Enemy Down

by Cathryn Fox

I chuckle. “I am not wearing anything sexy.”

  “Dress nice. No yoga pants.”

  “Why the hell not? Why would it matter in a dark pub?”

  She folds her hands and presses them to her heart. “Because I want you to remember every detail of tonight. What everyone was wearing, what everyone was doing, when I first speak with my future husband.”

  I stare at her for a second, and then burst out laughing. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  She grins. “No, I’m not, my mother had me tested.”

  I poke her nose. “And you watch too many TV sitcoms.”

  I make my way to the bathroom, and turn on the shower, so happy that we now have running water, all thanks to the guy who is dead to me. Well, he isn’t. He’s alive and breathing, and living rent-free in my stupid brain.

  I brush my teeth, fix my hair, and since I look a little like I hadn’t seen sun in a while, I put on a bit of blush and some lipstick. I change into a pair of jeans, and a light sweater. My hair, though, I clip it up, and let a few tendrils frame my cheeks.

  I head downstairs, and find Kaitlyn talking to one of our roommates who came back early. I smile at Mia, and she gives me a hug. “Have fun tonight.” She disappears and I arch a brow at Kaitlyn.

  “Why is everyone acting so weird tonight?”

  “You just haven’t been out of your room enough and forget weird is our normal.” She gives me a once over, twice. “You look good.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” I frown, and glance at the clock. “I don’t want to be out too late.”

  “Jesus girl, it’s nine o’clock. When did you turn eighty?”

  “Yesterday, and thanks for missing my birthday,” I say and hike my purse up high over my shoulder.

  She laughs. “It’s good to see you still have your sense of humor.”

  I need to have my humor, otherwise I’d spend day and night crying. Kaitlyn loops her arm through mine. “Let’s walk, in case we have too many drinks.”

  “I’m not having too many drinks.”

  The night is dark, the clouds heavy as we walk toward the Growler, and when we reach the pub and enter, I glance at the stage, but there’s no band playing. Come to think of it, it’s still officially holiday break, why would they schedule a band when half the students aren’t back yet.

  I turn to Kaitlyn, about to question her when a commotion catches my eye. More than half the football team is here, all eyes on Christian as he stands, his chair scraping the floor.

  I fumble backward and grab Kaitlyn’s arm. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t be mad at me.”

  My gaze goes from her to Christian, back to her again. “What have you done, Kaitlyn?”

  “I need you to trust me on this.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Please, Maize. If you can’t do this for you, do it for me.”

  My brain is a fuzzy mess, trying to figure out what she’s talking about when Christian takes long strides and closes the distance between us. My God, he has dark patches under his eyes that match mine. Has he not slept in a week either?

  There’s a pleading look in his eyes when he says, “I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you, Christian.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t need you to talk. I need you to listen.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

  “The first thing I want to say is I know you’re not like my mother. I know you’d never do it on purpose, Maize…and you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll always be there for you. I want to be there for you, if you’ll let me. I didn’t know that this was what I wanted until I met you.”

  I stand there staring at him, the mixture of sadness and hope mingling in his eyes, but I have no idea what he’s talking about. You’re not like my mother. What the hell? I open my mouth to ask, but he presses a finger to my lips to hush me.

  “The second thing I have to say is I think you were given wrong information. I’m certain of it. Linc and I talked, and we put it together.”

  I glance around the room, and all eyes turn away, all except Kaitlyn’s. She’s keeping a close eye on me to make sure I’m okay, and I appreciate that. I realize she brought me here for a reason, and I trust her. There’s something she needs me to hear, so I’ll hear it, despite the fact that I’m is shaking so hard, it’s near impossible to stand. I glance back at Christian, and my legs nearly give way. The mere sight of him is messing with my brain and my body. I slide onto the bar stool.

