Nattie sniffs before looking up at him. “It’s the first two months of eight freaking years. We shared a womb. We’re not supposed to be apart for eight years.”
Declan looks over Nattie’s head to Brady as if to say help me.
Brady runs his hand down her arm and links their fingers. “Come with me, Nat. Let’s go inside.”
She turns to Brady, who wipes away her tears, before walking into the house.
The rest of us stand there with our feet stuck to the ground for what feels like hours but in reality is only minutes. Coop will have eight weeks of boot camp, then another few weeks of special ops training before he gets moved again to start the whole BUD/S process. We really won’t have much opportunity to see him during any of it before he’s sent to a different base. I’m gonna miss having my friend around.
Fuck this day.
7
Sabrina
The weather in Philadelphia has been completely insane this year. Tonight has turned into a crisp fall night. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been three days since I was in a pool at the Sinclairs’ last weekend and now, I’m wearing my favorite pale purple hoodie.
It’s that weird time of year where you need to dress in layers because there’s a twenty-degree temperature swing throughout the day. I’m wondering if I should have worn leggings tonight instead of running shorts, but I’m not turning back now.
God, I hate running for the sake of running. Stick me on a soccer field with a team of girls at my back and another team that I want to decimate, and I’m golden. I used to run at least seven miles during a game and never cared. My entire team would run together a few days a week, and I loved it.
Running just to run sucks, but I do it anyway.
I refuse to gain the freshman fifteen. My mother is already all over me about my weight, and I don’t want to give her any more ammunition. She even monitors what my little sister, Penelope, eats, and she’s eleven years old and as skinny as a string bean.
I wish I were one of those people who can eat whatever they want and never gain a pound, but sadly that’s not me. If I look at a cookie, my ass stops fitting in my skinny jeans. And in my family, that is highly frowned upon. In reality, my family frowns upon skinny jeans in general. So, I may not have developed a love of running, but I have developed an appreciation for it and what it does for my body.
My mother has been a senator’s wife for too long. She treats my sister and me more like we work for my dad than we’re his children. Since I moved on campus last month, she’s made a habit of sending me daily emails and texts advising me of what functions my father has coming up and what functions I’m expected to attend to help with his reelection.
Updating me on anything and everything to do with my dad’s campaign.
When I’m scheduled for fittings for clothing that’s been purchased for me.
She even told my hairdresser what to do to my hair.
I guess I’m no better, because I go along with it. I never push back.
She always manages to ask if I’m drinking enough water so my skin doesn’t break out, sleeping enough so I don’t get bags under my eyes, and exercising so I can look appropriate in pictures. So, here I am, rain or shine, headache or not, running so I don’t feel guilty for the muffin I ate this morning. When I run in the mornings, I stick to the trails, but tonight I’m jogging the half mile from my dorm room to the football field and then running the track.
It’s incredibly boring with nothing to look at, but there’s better lighting on the track, and it gets the job done.
At about three miles in, I take off my hoodie and tie it around my waist. Guess it wasn’t that cold after all. Once I’m back in my groove, the next two miles go by quickly. It’s not until I’m coming off my fifth mile that I start to slow down. I could have probably pushed it further, but my head is starting to bother me.
As I come to a stop and begin to stretch my muscles, my eyes take in the tranquility of the empty stadium. It seems a lot different now than it does on game day, when fifty thousand fans are wearing their black and gold Crusader best, cheering on their favorite team. The stadium is pristine tonight. The team practices at their other facility on the opposite side of campus, so it’s typically only those of us using the black rubber track during the week. It’s a classic coliseum design in the shape of a horseshoe with the original, ivy-covered Kroydon Hall behind one goal post. Looking over the top row of seats, you can see the city’s skyscrapers dotting the inky night sky. When I bring my eyes back down, they come to rest on a lone figure sitting in the stands.
I didn’t notice him earlier.
