority of my life perfecting. I thought I could sleep with him and still remain impartial. I was wrong.
A cold wash of numbness douses any warmth I felt earlier, and steel walls fall behind my ribs with a deafening slam.
He must hear it too because he reaches for me as if he’s watching me slip away. “Don’t do this.”
I step back to avoid him touching me. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re really going to walk away from what we have because of your dad?”
I shake my head. “Not because of him, because of me. Life is easier without having someone to answer to. Hickeys fade, a dick is a dick. Let’s not romanticize this, it was fun while it lasted.”
He casually scratches his jaw, but the muscles beneath tick with barely restrained anger. “I hear what you’re saying, Kitten, but I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.” I clear my throat, straighten my shoulders and deliver my conclusion. “It’s over.”
He stares at nothing to his left, then looks at me and calmly says, “I have a game in Phoenix this weekend. Sunday night, you’re at my house and you’re not leaving until we work out what it is you’re so afraid of—”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
He gets so close I can feel his hot breath against my face. “You’re a goddamn liar.” He presses his lips to my forehead and walks away leaving me with my heart racing and my eyes burning.
Chapter Nineteen
Spider
Two days have passed since Emery broke up with me.
I gave her the space she asked for—haven’t called or texted. That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her every minute since then. I meant what I said when I told her she had until Sunday. If she thinks brushing me off is going to get rid of me for good, then she doesn’t know me at all.
Our game with ASU is tomorrow morning and we’ve finished our team meetings and are digesting our dinner in the hotel’s conference room, getting ready to call it a night.
“That guy is so whipped.” Loren motions to Carey who has his face tilted downward, a goofy smile on his face, as he texts furiously without a single fuck given to who is watching. “He can’t go thirty minutes without texting Rowan.”
“Why the fuck do you care?” I’ve held my own phone in my hand as often as I can over the last two days to ensure I don’t miss an incoming text or call from Emery. The device has remained infuriatingly silent.
Loren smiles as if he can see inside my head and finds whatever is in there amusing. “Trouble with the missus?”
My eyes gravitate to the coach’s table on the other side of the room a
nd a surge of hatred wells up in me. If that asshole had been even half the father that Emery deserved, if he’d accept that his chance to have any kind of say in her life sailed years ago, maybe I’d be texting her now like Carey is with Rowan.
And I want that. I hate that I don’t know the mundane, everyday shit she’s been up to the last forty-eight hours. I want to know what she had for lunch and if she spent the night watching a movie or doing homework. I want to hear her sleepy voice on the phone every single night before I go to bed, and because of that fucking prick across the room I don’t get any of it.
Maybe I should get it over with and tell him everything. Emery will be furious that I went behind her back, that I didn’t consult her first, but she’ll get over it eventually. Right? Or will betraying her in that way only push her farther away?
I’m not sure how long I am lost in my own head, but soon everyone stands, having been released to our rooms for the night.
The elevator ride to our floor is mostly quiet as we’re all mulling over the information we got at our meeting. When we get to our floor I find Coach leaning against my hotel room door.
Carey mumbles, “The fuck does he want?” His big presence at my right gives off the protective vibe of a wingman as we approach.
“Coach,” I say as we stop shy of our door. The way he’s positioned against it we’d have to pick him up and move him to get inside.
“Spider, I need a word with you in my room.”
Carey tenses. “It’s nine o’clock on a game night, Coach.”
“Did I ask for the time, Slade?” He pushes up off the door and jerks his head in the direction of his room further down the hallway. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Kaipo and Loren stall a bit at their door as if waiting to see if I need rescuing. I shrug, act casual, and follow coach down the hall wondering what this is all about, but also considering I might already know.
He flashes his keycard and pushes open the heavy door. The room is dark except for the lights of Tempe through the window. I linger in the entryway until he flips on a light. “Have a seat.”
I take one of the two seats at a small table near the window and watch Coach pull a small bottle of bourbon from the mini fridge to pour into a glass. The awkward silence in the room makes the pressure build.
“Is this about the game?” If it was he wouldn’t need to talk to me alone, but I need to move this convo forward.
He takes a seat at the end of the king sized bed, sips the booze, and stares at the floor three feet in front of him. “It’s about Emery.”
I figured it might be. “What about her?”
Another sip of his booze, and on the next he opens his throat and takes down what’s left in his glass. His eyes come to mine, cold and hard as concrete. “She’s unwell.”
I put a tight lock on my reaction, something I perfected as a kid when a reaction could equal a fist to my jaw. Inside, my mind is swimming with what the fucks and I hold back a deluge of questions.
He sniffs, goes for another bottle of booze, and continues after he pours. “Emery was diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder when she was twelve years old.” When he doesn’t get an immediate reaction out of me, he continues. “She’s a—”
“Sociopath. I know what it means.” Thanks to my year of psych 101 I diagnosed the man who beat me for most of my life with the same thing. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Did you think it wouldn’t get back to me? That you have been seeing my daughter behind my back?”
The only people who know about Emery and me are my roommates and their loyalty runs too deep to rat us out. Ollie on the other hand… Third-stringer looking for favor with his coach, I can see his motivation for snitching, and I don’t even blame him.
Coach takes another swig of booze. “Now you know, she could be a danger to not only you, but to herself.”
