“Coach, it was my fault,” Hassan said. His adrenaline had been going. He got carried away. “I just run my mouth sometimes.”
“You’re running it now! Shut the hell up! Did I even ask you to talk?”
“No.”
“Then what are you talking for? Why’re you even answering me?”
Hassan smothered a smile.
“See, I know what your problem is, son.” He took a step closer to Hassan. “You’ve been up there in Massachusetts, where they went and built a golden calf to your likeness. But you’re in Louisiana now. And down here, the golden calf’s for me, boy. You got that?”
Hassan opened his mouth, remembered the warning, and shut it to nod instead.
“Now let’s get a couple of things straight, Pradhan. If I wanna start a goddamned sock puppet at running back, then I’ll do it. And you, you’ll just shut the hell up and like it if that’s what I want, too.”
Hassan blinked.
Coach turned his attention to Lawrence, who sat ramrod-straight, and waited as if daring him to move. Satisfied, he turned back to Hassan.
“Good hustle out there, kid,” he muttered and marched out the locker room.
They burst out laughing, but only once they were sure he was gone.
In the time it took to shower and dress, Hassan’s teammates managed to pressure him into a frat party. He wasn’t interested. He’d rather head back to the room and watch TV, hang out at the campus lounge designated for the football team, or maybe catch up on some sleep.
Alternatively, the guys were tired of him being pathetic. He’d had long enough to mourn the loss of Edy. He’d flinched at her name and told them he was getting along fine without her. He didn’t look at Lawrence when he said this, because he knew that Lawrence knew better.
He was practically kidnapped for the Tri Beta house. There was no amount of convincing that would get the guys to leave him alone. Even Lawrence was in on the job, insisting that getting out might help him clear his head. So, he agreed. Next to Edy, no one knew him better than Lawrence. If his best friend figured the party was what he needed, then he’d give it a run and see.
Hassan had his Mustang now, so the guys divvied up between his car and Cash’s beat up pickup. By the time they made it to the Tri Beta house, folks had already spilled out onto a littered front lawn. Lingering in clusters with clear cups of beer in their hands, the partygoers moved absentmindedly to the sharp beats and lazy lyrics of Deep South hip-hop.
Hassan and the guys were clapped on the back as they moved through the crowd, mingling, maneuvering, greeting strangers and familiars who shouted out their names. Once inside the sardined frat house, a shout rang out and a few Tri Betas grabbed them beers.
The music blasted indoors and threatened to rattle the fillings in Hassan’s teeth. He could smell sweat and the tang of sour beer mingling with acrid cigarettes and marijuana.
“Okay! This right here is my song,” Freight hollered and broke into a shuffle of disjointed steps, jolting his teammates and strangers alike.
“You need to stop that shit,” Lawrence said.
“Freight! Come dance with me!” called a girl from the center of the crowd. She moved closer and repeated the request.
“Who’s that?” Hassan asked and sipped his beer for something to do.
Freight shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he said and moved to the dance floor.
“Boy, I tell ya, Pradhan. You showed your ass tonight. Sho’ appreciate it,” Cash called.
Hassan shrugged. Football was over and he couldn’t think of it right then. Instead, the jerking, gyrating of everyone in sight made him think of Edy.
How the hell was this supposed to be a distraction?
He turned a sullen glare on Freight who was engaged in a shuffle of feet that managed to intermittently be gliding and stomping. Hassan grinned.
“Is that called something?” he asked.
Cash laughed. “Probably ‘The Freight’, knowing him.”
Hassan moved in for a better view, glad for the laugh, and froze when he saw Edy clustered in a bevy of girls.
He noticed the straight hair again, dark, thick, and luscious, and imagined what it would feel like to touch it, to have his fingers tangle in it, to have it brush his face and sweep over his chest in the heat of a moment.
