The Rival: A Washington Rampage Sports Romance

by Megan Green

  I can’t believe he’d do this to Avery.

  Wait, scratch that. Yes, I can. Because Miles Johnson is the devil incarnate. Of course he wouldn’t think twice about hurting someone as perfect and sweet as Avery Grant.

  I throw the remote on the couch, leaning back into the cushions, my muscles tired from the long hours of practice this afternoon and evening. But, despite the ache and exhaustion in my bones, I couldn’t sleep right now if I tried, my mind running a million miles an hour after what I just watched.

  Avery must be devastated.

  The thought jolts me into action, and I spring up off the couch, heading to the kitchen to grab my phone from where I left it charging on the counter.

  I don’t have any missed calls from Avery, which is a little disappointing. She’s called me several times in the last few days, and I’ve ignored them all. And, now, the one time I want to see her name, it’s not there.

  It only makes me realize how much things have already changed between us.

  Even a year ago, I would’ve been the first person Avery called if something like this happened. Hell, I was the first person she called when anything happened, big or small. And, now, on the day her entire life just got turned on its axis, she’s nowhere to be seen.

  I’m going to fix this.

  I might be a selfish bastard, wanting more with Avery than I probably deserve, but I won’t let that stand in the way of my being her friend now. Not when she needs me.

  My feelings can go straight to hell. I’m going to be there for my best friend.

  I pull up her name and hit the dial button, holding my breath as the first ring sounds in my ear.

  Only to immediately be followed by her voice mail.

  Wah, wah, wah.

  I can practically hear the sad trombone sound as my face falls.

  Of course she has her phone off. Of course she doesn’t want to talk to anybody, least of all me. I’ve been avoiding her for days. What made me think she’d jump at the chance to talk to me just because I finally decided to pull my head out of my ass?

  Dropping my phone down on the counter, I rake my hands through my dark hair, wondering what in the hell I’m going to do next. I need to make sure she’s okay. I need her to know I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I need her to know that I love her…as a friend, if that’s all she needs.

  A brilliant idea occurs to me then, and I sprint down the hall to my office.

  If I can’t get her to talk to me on the phone, I’ll just have to make her do it face-to-face.

  I pull up the airline’s website, looking for the first flight that will get me anywhere near Stetson the fastest. There’s nothing until tomorrow though, and I literally might die if I have to wait until then.

  Well, not literally, literally. But you know what I mean.

  Looks like I’m driving.

  I set about packing a small bag, knowing Coach is going to be pissed that I took off and missed practice. But, as the saying goes, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. Besides, Jeffers took off several times earlier in the season, and he’s still with the team. I might be a rookie, but I’ve made myself pretty damn indispensable to those guys. I’m sure they can forgive just one little mistake.

  Avery, on the other hand, can’t wait.

  It’s an eighteen-hour drive, so, if I leave now, I should be there by dinnertime tomorrow. It’s only a few hours faster than waiting for the flight, but at least I won’t just be sitting here with my thumb up my ass. At least I’ll know I’m actually doing something to help rectify the situation.

  I’m tossing a few toiletries into the front pocket of the bag when a knock sounds at my door. I swear to God, if that’s Brandon here to shoot the shit and hold me up, I’m going to wring his neck.

  Zipping up the bag, I drop it to the floor and extend the handle, rolling it behind me down the hall. Another knock tells me whoever is at the door hasn’t gotten the hint and gone away, and I know there’s only one idiot stupid enough to stand in the hallway and bang on the door when it seems like nobody is home.

  “Goddamn it, Jeffers. I don’t have time for th—” My words cut off as I throw open the door, coming face-to-face with the last person I expected to see there.

  Avery.

  “Wh-wh…” I trail off, unable to form a single, coherent thought.

  “Hi, Carter,” Avery says, sheepishly looking up at me from beneath her lowered lashes. Her cheeks flush a little as her gaze drops back down to the floor at her feet. “I, um…I guess I should’ve called first.”

  Her words awake whatever part of me went into shock at the sight of her, and I immediately take a step back and wave her inside.

  “Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome here. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

  She takes a tentative step inside, her eyes darting around the room and widening with every detail she lands on. “Wow, this is, uh…this place is incredible, Carter.”

  The fact that she’s not ribbing me about the designer curtains hanging from the windows tells me all I need to know.

  She’s not okay.

  I take the suitcase from her hand, propping it up against the wall before leading her over to the sofa. Taking a seat on the edge, I pull her down next to me, tucking her into my side as I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

  “Talk to me, Smalls.”

  And, as if the sound of the nickname triggers something inside her, the floodgates open. Avery crumples into my side, her face buried in my shoulder as her sobs soak through the sleeve of my shirt. “I’m so stupid, Carter. So, so stupid.”

  “Shh,” I murmur against her hair, wrapping my other arm around her so that she’s locked fully in my embrace.

  I squeeze her with everything I have—every moment spent watching her, wishing she were mine; every time I missed her, longing for the feel of her in my arms once again—hoping that my presence offers some slight semblance of reassurance that she’s not alone.