  “Wrong information?” I’m seriously lost here. If he’s talking about him in bed with Chelsea, I saw the pictures with my own damn eyes. At least, I think I did. I can for sure say it was his room, but the couple was dark. Why would anyone else be in his room, and in his bed, right? Something in the way that he looks at me tells me I’m about to find out, so I close my mouth and let him finish, hoping that everything he’s saying will eventually make sense.

  “Let me back up,” he says and takes a deep breath.

  “Every year my parents have a Christmas party. I hate it.”

  “Wait, it wasn’t your party?”

  “No, it’s a big family party and I’m expected to be there, and Mom invites her friends, and everyone from her social circle…”

  “Including Chelsea.”

  “Yes.”

  “Chelsea told me it was your party. I felt…” I glance down. “I ran into her at the coffee shop. I thought it was a weird coincidence.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters, and takes another breath. “You thought I had a party and didn’t invite you.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m sorry, Maize. You can’t believe anything Chelsea tells you. And I know how that made you feel, actually. To think you weren’t invited…wanted.”

  I blink up at him. “You do?”

  “You asked me to drop you off two doors down, terrified your mother would see me.”

  I’m about to protest, but it’s the truth. I did do that, not thinking how it would make him feel. We weren’t officially a couple, but I was in love with him, and I never stopped to think how much that would hurt him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, accepting responsibility. “I never stopped to think.”

  “It’s okay, I understand. You didn’t know where we stood, or how I felt and that’s my fault. I should have told you how I felt, but there’s a small chance I’m a bit of a chicken shit.” My lips wobble, but he goes completely serious and adds, “The truth is, Maize, I didn’t invite you because you would have hated it. I hate it. I only go because…well, because I always have to play the role of the good son. You know me, always having to do the right thing. I fucking hate it, but it’s been ingrained into me since I was a boy. I wanted you at that party more than anything in the world. Not at the party because you’d hate it, but I wanted you with me. I thought about you the whole time, and sent you tons of texts beforehand, you just never responded.”

  “I did respond. I was busy with Mom when your messages came in and when I finally had a moment, I crawled into bed, and sent a dozen messages back, but I only got one message from you.”

  “What?” he asks, his eyes wide, filled with worry.

  I take my phone from my back pocket, and show him the text that says I’d be at the coffee shop and his response of, Busy, can’t.

  “Fuck, I didn’t write that. I would never be too busy for you.”

  I run my finger along the phone and show him all the texts I sent him.

  He exhales and his shoulders sag. “I never got any of them.” He hands me his phone. “Look.”

  I take a look, note the texts from me are gone. I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I dropped my phone, and Linc had it. Chelsea must have gotten hold of it when she was in my room, answered you, then deleted them. That’s how she knew you were at the coffee shop. It wasn’t a coincidence and it’s the only logical explanation.”

  “And the only log
ical explanation of the pictures I saw of your bedroom, with her in your bed was that she was there with Linc, not you.”

  “Yes. It’s the honest to God’s truth.” I take in the intensity of his eyes, and there is nothing to suggest he’s lying to me. In fact, there’s a sense of panic about him. “You need to believe me. I did not send that text. I didn’t even have my phone. Linc stumbled into my bed, where Chelsea was waiting for me, and I slept in the spare bedroom. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Linc.”

  I take a huge breath, my brain once again going over everything this man has done for me since his wayward ball first hit me in the head. Honest to God, I actually hate myself that I thought badly of him. Old insecurities were too close to the surface. “That’s not necessary.”

  He sucks in a breath, panic all over his face. “Please, Maize. Just ask him.”

  “No.”

  “If I found her there, Maize. I would have left. How could I ever sleep with another girl when I’m in love with you? You’re the only one I want.”

  “You’re…in love with me?”

  “Yeah, I have been for a long time.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Now I need for you to stop talking and start listening.”

  His lashes fall slowly over blue eyes, and my hand slides to his. “I thought you were just slumming, finally finishing what you started in that closet. I didn’t want to believe it, though. It didn’t make sense, but that stupid pants situation in the closet made me think on some level you were capable of being that mean. A mean boy.” I crinkle my nose. “I know you’re not that boy anymore, but old insecurities.”