When I got to the track tonight, there were a few other people out here with me, but now it’s just this guy in the stands and me. I feel like everywhere I turn lately, I’m running into Aiden Murphy. Tonight, he’s sitting in the bleachers, leaning his arms on his legs with his head bent.
He looks beaten down.
Exhausted.
Not at all like the giant of a man I’m used to seeing.
Aiden Murphy is the shortest of the group of guys he hangs with, but I guess between his muscles and larger-than-life personality, he always seems like the biggest.
Not tonight.
Walking over to the stands at the fifty-yard line, I lean on the railing and look a few rows up to him. “Hey, Murph. What are you doing here? Didn’t practice end a while ago?”
Murphy’s beautiful mossy-green eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He’s sitting above me in loose basketball shorts and a sleeveless, grey Kroydon Crusaders t-shirt. His muscles are beautifully displayed, and I mentally slap myself for drooling over him when he looks like he’s had a shit day.
Climbing the stairs, I make my way up and sit next to him. “You okay?”
His face softens when he looks at me before turning back to the field. “I’m fine, Brina. Just had a fucking weird day.”
It’s then that it dawns on me what he had going on today. “You had that appointment this afternoon, right?”
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and swallows deeply.
The wind whispers through the air, and I’m suddenly surrounded by the clean, citrusy scent of soap mixed with something that is distinctly Murphy.
God, he smells good.
“She was so pissed at me when I met her at the doctor’s office. It was like she didn’t want me there, but she told me where to meet her and what time. She told me that I’d better be there and then got pissed when I showed up. It was like she didn’t think I’d come.”
I shift so I’m facing his profile.
Murphy stares out into the distance as if he can’t bring himself to look at me. “She was pissed at me for being there but grabbed my hand once the doctor came in and never let go. It was the strangest thing. I barely know her.
“One minute, she was mad as hell, the next minute she was clinging to me like I was a lifeline, and all I kept thinking was this has got to be one of the worst moments in my life.”
He breathes deeply before continuing, “There’s no baby.
I don’t know why I feel the overwhelming relief that I feel. But I’m so grateful about that, I think I could cry.
Murphy pulls me from my thoughts when he keeps going. “They said she didn’t miscarry. The doctor said there never was a baby. Her blood levels were normal. They did a sonogram, and everything was normal. They called it a false positive. The tests she took were wrong. They might have been expired.”
He glances at me before looking back out over the field. “Tessa started to cry. I thought she’d be relieved. I was relieved. This was the best possible scenario for me, but she seemed heartbroken. I held her and let her sob until she calmed down. Then she slapped me across the face and told me she never wanted to see me again.”
Finally, Murphy turns his green eyes my way and holds them there. “I could have cried because I was so relieved, and she was crying out of complete devastation. Why? Why would she be devastated?
“We
’re freshmen in college. What the hell do we know about having babies and raising kids? Why would she want that now? And why with me?
“She doesn’t know me. She can act like I’m the bad guy here, but we both got what we wanted the one and only time we hooked up, and it wasn’t like I was the only one who didn’t call. Now all of a sudden, I’m an ass, and her heart is broken.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? What the hell did I do wrong?” Frustration is written all over the hard planes of his face as he runs his hands through his messy hair.
I itch to touch him and offer comfort, but that’s not me. That’s not the relationship we have. “Murphy, I hope I’m not overstepping here, but you’ve got to be careful about girls like Tessa. I don’t know her well, but I know of her. She lives on the same floor in my dorm, and I’ve heard her and her suitemates talk. You’re a big-time football player here, and people have already started talking about the pro potential of the freshman players on the team.
“You’ve been photographed at Philadelphia Kings games with Nat and Coop’s dad. Girls talk. It’s sad, but there are a whole group of girls who think the potential to land a future pro athlete is the best part of this school. They don’t have any life goals beyond being a trophy wife. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, I guess. The coaches talked to us about that shit earlier too. It’s just fucked up. I don’t know if that’s what she was thinking or not, but I feel like a shit, and it’s pissing me off. I’m a decent guy. I don’t want to be the reason a girl cries, but I sure as shit am fucking relieved as hell that I’m not gonna be a dad yet.”
