by Natalie Wrye
Yes, no one would judge me…except me.
I clasp my hands together, heart still drumming hard as we head up to Sawyer’s penthouse together, confined to the private elevator.
I turn to Danica. “I didn’t know you were coming into town.”
“Probably because I told Sawyer last minute. I used one of the open tickets he sent me a long time ago to make the trip here.”
“From Buffalo?”
She nods, grinning. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s my first time in this city. And it’s…” She exhales soundly, blue eyes bright. “Overwhelming.”
“It can be that way for some of us.”
Danica glances over. “Let me guess: That ‘some of us’ is you.”
I wait a beat. “In a manner, yes.”
“I hear that,” she says, shrugging as the small elevator continues to ascend, her smalls shoulders leaning against the wall. “Our hometown is nothing like this. Like, at all,” she scoffs on a soft laugh. “But then I don’t know much about other cities. I never really got a chance to break out of Buffalo. Not like Sawyer did.”
“You make it sound like he had to escape.”
“He did.” She crosses her arms, as if she’s cold. “But enough about me. Why don’t we break into whatever bad craft beer Sawyer’s got stashed somewhere in his penthouse and talk Girl Talk, yeah?”
I grin. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”
Anything that’s not addressing the Sevin situation sounds like a better alternative.
The penthouse opens, and we walk into Sawyer’s massive apartment, a world that looks different than the post-coital one we’d woken up in two days ago.
I run my hands along the lines of the furniture that looks different in the fading daylight. Slipping my hand back into my purse, I have to remind myself that I do still have a job.
For the moment. And that requires me to have a working phone.
I turn to Danica. “Before we get too far into the beer stash, Dani, you mind if I use your phone charger?”
“Sure, no problem.” She shrugs, heading to the guest bedroom. She emerges shortly after, holding a cord. “Take your time.”
“Thanks.” I smile, plugging my phone into the nearest outlet, praying that I haven’t missed any emergencies from Sevin.
I say a quick prayer, turning as she reaches out a beer from the fridge to me, her pink lips wrapping around her own pony necked bottle.
“So…” Danica begin, blue eyes begging for answers as she leans against the kitchen counter. “How long have you and Sawyer been seeing each other?”
“Oh, not long.” I hitch a shoulder, letting it drop to my side. “We’re just…figuring things out.”
“Mmhmm,” she says, looking right through me, those gorgeous eyes not missing a trick. “It sounds pretty serious to me. I mean, I’ve never met a girlfriend of Sawyer’s. He’s never really had a girlfriend.”
“Oh well—”
“And don’t be shy now, Naomi.” She smiles, lifting her beer. “You already spilled the beans downstairs when you called him your boyfriend.”
Did I? My heart beats an uneven rhythm.
“Okay, but look, don’t panic, okay?” She recovers quickly. “Sawyer didn’t say it…but he feels the same way about you. You are definitely his girlfriend.”
“He called me that?”
“He didn’t have to. I know my brother. And he hasn’t let anyone, not a woman at least, this close since our mom.”
I frown. “Your mom and Sawyer are close?”
Her eyes close, some sentiment shutting down behind their blue depths. She blinks. “Were close. Our mom died when Sawyer was seventeen.”
My heart sinks, dropping to the floor and seeping into the hardwood. My chest literally hurts, a pain shooting straight through it, as I lower the bottle in my hands. I lick my lips.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
‘It’s okay. Sawyer doesn’t talk about it often. It was a motorcycle accident. He and my mother used to bond over building beautiful bikes. Until the day she died on one.” She shakes her head, eyes glazing. “My father was never the same. And neither was Sawyer.”
Danica falls silent, and I let the quiet between us thicken, not knowing what to say. The blonde is much stronger than she looks, her smile sad. I want to tell her. Want to reveal what happened to my own parents.
But the second I find the words to say, a sound interrupts me.