I catch my grin before it fully manifests. Emery is different, really fucking different, but a sociopath’s leading trait is that they lack empathy. She broke up with me because she was worried about how her placement in my life would make my life difficult or ruin my NFL dreams. She clearly showed empathy, to the point that she gave up her own happiness for me.
Is she a little off? Sure. But that’s what I love about her.
And I do love her.
He props his ass on the dresser and continues. “Superficial charm, high intelligence, pathological lying, manipulative behavior, lack of remorse or shame, she has all the diagnostic features.”
My protective instincts flare. “You don’t even know her.”
“She’s my child,” he sneers.
“Jesus, Coach, she’s a nineteen year old woman—”
“My daughter!”
“No.” I stand to my feet feeling the urge get the hell out of here before one of us starts throwing punches. “She’s not your anything. You abandoned her when she needed you most, which makes you the equivalent of a sperm donor.”
His expression falls and his face pales. “What did you say to me?” His voice is a deadly calm whisper.
“I’m in love with her. Don’t expect me to ask for your permission or approval, you gave up the right to have a say.”
I walk past him and throw open the door but as soon as I hit the hallway he grips my upper arm hard enough to leave a bruise. “How dare you fucking talk to me like that.”
He’s taller than me by a few inches, but I stare boldly into his unflinching eyes. “Get your hand off me, Coach.”
His grip tightens and tension practically vibrates off his flexed muscles. “You’re off the team.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I forbid you to see her again!”
“You can’t do that either.”
“I sure as hell can!”
The whiskey on his breath burns my eyes and his red face turns purple. I know from experience what comes next.
I brace for the hit that flies fast and knocks me to the floor. He follows me down landing solid blows to my jaw and torso. I let him get a few hits in until he knocks me in the temple and my vision tunnels. The world turns red and the tight control I keep on the violence dissolves.
I punch without thought of consequence. My stepdad’s face appears where coach’s used to be. I’m numb to his hits, blood wets my face and fists managing to spur on my furious swings. Commotion sounds around us, but I’m too drunk on bloodlust to give a fuck. The entire world could explode around me and I wouldn’t notice. Chaos. Frantic voices. A force much stronger than me wraps me from behind. I’m propelled up and away. Through my blurry vision I make out Carey’s face. His lips move too fast to understand and my own pulse in my ears makes it impossible to hear. I try to wipe the blood out of my eyes, but my arms are locked behind me in an unmovable grip.
Adrenaline seeps slowly from my veins and I drop my head forward as exhaustion weighs against me. Blood drips from my face to the carpet between my feet. I count them as they fall, one, two, three, four…holy shit, I just beat the fuck out of coach…five, six, seven…
“Spider, man, talk to me,” Carey says in a rush of growled words that finally make it to my ears. He presses a white washcloth to my head. “Come on, bro. Let me know you’re okay.”
I nod and pull at my arms. Carey looks over my shoulder at whoever is behind me and my arms are released. Stabbing pain zaps through my shoulders from being held so tightly at my back. I take over the cloth and meet Carey’s eyes. “I’m good.”
“Fuck.” His shoulders droop in relief and he guides me into our hotel room and sits me in a chair. “Doc Lenny is on his way. He had to run to the bus to get his—” He whirls around to the cluster of football players behind him. “Make sure Doc gets in here first!” Carey turns back to me and lightly taps my eyebrow. “He broke the skin on your eyebrow here, you’re probably going to need stitches.” His jaw gets hard and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe the motherfucker hit you. What the fuck happened?”
I spit bloo
d onto the floor, feeling a wave of nausea roll through me. “He told me to stay away from Emery.”
Kaipo pulls up the other chair and leans over his legs to get a good look at me. “Not bad, cousin. You gave worse than you got.” He jumps out of his seat to give Doc room.
Doc Lenny squats in front of me. Just like on the field, he’s all business checking my vitals, asking me if I know the date and year. “Do you remember what happened?”
I chuckle and smile, knowing by the taste of copper on my tongue that my teeth are stained with blood from my split lip. “I remember.” And like every beating I’ve ever taken, I’ll never forget.
Chapter Twenty
Emery
“So that’s it? He just ordered you to come by the house on Sunday to talk things out?” Rowan shakes her head and sweeps the floor of the café with quick, angry strokes. “Boys are so bossy.”
I spray down a table and wipe it down, grateful I’m not facing her so she can’t see how tempted I am to do exactly what Theodore demanded.
I haven’t spoken to him in two days and it feels like I’ve been living without a vital organ. How is it possible to know him for so little time and yet feel like I can’t breathe when he’s not around?
“Are you going to do it? Meet with him and see what he has to say?” Rowan looks up from her sweeping.
I fold and unfold the wet rag in my hands, conflicted about how to answer. I’ve accepted that I miss Theodore with the desperation of a starved woman. But I am the wrong person for him, and—
She pulls her vibrating phone from her pocket. “It’s Carey.” She hits a button and presses it to her ear.
I go back to wiping tables grateful for the interruption.
“Hey! I wasn’t expecting you to call me until later tonight…what? How?” I hear the soles of her shoes squeak on the wood floor and then the door to the back room open and close.
I stare at the closed door with a twinge of unease, having never heard that kind of tension in her voice before.