He seems to come back to himself after that. It’s almost like life comes back into his eyes. He glances down at the brown leather watch on his wrist. “Sabrina . . . what the hell are you doing out here at nine at night by yourself? Shouldn’t you have Secret Service with you or some shit?”
“Ha ha. Hilarious. My dad’s a senator, not the president. I don’t get a Secret Service detail, thank God. I was running the track. The lighting is better here at night than the trails.”
“Why the hell were you running alone at night? Seriously? You’ve got to know better than that. It’s not safe.” The glint in his eye has gone from sad to pissed-off.
What the hell?
“You’re kidding, right? It’s a half mile from my dorm to this field. The field is lit until . . . well, late, I guess, because it’s still lit now. I only run at night once or twice a week. Most of the time, I try to get it done in the morning. It isn’t too bad, I swear.”
Standing up, he extends his hand toward me. “Come on, Princess. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
I eye his hand. “The last time you offered me your hand, I ended up in the pool, Aiden. I really don’t feel like being pushed down the steps this time.” I stand up, untie my hoodie from my waist, slip it over my head, and then walk down the bleachers ahead of him.
He stands there for a minute before following me down. “I wouldn’t have pushed you down the stairs, smart ass. I’m still walking you home though. My momma taught me better than to let a pretty girl walk home alone.”
I shake my head but smile, seeing the Murphy I’m used to making an appearance.
“Sure. Why not.”
What could go wrong?
8
Murphy
This girl is infuriating. I’ve already spent my entire day being worried.
Worrying for myself. Worrying for a woman I barely know.
Worrying that I hurt her and that her pain was my fault.
Worrying about the possibility of an unborn baby.
There’s no fucking way I’ll spend the rest of my night worrying about whether Sabrina got home safely. Not at this time of night and especially not looking the way she does right now. I mean, Damn. When she’s prickly and uptight, it’s easy to overlook the fact that she’s smokin’ hot.
Sabrina Cabot is the total package, and it’s on display tonight. Skintight, light grey running shorts stop at the top of a killer set of legs. Her purple hoodie is doing nothing to hide her tiny little waist and what is arguably the best ass at Kroydon U. Brina’s chocolate-brown hair is tied up in a ponytail, bouncing as she skips down the bleachers in front of me.
I resist the urge I have to pull her back by the damn thing. I’ve been thinking about swearing off girls for a while so there are no more repeats of today, but this girl makes me question that thought.
Sabrina and me . . . Like that would fucking work.
“Sabrina, hold up.” To my surprise, she stops at the bottom of the bleachers and waits for me to get to her side. It’s hard to imagine this girl likes to be told what to do.
“Awful bossy tonight, Murphy. How about you move faster? If you insist on walking me back to my dorm, we need to get moving. I still have studying to do and don’t feel like staying up all night to get it done.”
“Jesus. You’re always so fucking serious. Do you ever slow down?”
“Nope.” She pops the “p” at the end of the word and starts walking. “I’ll slow down when I’m dead. And I’m not always serious, but I do take my life seriously.”
She shoves her hands in the front of her hoodie then looks up at me through her lashes. With anyone else, the move would look practiced. But with Sabrina Cabot, it looks innocent and sexy wrapped in one. “You always make it look so easy, like it’s all a game to you. You like to be the life of the party. You’re the funniest guy in the room, and you have no problem letting people think they’re smarter than you. Don’t act like you’re less than you are. You wouldn’t have gotten into this school if you were a moron. At some point, life has to be more than a game.”
