Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three)

by Shewanda Pugh

  She had Silas to think about, too. Things were weird between them. Since that first kiss, they’d made out twice… the first time after a grinding, frustrating evening of cha-chaing in his living room. She’d been swung and flung and dropped and pressed up against him and in between they’d argued about whether right was left or left should have been right. All night they’d been at each other’s throats, him with his asshole snarky comments and her insisting he was the worst dancer she’d ever seen. They should have killed each other. Even Levi had been forced to step out of the room and tell them that they were making too much noise and that he couldn’t sleep. The second his door closed, Silas called her a brat and a moron. Edy told him she wasn’t above slapping him. Then they were up for another round of the routine, except one of them went the wrong way, and when Edy turned to argue, Silas grabbed her face and kissed her. He kissed her hard enough to steal her breath, to muffle whatever argument she’d been about to make. When he broke, it was with a grin. “Sorry,” he’d said. “I’ve been meaning to do that.”

  Their third kiss had been more of an equal opportunity participation endeavor. They’d been at the same zydeco dig as before, with Edy picking up on more of the quick swings and quicker footwork. For Silas’ part, he was an excellent teacher, explaining to her the various open and closed positions, when she should counter him with opposite moves, and what counts were used when. She never thought that dancing to an accordion and washboard could be so fun.

  He watched her with those gray eyes when she danced, all alight. She’d noticed how those gorgeous eyes of his went from steel guards to dreamy stars. Like her, he lived when he danced.

  She drank a lot that night. Silas drank a lot that night. Through it all, Edy wondered when she’d learned to toss back shots like that. They still gave her one hell of a hangover, mind you, but she was at least able to hold a few down. That had been her thought when she and Silas had climbed back on his bike for the trek back to campus. Then he stopped for what looked like no apparent reason, pulled her to the wall of a shuttered bakery, and kissed the breath out of her. She’d kissed him back and her hands had roamed, because he was Silas and absolutely gorgeous, and her body did respond to him and he made her forget Hassan. Except, nothing made her forget Hassan, and so, in her mind, he became her ex and also not her ex, making her kiss him and shove him away at the same time. She’d choked out an emotional ‘Sorry’ with one hand over her mouth and another on her stomach. Silas had glared like he knew every thought she’d ever had about Hassan. Then he huffed that she’d better get back on his bike, before they sped away without another word.

  Maybe a friendship with Hassan would settle things for her. Maybe having him in her life the way he used to be might make things easier for her. Maybe she could even see Silas as more once she settled whatever lasting tension remained between her and Hassan.

  Rani had called her, but Edy didn’t answer. She didn’t want to be the one to tell her that the reason she’d tossed Edy away no longer existed, that they were free to go back to the old days. She wouldn’t tell her that, because she couldn’t. There was no way she and Rani could ever be what they were.

  “Goddamn it, Edy, pay attention!” Tamela hissed and Edy leapt to her feet, the last girl in a stand routine that had already begun.

  She resolved to put boys out of her mind and concentrate on what mattered.

  Dance, of course.

  The LSU offense hit the field for the start of the game. Things went at breakneck speed. First down and nothing. Second down and a short pass, leaving plenty to be gained on the third. On the third, it was Lawrence who kept the drive alive.

  LSU crawled downfield, fighting for inches, practically bleeding on every play. Edy refused to bite her nails, then sat on her hands, to be sure. Alabama, she saw, was determined to shut down the run, the pass, and LSU altogether. They were doing a good job of it too.

  With the start of the second quarter, the LSU crowd got antsy. They were used to sloshing drinks, especially at night games like this, leaping and shouting obscenities. They tended to have points on the board by the second quarter and hardly ever cause for much worry. But this here was different. Seven on the board for the opposition, nothing for them, and that with their primetime boys on the field.

  Something had to give.

  And then it did.

  With seconds on the clock till half time and a swift, brutal Hail Mary pass caught haphazardly by Lawrence, they were finally in the Red Zone.