Casting a glance into the corner, I find my phone blaring, ringing out loud. Rushing over to where it’s plugged in, I grab the small square, looking down at the screen.
Only to find my brother Diego’s number on it.
The heart I dropped earlier is still on the floor. But the rest of my body joins it, my stomach falling fast to my toes.
Because Diego never calls me. Ever.
I put everything on the back burner. Sevin. Sawyer. The world and all of its woes, picking up immediately, that familiar feeling of terror from my teenage years gripping me tightly by the throat.
And I can’t stop shaking.
Chapter 22
SAWYER
Early Tuesday evening
Thirty minutes after my workout and three hours after hearing from Naomi, my body is still a wreck, twisted up in knots of nervousness as I think about what the hell I’m going to tell Sevin when all is said and done.
It’s a strange sensation when you’re living a lie. And I’ve been living one for nine years.
Nine years of keeping the truth to myself.
Learning the ins and outs of true intimacy still had its growing pains, and right now? I’m experiencing them firsthand.
Not to mention the pain I feel when my ex-teammate Lenny Rodriguez—fresh from the gym’s showers—slaps me on my bare back, passing by me in the FitTheory locker room, his laugh loud as he knocks me out of my thoughts.
“I heard your situation is getting desperate there, Saw.”
Lenny jokes, the fucker back in town for the Cougars game tomorrow afternoon against the Bruisers.
“Yeah,” he continues, “Sev told me all about your suspension. And your little sex hiatus. Couldn’t be me, bro.”
“You don’t say, Len?” I quip, without turning, grabbing my shirt from inside my personal locker. “Because I was under the impression that you might break out in hives if you don’t get some after, like, a day.”
“Who says I don’t?” He grins, opening his own locker. “I have a condition. It’s called ‘Gotta Have It.’ All day. Every day.”
“You’re a sick man.”
He looks over, his bushy brows waggling at me. “I thought we were equal sufferers, dude. Strong men who were succumbing to the same sickness.” He shakes his head, the caveman of a baseball player shrugging his burly, bare shoulders. “We need to end this pussy diet of yours and get you back to serving up cock—fast. I’m not going to let biggest brother-in-arms. No…brother-in-vag go down for a zero count without even swinging. Nope. Can’t do it. I won’t. I won’t let you join a monastery. You’re too good looking for that.”
“I’m not on my way to a monastery. But I see that some of us—and by us, I mean you—could use a little religion.” I slap him with my shirt before shoving it over my head. “And speaking of ‘serving cock,’ I leave it to you…the Gordon Ramsey of Sex to serve the women of Chicago a sure meal. My ‘chef’ing’ days are over, bro.”
He gapes, holding one large hand to his beard and mouth in mock-outrage. He gasps. “Nooo, Sawyer. Say it isn’t so.”
“I found the cure, man.”
“I hope you mean the cure to cancer. Because there ain’t no cure for what I got. And I wouldn’t take a vaccine if they gave me one.”
“As badly as you behave? You deserve two.”
He laughs—the same hearty sound I’ve gotten used to for nine years. Nine years. They had gone by in a blink.
We’d been young then—just boys, really. College students and players on the field and off. But that wa
s the problem.
None of us were boys. Not anymore.
And Lenny?
He’d been one of the few players I’d met in college who even bothered to overlook the mile-wide chip on my shoulder—remnants of my rage at my mom’s death, none of the other players quite ever seeing me as anything more than the asshole at the side of MVP Sevin Smith.
Besides me being not much more than Sevin’s right-hand, I was on many levels considered “off-limits” since most of the team were either scared to death or totally in awe of Sevin. Even Lenny was a bit of the latter.
He’d stared at Sevin as if he saw the sun, and me? I was the dark side of the moon.
That dark part of me is out this evening as I consider the shadow I might have to put on Sevin’s sun when I admit what I’ve done.
With Finley, his ex-roommate. With Kimmy, the woman he once loved.
With Naomi.