“I do okay. We have team study sessions we’re required to attend, and they help. I might not be as smart as Sebastian, but I’m not just a pretty face, either, Princess. School has always come kinda easy for me. My mom used to tell me if I would just apply myself, I could be in all honors classes, but who the hell wants that?” I raise an eyebrow and smile.
Sabrina whips her head around, glaring at me. Guess she was in all honors classes.
I put my hands up in a gesture of surrender as we continue our trek back to her dorm. “That sounds like way too much work. I like a good balance of work and fun. It’s good for the soul. Give it a try. Fun, I mean.”
“Shut up, Murphy.” Sabrina bumps my shoulder with hers and looks annoyed when I don’t budge. “I have fun.”
“Oh, yeah. What does Sabrina Cabot do for fun?” It might actually be killing me not to pull on her ponytail like a ten-year old kid.
“Well, I certainly don’t talk about myself in the third person, for starters.” She picks up the pace and lets out an annoyed squeak. “I was just at two parties with you this past weekend.”
I stop walking. “Sabrina, look at me.”
She stops walking and turns, lifting those doe eyes to catch mine.
Huh, interesting. I never pictured her as someone so willing to do what they’re told. “You were at the house party for like, what, ten minutes? Where were you before that? Studying?”
Her cheeks get red, and those eyes are throwing daggers my way. “I was at an event for the senator’s reelection campaign.” Turning her head away, she starts to walk ahead.
Does she think she can get away from me? As if my legs can’t catch up? They’re twice as long as hers.
“Okay, so Friday night, you were working for your daddy and came late to get in a few minutes with friends.” I give in to the temptation and pull on the curl of her ponytail so her slender neck has to bend back to look at me. “What were you doing Saturday before the BBQ for Cooper?”
She whips her hair out of my grasp and looks pained to answer my question. “I was at brunch with my parents and my father’s chief of staff. I spent my summer volunteering with them, and they let me sit in on meetings when I can now.”
We slow down when we get to the side door of Sabrina’s old, ivy covered dorm. It’s a six-story b
rick building with two white turrets flanking the entrance to the lobby. Swiping her ID card, she opens the door and turns to me. “Thank you for walking me home, Aiden.”
“Nice try, Princess. I’m walking you to your door, not to a door. Let’s go.” I place my hand at the small of her back and push her along.
Sabrina huffs out a little annoyed noise that’s kinda cute. “Fine.”
We walk up two flights of stairs before turning onto her floor. She guides me down to the third door on the right. Most doors have whiteboards on the outside with dry-erase markers attached. But not Sabrina’s. How does she not realize how rigid she can be? She probably has her underwear drawer organized by color and style. This girl has got to loosen up and have a little fun. As she opens the door and lets me walk in, I’m surprised by her room.
It’s full of her.
I was expecting white walls and hospital corners on her bed. Instead, I see a funky, bright green-colored papasan chair in the corner with deep purple pillows thrown on top. Her desk is covered with the type of textbooks that most of us read online, but judging by the highlighters sitting neatly in the cup next to the books, our girl likes to take notes in those giant books. A purple MacBook is sitting in the center, and a matching speaker is next to it.
The walls above have pictures everywhere. There’s a collage frame full of Chloe and her over the years. There are pictures of her old soccer team winning the championship last year. Of course, there are pictures of her family standing with her dad while he’s sworn in, and a couple of just her little sister and her.
Judging by the covers, a stack of romance books is on the floor next to her tiny twin bed. The bed is covered by a deep purple comforter, and I’m shocked to see it hasn’t been made. “How did you manage to get a single, Brina? I thought freshmen were always grouped in fours?”
Toeing off her grey and pink sneakers, Sabrina smiles at me. “It’s one of the few times I didn’t mind the senator pulling a string or two. It might even have just been the fact I was his daughter. He may not have asked, but I honestly don’t care. I can’t imagine spending a year living with a stranger. I’m not very good at making new friends.” A blush creeps over her face. “It might have killed me to have to share my space.”
More Than A Game (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 2) Page 4