  A humorless laugh rumbles out of his throat. “You should know I never pulled my pants down. I always thought you pulled them down, until I found out there was a third person in the closet with us, and he was supposed to pants us both. The closet was open before he could. We were both pranked, Maize. I never would have dated Chelsea had I known she was behind it.”

  My jaw drops open. Holy God, all this time I had it wrong. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s the truth. Chelsea was definitely one of the mean girls.”

  “I don’t think that’s ever going to change.”

  “I’ve never cheated on you. Even though we weren’t a couple, I never cheated. I wanted to spend every waking second with you. Leaving every Sunday afternoon was hard, when all I wanted to do was stay in bed, or study with you. You trusted me then, didn’t even ask where I was going, and I honestly hope you can trust me again.”

  “I don’t need to know where you were going.”

  He smiles and leans in, not wanting anyone to hear, and that’s just like Christian. Fiercely private. “I volunteer at the children’s hospital. It’s just something I do. I didn’t need praise or glory, or have people thinking I was doing it to better my resume. That’s why I never told anyone, but I probably should have told you.” He swallows, and catches me off guard when he puts his hand on my stomach. “There’s something else we need to talk about.” A pause and then, “I know. I know everything.”

  The warmth of his hand seeps under my skin, brings on a quiver. “Know what?”

  “When I said you were nothing like my mother…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a breath like he’s trying to form his thoughts. “I want to be completely honest with you. At first, I thought you weren’t really on the pill, that you were trying to trap me. Then I thought maybe you didn’t need me anymore because you got into Harvard and the scholarship and internship, and then I thought maybe you ran away—”

  I cut him off, unable to follow his ramblings. “Christian, what are you talking about?”

  “The baby. I found a pamphlet for a pregnancy test in my bathroom.”

  The world tilts on its axis and I nearly fall off my stool as the pieces fall into place. “I’m not pregnant, Christian. It wasn’t me who took the pregnancy test in your apartment. It was…a friend.”

  He lets loose a breath and for a moment I can’t tell if it’s relief or sadness, but there is one thing I do know. I lean away from him, and he stiffens. “You’re a guy who does the right thing. You just said so yourself. But I don’t want to be with you, or have you telling me you love me, because you think I’m pregnant and being devoted is the right thing.” I slide off the stool, and stand with it between us. “I want to be with you because you want me.”

  He stares at me so long and hard, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and I start to fidget self-consciously.

  He turns from me, and tears pound behind my eyes as he offers me his back. I grip the bar counter, wait for Kaitlyn to come collect the mess that is me, but she’s not moving. No one is moving. Everyone is watching Christian walk to the empty stage where no band is playing.

  He takes a microphone, taps it twice. “Maize Malone, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time now, and I hope in time you’ll love me too, and come to see that I’m not such a bad guy.”

  My heart stops beating and time seems to stand still as I take him in, standing on the stage for all to see and hear his inner, most personal thoughts. What the ever-loving fuck! The guy who’s private about everything is standing on a stage in front of his football buddies, professing his love for me. Have I died and gone to heaven? Has hell frozen over? Have I fallen again, and lost all consciousness?

  “I want to be with you, because I want you. Now and forever. I want to have kids with you, and start a family with you. I want to be there when you become a lawyer and make the world a better place.” He holds his hand out and I stare at it. “Can you come up here? I never got the chance to give you your Christmas present.”

  I’m not sure I can move, or even walk, but the next thing I know, I’m headed toward him, the tears in my eyes making it a little difficult. I reach him and he cups my face, and brushes the tears away with his thumbs.

  “I know this is fast, but…” He drops to one knee and pulls out a ring. I gasp and there’s a hush over those watching and now I’m glad I’m not in yoga pants. It’s better that I’m nicely dressed for retelling this story to our kids. I turn and catch Kaitlyn’s eye, knowing she was behind some of this. She smiles at me and gives me her nod of approval.