  They’d go for the run, and everyone knew it. That meant Hassan.

  The crowd stood, collectively holding one breath, as he and his teammates moved to their spots behind the line of scrimmage. Edy’s hands found her mouth, heart thrumming a wild tune, as she waited, waited, waited.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “You can do this. I swear you can.”

  The quarterback lobbed the ball to Hassan, but the defense expected this, and barreled towards him, a firing squad turned in on one man. LSU’s line struggled against oversized Alabama boys as Hassan hesitated, veered left, then pitched the other way.

  He was scrambling, desperate for an opening that didn’t exist. With the clock threatening zero, possession would belong to Alabama after half time, after this play. He had to score now.

  He barreled right, in that hard, desperate pound that was three parts talent and one part so much of that angry determination he’d been demonstrating lately. Edy shrieked when he collided with a defender headlong and disappeared into a sea of red shirts.

  She jumped up, knowing she’d be in so much trouble later. Lady Tigers were poised, pretty, and collected. They did not scream and dance around maniacally, which Edy had done a few times. They did not shout obscenities after bad calls. And they didn’t lean forward in an attempt to see a scramble better and practically spill their junk in the process. But it wasn’t Edy’s fault their uniforms looked like underwear.

  Muscles strained, bodies struggled as the crowd leaned in collectively. They could see nothing, except the dog pile that was Crimson Tide fighting for a piece of Hassan. Edy could hear herself breathing. Her fears were real in that moment. Would they hurt him? They couldn’t. She couldn’t stand if they did.

  The clock was dead. The play was over. And suddenly, “Touchdown!” shouted the referee.

  LSU exploded. No one saw how he did it. No one cared. Jumping, shouting, screaming, Edy wildest among them. Tamela gave her a look. The strangest look, really. One she didn’t understand until they made their way to the field for the halftime show.

  “You must not know,” Tamela said quietly. “If you did, you wouldn’t be embarrassing yourself so much.”

  Edy stared at her. She had no idea what she was going on about.

  “You’re the guy’s number one fan. But you’re not the only one,” she said.

  The stadium echoed in Edy’s ears.

  “What are you talking about?” she heard herself say. She didn’t bother to tell herself that she wouldn’t care.

  “He’s seeing someone else. A cousin of mine told me. He’s pretty reliable.” Tamela shrugged. “I’ll point her out after the game if you want.”

  “No. Yes. I don’t…” Edy wondered. Was it possible to get this nauseous this fast?

  “We don’t have time for this,” London said. “Let’s get ready for one helluva show.” Still, she cast Edy a worried glance after she said it.

  “He’s just a guy,” Tamela said. “And I warned you about those football players.”

  “You did,” Edy heard herself say. She sounded hollow. Empty inside.

  Later, her teammates told her that she didn’t make a single mistake during the halftime show. Edy barely remembered performing it. But she did remember after the game, when Tamela pointed Mala out in the crowd.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  They beat Alabama, and in the post-game interview Hassan talked like he always knew they would do just that. He was getting damned good at being a bullshitter. Who knew colle
ge would help him with that?

  After the game, Hassan returned to his room in order to shower for at least one of the zillion parties his teammates insisted he had to attend. No sooner had he showered and dressed than did Lawrence tap on the bathroom door.

  “You’ve got company,” he said.

  For one wild moment, Hassan imagined it was Edy, there to get back together. His heart beat wild at the thought. But she wouldn’t do that. Not after the way he talked to her. Not after he’d accused her of so much.

  He no longer thought all that was true, though. He wasn’t sure if he’d believed to start with. Oh, he knew she partied hard now, but he didn’t think this new partying spirit included being unfaithful to him. What on earth had made him accuse her of that?

  For whatever reason she’d come, he’d apologize for what he said. He’d gauge her. See if she wanted to try again. The thought ate into every rational thought he had—he saw her everywhere, after all, even in his sleep. But the jealousy stayed there, too. He hated what it did to him. How it made him feel.