With both pacts I’d promised to keep.
I flatten my lips into a line as I finish dressing, slamming my locker closed. But before I can put my head through it in frustration, Lenny notices me packing up, his green eyes sparkling, toggling between the locker and me. “Heading out, Kennedy? Or are you sticking around?
“No, thanks. I’ve seen enough dicks in this locker room for one day.”
“All of the guys are already fully dressed.”
“I know. I wasn’t talking about their mini-me’s, but rather the men attached to them.”
He laughs, slapping hands with me, pulling me in for one-armed hug, the embrace hard.
“We’re going to miss you, Sawyer.”
“I’m not dying, Lenny.”
“Nope, just the part of you I liked most.” He grins. “I know I give you shit… But I really am happy for you. I hope this, uh, ‘cure’ you found is worth it.”
I grin back, thoughts circling around the brunette that’s changed everything. “She is.”
He nods, slapping me on my back. “Hope to see you at the game tomorrow.”
“Oh, I’m on the roster. Looks like Christmas came a little early.”
“You’re off the suspension list?”
“Looks like it. I have a meeting with the Cougars org in the morning to talk about it.”
“Then maybe you’ll make good on that promise of yours to send me crying back to my Milwaukee corner. Just in time for playoffs. Though I doubt it.”
“I plan on it.” I shove him lightly, smiling when he laughs. “I’ll see you later, you big lug. Before I wind up needing a vaccine, too. I heard you’re contagious.”
He winks. “You know it.”
I grab my gym bag, marching fast, turning quick corners to get out of the locker room. Reaching inside the mess of a bag to check my phone, it’s only then, after everything, that I notice several notifications on the screen.
Text message notifications. Missed calls.
Danica.
Has to be. I wasn’t meeting Naomi for a while, and my sister had crash-landed at my penthouse hours ago, probably psycho-analyzing half of the neighbors and their animals before I even got in the door tonight.
I shake my head at the thought of my little sister driving someone else besides me insane for a while. But I’ve missed her, so when I swipe up to see her slew of text messages, I’m not worried.
Not until I see Naomi’s name.
DANICA:
Sorry to interrupt your gym session, bro. Naomi came by. But then she had some big emergency and rushed out. She would have texted you but—
I don’t read the rest, running as soon as I see the word “emergency,” my sneakers thudding against the sidewalk’s concrete, as I turn another corner, picking up speed.
My heart swells to twice its size, pumping full of blood and fear as I sprint the six or so blocks to my building, barely waving at the doorman as I race to the private elevator, swiping my keycard and slamming into the side railing before pressing the button for the twenty-fifth floor.
I can barely keep my pulse in check as I watch the red letters atop the elevator display tick upwards.
Ten. Twenty. Twenty-five.
Scrambling out of the double doors the second they open, I burst into my living room, surveying the space before I finally land on Dani, sitting at the kitchen counter before standing to her feet, her soft eyes rounded.
“Hey, Saw.”
“Hey,” I say, breathless. ‘What happened? Where’s Naomi? How did—?”
“Whoa.” She strolls up to me, her fingers splayed in the air. “Buy a vowel first, okay? There are way too many questions coming at me at the same time.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I take a deep breath, pulling in filtered air through my nose. I set my gym bag on the floor. “First things first: Naomi… Where is she, Dani?”
She flicks a curtain of blonde hair over her shoulder, peering up at me. “Okay, I’ll tell you but you have to promise you won’t get mad.”
I stare. “Wait, why would I get mad?”
“Because I don’t think you’re going to like the answer.”
“I never said that. Dani, just tell me.”
“Calm down first,” she orders. “Your nostrils are flaring, eyes are wide. You’re experiencing symptoms of panic, and I—”
“Dani,” I interrupt. “We can talk about my mental state later when I’m not about to lose my shit. Right now, I need answers. So, one more time: Where. Is. Naomi?”
She sighs, her pink lips twisting together on her face. “Miami.”