  “We don’t have to call it an engagement ring if you don’t want to, if you’re not ready for that. We can call it a promise ring. I want you to know that I don’t want to be with anyone else but you. I want you to know I am committed to you.”

  “Christian,” I whisper quietly as the tears fall harder.

  “These last few months together have been the best of my life.”

  “I don’t know if I’d say that,” I tease.

  He blinks, hurt registering in his eyes. “Aw, come on Maize. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  I laugh, and throw my arms around him, my insides soaring with the love I feel for him. “Not so bad, Christian. Not so bad at all.”

  I back up an inch and hold my hand out to him. Cheers erupt as he slides the ring on. He stands and I cup his cheeks, and go up on my toes to brush my lips over his. “These last few months weren’t the best of your life, Christian.” His brow furrows, and I laugh with all the joy inside me. “The best is yet to come.”

  * * * * *

  Thank you so much for reading Enemy Down, book two in my End Zone series. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it. Please read on for an excerpt of Keeping Score

  * * *

  My boyfriend has a debt to pay, and no money to pay it. Desperate for a way out, he begs me to help.

  Little did I expect for him to hand me over to the man he hated.

  Rocco Gianni isn’t just a scholarship student at Kingston. He’s a tough kid from the streets of Detroit—the scariest baller on campus. And now he owns me.

  Everything about him frightens me. Intrigues me. Makes me breathless.

  But Rocco has a score to settle, and promises to get his money’s worth.

  From me.

  Any way he desires.

/>   Want to know what scares me the most?

  That I’m going to let him.

  Keeping Score

  * * *

  Excerpt:

  Hate is a pretty strong word.

  It’s not one I use frequently, or even flippantly. I use it only when I mean it. When it’s justly deserved, and when no other expression fits. Like that time when I was sixteen, and one of my foster parents dragged the new kid into the bathroom and flushed his head in the toilet because he didn’t eat the broccoli on his plate—because getting a serving of fresh greens once a week was a privilege, not a right.

  Hate.

  That’s the only word to describe what I felt for that cruel bastard. He deserved the ass kicking I gave him for hurting a fellow foster kid, but I didn’t take joy in hurting him, or in all the hating—and there was a lot of hating. That stunt landed me in a new foster home, with a whole new set of problems.

  But that’s not what I’m thinking about at the moment. I’m thinking about the only other person I can truly say I hate, and I’m currently sitting across the table from him, my legs relaxed, my feet kicked out in front of me, as beads of sweat trickle down Cochrane Montgomery’s too perfect face as he stares at the cards in his hands.

  I don’t hate rich folks as a rule. Hey, whatever hand we’re dealt is the hand we have to play, right? I learned to deal with poverty and violence early on, but Cochrane here, he’s had it good up until now, which is why he’s having a hell of a time dealing—or rather laying his cards down.

  Am I taking enjoyment in his misery? Would it be awful if I said yes? Horrible if there’s this satisfying pleasure washing over me as he squirms? I might have grown up on the mean streets of Chicago, and learned to use my fists for survival, but I like to think I’m a civilized human being—thanks to my sophomore year gym coach. He saw potential in me, and taught me to use my hands for something other than crime. He even gave me his old 1969 Honda CB 750 motorcycle.

  No one has ever given me anything before, other than an ass kicking that I probably deserved. That bike has been with me since I graduated high school, when Coach handed her down to me—a ride for college, he’d said with pride, knowing he was a big part in shaping my future. I didn’t want to take her, but he insisted. In return, I promised I’d take good care of her and now she’s my pride and joy and I wouldn’t trade her for the world. Sometimes I think it’s the bike—Coach’s belief in me—that gave me the motivation to make something more of myself and make him proud of me. That’s why I’m here at Kingston College on a football scholarship, staring at the rich fuck who made my freshman year miserable by making sure I, as well as everyone else in our house and on campus, knew I was trash from the wrong side of the track.