She wore makeup in gentle sweeps, hair hiding so much of her beauty that he ached to swipe it away. Her white V-neck dove to expose an expanse of dark, creamy skin, and skinny jeans hugged curving hips before tapering down to long, lean legs accentuated by pumps. Hassan’s gaze traveled the length of her body in a greedy, slow and torturous stretch. When he looked up, it was to find her watching him with an unmistakable wrench of pain in her eyes.
He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even breathe. No, his body had halted all that on meeting her gaze, rendering him wide-eyed and desperate as a want so severe knocked at the door of pain.
But this was a hopeless endeavor. They were better apart. Their families would be relieved. And the two of them… well, the two of them could get on with their lives.
Being apart was best. Sometimes, he had to remind himself that.
A tallish guy with dark hair and wide shoulders approached Edy. She wore a scowl at the sight of him before they exchanged a few harsh words. Hassan moved, prepared to rescue her, before Edy shook her head and burst out laughing. He glanced at his phone and Edy rolled her eyes, before snatching it from him. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, a few words from her while she rummaged through his phone had the other guy grinning. He eyed her openly while she had her head down.
Hassan swallowed, torn between grabbing the guy by his throat and dragging him bodily from the party and watching the two for as long as he could stand. He needed to watch, though. He needed to see how fast she had gotten over him. But just when he’d had that thought, Edy looked up, and choked him, tortured him even, with the gentle want he saw there.
God, she was beautiful.
She was devastating.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Edy hadn’t expected to see Silas or Hassan at the Tri Beta party. Silas, for his part, had the habit of party-hopping over the weekends so it was easy to see how he wound up at the hottest post-game get-together. Edy was only there after an obnoxious amount of begging on the part of her teammates and their insistence that she had been aloof and standoffish for weeks. In fact, they argued, she hadn’t been herself since the Iowa game. They thought the remedy to that was the Tri Betas, who were known for gorgeous frat brothers, unseemly pranks, and letting the alcohol flow at just about any event they pulled off. As Edy stood there discussing their school project with Silas, she tried her best not to acknowledge Hassan, and failed.
She didn’t want to want him. He’d treated her horribly. He all but called her a stripper. He didn’t trust her. He made insane accusations. He’d gone out with Mala behind her back. Try as she did to resist, Edy couldn’t help but ask herself how many nights out he’d had with Mala without her knowing. Maybe his rejection of Mala had less to do with an arranged marriage per se, and more with him having tried the goods and turned his nose up at them.
What was she doing? What was she thinking? It didn’t matter what he had or hadn’t done, what he’d said or neglected to say. They’d broken up. They weren’t even friends. They couldn’t bear the sight of each other… And yet, every time Edy looked up at him, their eyes met. In them, she saw the unfathomable depths of her own pain, of this awful bed they’d made.
“You called me yesterday about the project?” Silas said. “Because my phone says you didn’t. No missed calls from you. Nothing.”
Edy snatched the phone from him, earning a laugh, before she glided through menu options in search of his call log. “I called,” she said. “I called more than once.”
“Yeah, but who you called is the question,” Silas said.
Edy shot him a look. He could be such a butthole sometimes. Then she found what she’d been searching for, eye
ing her phone number, not once but three times in the span of forty-eight hours. With weeks having passed, she’d experienced a rising panic corresponding with Silas’ degree of calm and inability to simply get started on their work.
“There!” Edy called in triumph and thrust the phone in his face. “My number.”
Silas shrugged, took the phone, and jammed it in his pocket. “So, you called. I don’t like the phone anyway.”
That was his version of an apology, she figured.
Edy glanced over at Hassan and found herself unable to look away. Those green eyes met hers and there was no one else in the room, no one else on the planet. For one crazy moment, she thought to go over to him, to wrap her arms around him, to make him love her like he used to. Just what the hell had happened to them and why had they let it take place? She had so many unspoken regrets, but so much anger underneath all that. He’d called her a stripper, a cheater, a liar. He didn’t trust her. They’d had an entire life together, and still her word wasn’t enough for him.