My eyebrows reach for the moon. “Miami?”
“Yes. Her little brother called. Apparently, the aunt who takes care of him has gone MIA. But her phone was dying when she left, so I don’t think she’s going to be able to receive calls, but—”
But she can’t get the words out. Not before I’m running for my bedroom, steps thundering over the hardwood as I sweep into the closet, grabbing the closest travel bag I can find.
I hear Dani’s steps seconds later.
“What are you doing?” She calls out over my shoulder.
“I’m going to Miami.”
“Now?!” She yells, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Wait, Saw, didn’t you say you had a meeting tomorrow morning with the Chicago Cougars org execs?”
“Yup.”
“And aren’t you trying to get off suspension?”
“Uh huh.”
“And you’re still going to go?”
“That’s right.”
I stand, snatching shirts off hangers, jeans from the shelves and shoving them into the bag as Dani watches.
“You do know what this might mean, Saw? It could mean your career.”
I finally turn, looking my little sister in the eye, waiting for a beat before responding. “I know. But I made a promise…”
Or at least my heart did.
A pact. A promise. An agreement.
Whatever it was, my heart had already made one to Naomi. And I wasn’t breaking another one.
Not this time.
I rotate on the balls of my feet, giving Dani a quick kiss on her cheek before rushing for the door, hoping the third time of keeping a pact will be the charm.
Chapter 23
NAOMI
Tuesday night/Early Wednesday morning
Miami, FL
The pretty bartender fidgets on her feet, her distinct North Floridian twang lowering as she looks to me, brown eyes crinkling in the corner. “I just happened to be here when she showed up. I let her in. I didn’t know she was in AA.”
I sigh, swiping a hand across my face, already exhausted after landing in Miami an hour ago.
The hour is late. Way past midnight.
Seven hours after Diego’s call, I’ve visited lucky number three of Aunt Sandra’s hundred favorite haunts since catching the first flight back to Miami. And from what I’m hearing from all the local bartenders, she’s been to all three…before somehow disappearing in the wind, drunken and stumbling onto her next bar where she’d drink whatever bourbon they had
and disappear again.
I slip the sweet, sugar-voiced barkeep a twenty, thanking her once more.
Sleep and the long night ahead of me weigh down on my eyelids as I head out of the empty bar, hopping behind the driver’s side seat of my rental, all hopes of bringing her home dwindling in the long-gone daylight.
A silent rage grips my fingers as my digits themselves wrap around the steering wheel, turning white.
My face is likely the same color at this odd hour.
But with Diego safely stowed away at angry Mrs. Headley’s house, I’ve bought myself more time to find my wayward aunt.
It doesn’t make it any easier.
I’m still as frustrated and as angry as I’d been at sixteen when I realized the woman responsible for my well-being couldn’t even take care of her own.
Glancing up and into the rearview mirror in the strange-smelling sedan I’ve paid for, I chastise the woman I see in the glass.
Contacts on, lips painted fire-engine red, she looks back at me—the woman I’ve recently reverted back into. But for once in the past few days, I’m not happy to see her, levering her with a stare deadly enough to level a mountain.
“Look at you,” I direct at the dark-haired beauty. “Look what happens when you let your guard down for a second. When you become selfish. Things like this. Great job, Naomi. You leave your brother with your aunt and then you see what happens… This. What good ever came out of only thinking about yourself?”
I start the car, ready to drive away. Ready to erase the version staring back at me.
But the sound of knocking on my window startles me. I lower my driver’s side window only to find the southern-accented bartender behind it.
“Hi. Miss Silva?”
“Yes?”
“A woman matching your aunt’s description just walked back in the door. Dark hair?” She motions to her shoulders.
“Yes.”
“Brown eyes?”
“Yes!” I incline closer, clinging to the driver’s side door. I take a strong gulp before saying the next part. “And did she happen to have on a… I mean, was she wearing a—”