  “You’re not stupid, Avie. He’s the stupid one. There aren’t words to describe the level of stupidity that is Miles Johnson,” I flippantly say the words, hoping to get a smile out of her underneath all those tears.

  My efforts are in vain, however, her face only shriveling more as the tears continue to fall harder.

  “You knew this would happen, didn’t you? You always knew he would hurt me. I should’ve listened to you. All those years, I should’ve listened.”

  Raising my hand to her chin, I lift her face and crane my neck so that I can look her in the eyes. “Don’t do that, Avery. Don’t you dare make yourself feel bad for something that asshole did. You did nothing wrong here. And, no, I’ve never been Miles’s biggest fan. But I never in a million years thought he’d do something like this to you. I never would’ve let you get hurt if I had known he was capable of something like this.”

  I brush the pad of my thumb over her cheek, wiping away a trailing tear. Her lower lip quivers at the contact, her soulful dark eyes searching mine—for what, I don’t know. But she must find whatever it is she’s looking for because that smile I was so desperate to see moments ago finally breaks free.

  It’s a sad, muted form of the brilliant smile I’m used to seeing on Avery. But it’s a start.

  “There she is,” I say, my own lips curling up as I drop my hand from her face. It lingered there long enough, and though it physically pained me to move it, knowing how much she’s hurting, I know that she doesn’t need me trying to make more of this moment than it is just because of those pesky feelings I happen to be holding on to.

  She nuzzles her face back into my shoulder, bringing her legs up onto the couch and curling them under her. I settle us both back against the cushions, Avery tucked sweetly against my side, and kick my feet up on the coffee table in front of us.

  “I’ve missed you, Car,” she says after a moment. “I’ve missed this.”

  A knot forms in my throat at her words. If she only knew how much I’d missed this�
�being with her, just the two of us, like it always was.

  “I’ve missed you, too, Avie.”

  She snuggles down into me, and we fall into a comfortable silence, both of us content to just sit and enjoy the company of the other. Her breathing evens out, and after a few moments, I start to wonder if maybe she’s dozed off. After all, today has been hell for her, emotionally and physically. Finding out your fiancé is cheating on you and then flying hundreds of miles to an unknown city without a second thought? She has to be exhausted.

  Her voice interrupts my musings on the state of her fatigue though. “I guess I should explain why I’m here…” She trails off.

  I shake my head. “I can guess. We don’t need to talk about this tonight. You can stay as long as you want.”

  I feel the curl of her smile as she buries her face back into me.

  “I love you, Carter,” she says, her voice already growing heavy with sleep.

  My heart clenches. The words aren’t unfamiliar. She’s said them to me hundreds, maybe thousands, of times over the years.

  It just never means the same to her as it does to me.

  “Love you, too, Smalls. Get some sleep.”

  And, as I feel her drift off in my arms, I make myself another promise.

  I don’t care how long it takes.

  I will help Avery heal from what that asshole did to her.

  And, when she’s ready, I’m going to make damn sure I don’t lose her again.

  Chapter 8

  Avery

  My first few days in Seattle pass in a blur of tears and sleep. When I’m not crying, I’m sleeping. And, when I’m not sleeping…well, you get the idea. When the sun rises on my third day at Carter’s, I wake, still feeling depressed and hurt but determined. Determined that I’ve cried my last tears over Miles Johnson. Determined that I’m not going to waste another moment of my life with that scumbag. And determined that I’m going to make this day in Seattle my bitch.

  I bound out of bed—admittedly with more enthusiasm than I actually feel. But that’s step one of my plan. If I act happy and lighthearted, surely, my body and mind will eventually catch up and feel it, too.

  Or I’ll go crazy and wind up in a straitjacket.

  Either one would be preferable to this half-life I’ve fallen into. Because at least I’d be feeling something other than sadness.

  I dress quickly, pulling a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt over the sleep shorts and camisole I wore to bed. The action gives me pause for a moment, memories of all the times Carter and I spent the night together, growing up, modesty and bashfulness the furthest things from our minds as we tangled together. I try to think back as to when that all changed—when I started covering myself in front of Carter despite the fact that he was just…Carter.

  Probably around the time I got boobs. Boobs always seem to have a way of changing things.

  They cause your best friend to start acting weird around you when you’re half naked. And they make his arch-nemesis sit up and take notice when you walk into a room.

  No. No, no, no. You’re not going there today. Today is your bitch, remember? Now, get your ass out that door and find yourself some yummy breakfast.

  Shaking off all thoughts of Miles, I follow my inner self’s advice and pull open the door, immediately getting hit with the scent of something delicious and sweet wafting down the hallway.

  I trot out to the kitchen, hopping up on a stool when I reach the island, propping my elbows up on the counter and resting my chin in my hands. Carter is standing across from me, his bare back to me as he watches over a skillet on the stove.

  I watch him for a moment, and it’s obvious he has no idea I’m awake and sitting behind him. My eyes fix on his naked torso, unable to look away as the muscles across his shoulders and back move and glide with every movement, stretching and tightening as he reaches for a spatula in the drawer next to the oven.

  Holy shit. When did Carter get so…hot?

  Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always known my best friend is attractive. Girls in high school would always sidle up to me, trying to get me to spill the beans on Carter and then hook them up when they found out he was very much available.

  But this is the first time I’ve ever looked at him and felt…

  What in the hell is this?

  Nothing, Avery. It’s nothing. It’s the mindless ramblings of a woman whose fiancé just destroyed her and who’s now trying to take her mind off that in any way possible.

  Yeah, that’s it. There’s just some part of me that wants to know I’m still desirable. That men are still attracted to me, even after everything that’s happened.

  In short, I need a rebound fuck.

  And Carter is anything but.

  Deciding the best way to get my thoughts off Carter’s backside is to draw my attention to his front, I clear my throat, giggling softly when he practically jumps out of his skin and whirls around, spatula at the ready to fend off any impending doom.

  “Jesus Christ, Avery. You scared the shit out of me.”

  I grin at him as he finally lowers the spatula before turning and stirring the eggs again but not before he shoots a glare at me over his shoulder. His face is stony and set in an irritated line, but his eyes give him away. They’re soft and full of tenderness.

  He never could stay mad at me.

  “You big baby,” I tease. “Nice to know you have a state-of-the-art security system in this swanky place though. That spatula is sure to deter even the most determined of burglars and serial killers.”

  He turns and points at me with said spatula. “You hush, or I won’t feed you.”

  I pout my lower lip out. “Cruel and unusual punishment! Especially since I’m pretty sure I smell French toast.”

  He gives me a sideways smile, turning and pulling open the microwave, revealing a glorious stack of cinnamony goodness keeping warm inside. I moan in appreciation, already feeling the saliva pool in the back of my mouth.

  Carter Hughes is a lot of things. A hard worker, a damn good ball player, and a hell of a best friend. But all that fails in comparison to his French toast–making abilities. I don’t know what it is about his technique, but I’ve never been able to replicate it. No matter what I do, mine never turns out nearly as good as his. It’s utter perfection.

  “Gimme, gimme, gimme,” I say, reaching my hands out and flexing them in and out like an impatient toddler.

  “Not until you say the magic words,” he says, playfully quirking his eyebrow at me over his shoulder.

  I grin, falling right into step. “Come on, Carter. Don’t be an L7 weenie.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten.”

  I give him a pointed look, but the smile doesn’t leave my face. “As if I could. You used to torment me with that movie every chance you got. Even if we weren’t watching it, you were quoting it. I haven’t seen it in probably three years, and I bet I could still recite it word for word.”

  His mouth falls open in shock. “Three. Years? My God, I have failed you as a friend. That’s a travesty, Smalls. And one we’ll be setting right ASAP.”

  “Noooo. Please, no. I don’t think I can handle watching the transformation of Scotty Smalls from uber nerd to semi-cool kid again. Five thousand times was enough.”

  “If I can sit through hours and hours of wedding dress photos and color swatches, then you can handle a little Scotty and Squints.”

  I can tell he means the words to come across as lighthearted and good-natured, but my stomach flips a little at the mention of weddings.

  All those years. All that time planning out each and every single element in painstaking detail.

  And it was all for nothing.

  Carter seems to quickly pick up on my shift in mood because, before I can fall too far into my melancholy thoughts, he sets a plate of French toast and eggs in front of me. My frown instantly lifts, the sweet smell of cinnamon and maple syrup banishing all negativity fr
om my mind.

  I grab my fork, slicing off a large chunk of the toast and stuffing it into my mouth. Carter has added the perfect amount of syrup and butter, and the flavors explode across my tongue, eliciting a small moan from the back of my throat.

  “God, I’ve missed this,” I say around a mouthful of food, so really, it comes out more like, Gah, I mish dish.

  But Carter doesn’t have any trouble understanding my meaning, a wide smile spreading across his face as he sets his own plate down on the island and sits across from me.

  We eat in silence, the food way too damn good to waste with idle chatter. Once I’ve cleared all three of my pieces and polished off the eggs—I might or might not have briefly contemplated licking the plate clean, but come on, I’m not an animal—I lift my gaze to meet Carter’s. He’s finished off his food as well, and he’s watching me with an amused expression.

  He has always liked watching me eat his food.

  I run my tongue across my teeth real quick, making sure they’re clear of any stray bits of toast before I smile. “What should we do today?”

  Carter’s brows lift in surprise. “You feeling up for leaving the apartment?”

  I nod vehemently. “Yes, please. I’ve sat around, wallowing, for far too long.”

  “Okay then, good. I’m glad to hear that. And, as far as what we should do today…what do you feel like doing?”

  I crinkle my nose, pondering his question. Seattle is like an entirely different world from Stetson, and there isn’t much I don’t want to do.

  But there is one thing that stands out. One place I’ve always seen in movies and on postcards and calendars and such.

  I give Carter a sheepish look.

  “Oh, jeez,” he says with a smile. “I know that look. You’re gonna ask me to do something I don’t want to do, aren’t you?”

  I put my hands up under my chin, innocently batting my eyelashes at him. “I don’t know what you mean. But there is one place I’d like to see. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here, so I’d love to see it now, just in case I have to get back to Stetson sooner rather than later.”