Meanwhile, the reality of Mala had boiled over in epic proportion. What she’d said about him never denying their engagement, about him treating it as valid, had been a hidden hurt, one that she’d never meant to linger on, let alone share. She’d always told herself that he was in a difficult situation, that her support was what he needed. She’d concentrated on him to neglect her own wants and hurt, only to have it all erupt in a fit of fury. Now, when she wasn’t basking in that same ill temper, she was close to tears, crying outright, or shoving him from her mind with weak desperation. What else was there? When would she get over him, exactly?
“Just go over there and talk to him if you like him so much,” Silas said.
Edy glanced at him, only to find him openly glaring at Hassan.
Shit.
“I don’t like him so much,” she snapped.
Silas smirked. “Whatever you say, little rabbit.”
“Why do you call me that?” she snapped irritably.
“Because you remind me of a little rabbit,” Silas shot back. “Obviously.”
A pale brunette in a form-fitting dress touched Hassan on the arm. The two exchanged words. He looked over at Edy, then moved to the dance floor with her.
Bastard.
Briefly, she glanced over at Silas, wondering if he’d be interested in dancing, then thought better of it. She wouldn’t be petty like Hassan. Or at least, she thought he was being petty. What if it was all in her mind? What if he hadn’t had a stray thought about her and instead was just enjoying the company of another girl? Maybe it was something he’d long wanted to do.
“So,” Silas said on return, handing Edy a beer she hadn’t asked for. “Are we dancing or what?”
Yeah. Yeah, they were. Silas was a great dancer and eye candy to boot. Why wouldn’t she dance with him? Hassan had the slender brunette with the swaying hair. She’d have Silas.
“Who’s the running back to you?” Silas asked, feet gliding absently in a complicated step that had to be his own impressive creation.
Edy watched for a second, measuring his count with bobs of her head, before mimicking his moves. When he nodded in approval, she grinned.
“How do you know he’s anything to me?” she said defiantly. Then she betrayed herself by glancing over at Hassan.
Silas laughed. “One,” he said and took a sip of his beer, “you two won’t stop looking at each other. Two, he’s the guy that felt you up on the field. Pradhan’s kind of known. Especially with the good season we’re having.”
Edy scowled. “He did not feel me up.”
“He did,” Silas said. “And you liked it. Now, answer the question. Why is he out of rotation?”
Edy huffed. Maybe dancing with a busybody had been a bad idea. He’d been nosy at Wyatt’s party too, a know-it-all who had decided for himself when she’d drunk too much, and took it upon himself to carry her off like a Fred Flintstone caveman. He hadn’t stopped there, either. No, he’d parked his bike and walked her right up to the dorm. He would have walked her to her bedroom if she hadn’t insisted that he leave her alone. Silas followed that up with a phone call to ensure she’d made it safely indoors. He’d surprised her by being as fussy as an old aunt.
“It’s nothing,” Edy mumbled unconvincingly.
“Meaning you don’t want to talk about him,” Silas said. “Must still be a pretty fresh wound, little rabbit.”
He grabbed her hand as if it were an automatic motion, getting her attention as he disrupted their makeshift dance routine to introduce another.
Again, she watched him, grabbing the gist of it faster than the last round. But then she shook her head, nudged off the group of guys who bumped her, and complicated Silas’ moves a tad further, smoothing it out and improving it.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not a better dancer than me, little rabbit.”
“But I am,” Edy said and batted lashes at him.
Silas sighed. “One day, we’ll have to settle that disagreement once and for all.”
Edy nodded. “And when we do, you’ll apologize to me.”
This time, Silas was bumped, bringing him closer to her. Neither commented on it. Instead, he said, “What was with you and the guy who threw the party?”
“You mean Wyatt,” she said.
“Yeah, whatever. He didn’t want you to leave. I gave you five minutes in the room with him before I was about to come for you.”
Edy looked up in surprise. “But why?”
Silas exhaled. “That is what I’m still trying to figure out.”