  Maybe, he could make her understand.

  “E—” Hassan stepped out the bathroom and froze at the sight of Mala.

  “Hello, Hassan. You did very well tonight. You must be pleased.”

  He stared at her. What was she doing here when he’d asked her not to come?

  “I… uh, yeah. Sure,” he said.

  Lawrence snorted. Hassan shot him a look of desperation over Mala’s shoulder.

  “Where are your friends, Mala?” Lawrence said. “You came in alone.”

  Was that a warning of some sort? Hassan couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t planned on talking to the girl again, much less seeing her, until the words he’d planned for breaking things off with her had come together.

  How did he get in these messes, anyway?

  “Oh, they got caught up in the hall. Cash, I think his name was? He saw them. And Xavier.”

  Oh Lord.

  “I’ll go and check on them,” Lawrence suggested.

  “Good idea,” Hassan said. With that his friend disappeared.

  Hassan took a deep breath. He’d have to do this now.

  “Let’s sit down,” he said. “We, er, need to talk.”

  “Alright,” Mala said in that gentle, dulcet voice. Just the sound of it made Hassan feel awfully guilty.

  The two stared at each other for a minute from their awkward perches on the end of his bed.

  Mala dropped her gaze. “I am thinking of when we were in high school and you came to see me. You said that we could not get married if I was unwilling to have even a conversation with you. I said that you were dishonoring me by even speaking to me without a chaperone.”

  That wasn’t quite how it went, but close. Also, he’d been trying to break things off with her, not get to know her better.

  “I remember,” was what Hassan said. He’d wanted to convince her to rebel against the marriage, thinking their united front would seal its fate. But he hadn’t known back then that she’d never rebel against her parents. She would marry Hassan or whoever else her parents insisted on.

  “I am…” she shifted so her hand came to cover Hassan’s, “glad you are wise enough to be practical. I would like to make you happy in this.”

  Hassan stared at her hand. What the hell did she think she was doing?

  “I don’t think—” he said, before her mouth pressed into his completely.

  He had a moment of complete brain trauma, of blankness, of denial, before understanding dropped down on him like so many bricks. She was kissing him. Mala Bathlar had her mouth on his.

  Hassan shot back hard enough to tumble from the bed. Then he scrambled, crab-like, backwards, to put distance between them. Only the edge of Lawrence’s bed stopped him.

  “What are you doing?” he cried.

  Mala frowned. “I am not… practiced in this. If you could teach me—”

  “No! What? No?” Realizing he looked like a fool, Hassan clamored to his feet. “You’re misunderstanding me. Maybe purposely.” He took up a pace, back and forth, in that tiny center of room between his bed and Lawrence’s. Intermittently, he glanced at Mala, realizing that he’d made several gross miscalculations. He’d underestimated her devotion to her parents and the lengths she’d go to obey. He’d purposely ignored her little compliments toward him, whether about his appearance, or his talent, or whatever. He’d thought those part of whatever game the Bathlars were playing. But he hadn’t anticipated this. Could she really be attracted to him? Could he really have led her on?

  “I’m sorry,” Hassan said quietly. “I didn’t…” He shook his head. His reasons for screwing up didn’t matter. He simply had a mess to fix. Except, what he blurted surprised even him.

  “I love Edy,” he said. Not that it mattered. He’d fucked that up, too.

  “I understand,” she said, in that same sweet voice. “You need time.”

  The girl was not hearing him. He was about to tear his hair out. “No. I’m in love with Edy. I want her.”

  “But you broke up with her. You told me so,” Mala said simply. As if anything in life were simple.

  Hassan looked away. Took a deep breath. Dove in.

  “I’m an ass,” he said. “Yeah, I broke up with her, but there isn’t a day I don’t think about it. Mala, you’re nice. You’re really nice. You’ll be a wonderful wife for some guy someday. But it won’t be me.”