Out the corner of her eye, Edy watched Hassan storm out the party.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hassan laid flat on his back, bench beneath him with his eyes on the weight bar. He wrapped first the right hand then the left around cold steel and took a deep, bracing breath. Above him, the Strengths and Conditioning Coach, Brady Moss, stared down at him. He had a lean, red kidney bean face and thin lips. During Hassan’s first week at LSU, he’d been pulled into Moss’ office, where they devised a diet and workout routine meant to maintain his strength, speed, agility and endurance. His first week at LSU felt like a lifetime ago.
“Ready?” Moss said.
“Yeah.”
Together, they lifted the bar. A look of agreement passed between them and Moss opened his hands.
“Let’s go, Pradhan. Give it hell like you do.”
He’d have to dig deep and find the requisite anger for that to work. Fury was his fuel for football. Given what had happened between him and Edy, Hassan found himself with no shortage of that.
Two twenty-five. It was the standard weight given at the NFL Combine to measure a player’s strength. While any mention of the league and his name in the same sentence was still years, the weight in his hands was still significant in terms of measuring himself and working towards that goal.
The first reps went splendidly. Steady, even, they flowed from chest to maximum height as his arms bent again and again. Gradually, he began to feel the eyes of his teammates on him. He was a shit talker, naturally, and used it to motivate others. Still, he couldn’t max at this weight, otherwise he’d get plenty of what he’d been given. He’d deserve it and they’d enjoy it.
Hassan made ten and breathed a sigh of relief. The weight wasn’t a new accomplishment for him, but a distraction, improper form, cramp, or hair in the eye could cause him to tap out. When he did, Freight, Cash, Tennessee and the rest wouldn’t be soon to forget.
At twelve, Hassan started to feel the burn. It began in his upper arms and spread to his chest, tightening and thrumming with each lift. He thought of Edy. Thirteen. Edy and Wyatt. Fourteen, fifteen. Edy with the new guy. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. He slowed. Adjusted a tad. Breathed. Pushed up slow.
The weights tilted a shade and his arms trembled. He’d shoved Edy away. Broken up with her. She was with someone else now, someone who didn’t see himself as engaged. Someone who wasn’t an idiot like him.
“C
ome on, Pradhan. Push it,” Moss hissed.
She was probably happy.
At that, Hassan shoved up once more, hard, before his belly clenched and the weights began to shift.
They disappeared, snatched away by Moss, and the room erupted in cheers.
Hassan closed his eyes. He felt so empty. So absolutely, utterly empty.
Next to him, Freight lifted a beastly amount of weight with smooth, crisp motions.
“You... going... with us... tonight?” he asked between puffs of breath.
“Going where?” Hassan asked. Wherever it was, he doubted he’d be tagging along.
“X and Tennessee say…” Freight’s chest began to shudder, “that some Eta Chi girls—”
“No thanks,” Hassan cut in. He wasn’t ready to see Edy at another party.
Freight heaved his weights on their proper resting place and sat up. “Not a party,” he said. “Just a get-together.” Freight shot him a sly glance. “They asked for you by name…”
Hassan sighed. He swallowed the urge to scream.
“I don’t care.” He got up from the bench in a huff and strode over to the water cooler. “I really don’t care.”
“But man, you ain’t seen these girls! Eta Chi sisters make ya wanna stick something in ‘em!” X called from a nearby treadmill. He caught a glimpse of the slight blonde Sports Management intern near the bulletin board and cringed.
“My bad!” he called. “I didn’t see you.”
“Animal,” Cash said, keeping his legs loose on a stationary bike. He took a swig of water from a bottle.
When Hassan passed Freight again, this time heading for a treadmill, the upperclassman tried again.
“They were twins, the girls that asked for you. Blonde. Best chests you ever saw. And handy, so I’ve heard.”
“Sounds made up,” Hassan said and stepped on the treadmill. He jabbed a few buttons and looked up to see Freight, Cash and Lawrence in a silent, gesturing, three-way argument from their respective places in the room. Freight was so caught up in the moment that he failed to notice Lawrence’s repeated nods in Hassan’s direction, an indication that he was watching.
Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three) Page 18