  “Because of Edith.”

  “Because I’ll chose my own wife,” Hassan said. “And… it won’t be you.”

  Mala stood, stalked the two steps towards him, and jutted out her chin like a taunting boxer. “You are an embarrassment to your parents. You disobey them. You gloat and misbehave on the field. And you are in love with an ignorant, faithless, unclean, non-believer.”

  “Who the fuck—” Hassan bit down on the rest of that when Mala gasped. He’d really let things go too far. “You need to go,” he said. “And you need to forget you ever heard my name.”

  “Your parents will owe a lot of money,” she warned.

  “Money that you’re willing to be traded for? Get lost. I’m done with you.” He stormed for the door and opened it wide.

  Mala sniffed and gathered her purse. “I’d expect you to be rather passionate about her. I’m told the two of you have been passionate in a most inappropriate way.”

  “Congratulations. I’ll get to work on that medal for you. Now disappear. And if you ever open your mouth about Edy again, you won’t find me so polite.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Another party. Some sorority. Another random crowd. People were using the Alabama win to get smashed. Edy found it to be a good enough excuse. Maybe with enough beers she could forget seeing Mala at the game.

  With an almost-smile, she brought the cheap beer to her lips, thinking of what her father would say if he could see her.

  The girls had been hovering ever since Tamela had pointed out Mala to her. They’d also been arguing in hushed whispers that Edy pretended not to notice.

  She didn’t feel like dancing that night. She didn’t feel like thinking. Yet, round and round her mind went, contemplating Mala’s appearance.

  Surely he wasn’t giving her a chance because things didn’t work out between them. That was crazy. Maybe, though, with the distance from his parents and the emotional baggage there, plus the grand way they’d come apart, he’d simply felt the need to be close to someone. Maybe he had been close to her all along.

  Maybe they’d slept together.

  Okay. Clearly, she wanted to torture herself that night. She’d been having thoughts like that since she’d seen Mala. It reminded her of how Mala had shown up in Boston. Now she was in Baton Rouge. To think Hassan had gone all ballistic over Wyatt’s appearance. He needed to explain Mala’s.

  Wait. No he didn’t. They weren’t together. They weren’t even friends. He could sleep with her, for all Edy cared.

  She nearly burst into tears at the thought.<
br />
  “Edy? You okay?” Naomi said.

  Edy glanced at her, annoyed suddenly. They’d been treating her as if she might break. As if she was made of spun glass meant to hang from a Christmas tree.

  Oh God. Christmas. Holidays. What would they do about those?

  “Yeah,” Edy said, and realized it came out as a whisper that could never be heard at a party. She nodded instead.

  “Are you sure? Because he just showed up,” Naomi said.

  What? Edy whipped around and sure enough, there was Hassan dressed all in black and nestled between a half dozen other players. He looked tense.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Edy said, though she was sure Naomi couldn’t hear her. But it was okay, she was mostly speaking to herself. After all, she’d occupied places with Hassan before: football stadiums, English class, the bed.

  He went for the keg and disappeared in a swarm of what looked like admirers. Edy didn’t care. She couldn’t care less. She didn’t admire him, that was for sure.

  “I’m going to dance,” Naomi said, “unless you need me.”

  Edy shook her head. She was bad company and she knew it. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Have fun.”

  Naomi nodded and squeezed her shoulder before taking off. There was a guy on the football team she’d been admiring from afar. Tamela’s anti-football player attitude had her keeping mum about which one it was. A late night of whispers when it was just Edy and her roommate alone would probably get the truth out of her.

  Whoever it was, Edy hoped she fared better than her in love.

  An image came to her unbidden. Maybe it was brought on by her birthday, which she had been forcing out of her mind anytime she had the misfortune of remembering it. She saw the two of them dancing, Edy in her little tiara, Hassan a prince to her princess. God, when he smiled everything seemed possible.