Interception (Distraction #3)

by Angela McPherson

  "Mornin', lush."

  My attempted eye roll only drove his comment home, but I argued anyway. "Bite me."

  "Deal, but not until you brush your teeth," he said, opening the squeaky drawer and pulling out clothes.

  "I'm gonna shower." I yawned, trying to stop due to the added pressure against my skull. What the hell had I thought? Drinking to keep up with the Joneses, I guessed. Thank goodness we never had to see those two again: Gwen and Roger.

  Tristan kissed my forehead. "I'll order breakfast. Go clean up."

  The shower eased my stiff joints and muscles, but a headache persisted. Once out of the shower and dressed, I searched for drugs. Four ibuprofen, a bottle of cold water down, and forty-five minutes later, the throb in my skull, along with the other aches, vanished. Finally, I felt like I had control over my body.

  Outside, I joined Tristan, ready to sit and enjoy the last meal of our getaway weekend.

  "You do smell better," Tristan said with a grin.

  "Shut it." I buttered a slice of toast.

  "Alyssa called, asking you to call when we got home."

  "Will do. She sound okay?"

  Tristan nodded while I finished off the coffee he'd fixed me.

  "I can't believe graduation is almost here."

  Tristan leaned back, ankles crossed in front of him. "Me either." His attention drifted to the cloudy sky.

  "Something bothering you?"

  "Nah, just thinking about stuff," he said, evasive.

  "Like what?" I asked, not giving him an out.

  Tristan focused on me again, face serious. "Pro days are coming up next week."

  "Yeah, I know." Scouts would come from all over to watch a few selected players on the field. My faith in Tristan never wavered; he was amazing on the field. The man was born to play the game. Besides, he killed it during combine tryouts.

  Tristan clasped his hands together, resting them on his stomach. His athletic abilities came naturally, and not once had he shown worry or fear, until now.

  "You know you're a shoo-in, right?" I pushed the plate away.

  "Maybe?" Tristan scooted up in the chair, and his hair fell close to his eyes as usual. "I'll be all right."

  Why was he nervous all of a sudden? "Okay, Daniels, spit it out." I rested my hands on my lap, prepared to wait him out.

  It took him a while to develop an answer. "You know when we found out we would be parents? The first thought that crossed my mind was how would I support you and the baby."

  "If you remember correctly, I had the same worry."

  He frowned and shook his head. "I know, but it's my job to fret over. Not yours."

  The twenty-first century sure hadn't changed from the caveman days, apparently. The calming breath I sucked in didn't suppress my irritation. "Listen here, buddy."

  Tristan tilted his head, amusement highlighting the gold in his brown eyes. "Oh, I can't wait to hear this."

  "First of all, I can take care of myself. Second, what the hell happened to your 'we're a team' mantra?"

  "We are a team; you're making what I said something it isn't."

  The hardheaded man had no clue. "Um, I can take care of myself. I chose to stay with you." I glared. "Though I'm not sure why, at the moment."

  He cracked a slight grin.

  "Seriously, whatever happens, we got this." I waved between the two of us.

  "You're not gonna give up on this, are you?"

  "Not unless you continue being an ass, now let's get back home."

  "Fine, if I don't make the cut, be prepared to look after me."

  I pushed away from the table to stand over him. "I've been looking out for you since we were kids, Daniels." A few sprinkles landed on my arms. I glanced up at the gray, droopy clouds. "Crap, let's move inside before it pours."

  Tristan grabbed the dishes, and we rushed inside.

  "Spud, are the bags packed?"

  The back of my earring came undone, and I fastened it. "Yeah."

  The muscles in Tristan's forearm bulged when he lifted the suitcase.

  The wet-dirt smell from the light rain hung in the air when Tristan opened the front door. He loaded our bags while I checked us out of the bed-and-breakfast. Back at the car, Tristan stood next to the driver door. Apparently, the weekend perks were over.

  "Not a chance," he said, waving his fingers for the keys tucked in my hand.

  "You're not fun, ya know." I handed the keys over.

  He reached into the front pocket for the phone and hit the screen. "You want fun? We've got about twenty minutes."

  Smiling, I circled my arms around his neck. "Tempting as the idea is, I think we should get back." I pecked his lips before stepping away and headed to the passenger seat.

  Tristan mumbled too low for me to make out the words. He twisted the key, roaring the engine, and took off. The tires screeched. As much as I fought it, my eyes grew heavy during the drive, and I drifted to sleep.

  Tristan

  Shit ran through my head daily, but those troubles faded during the few short days locked away with Elle. On the drive back, while Elle slept, I had plenty of time to reflect. All I wanted was a prosperous future for the two of us, but the stubborn-assed woman had to give me grief.

  I stole a quick glance at Sleeping Beauty next to me. Her mouth puckered then relaxed. Cute. No snoring… yet, but I had no doubt the noise would emerge.

  Regardless of what Elle's perception of us was, I wanted to provide everything for her. The baby scared me. Further doubt flowed in, thinking about messing up my chances to go pro. Since being a kid, I'd played the game without thought or anything hanging over my head. Even when Dad tried to corner me into staying away from Elle after high school.

  Nothing mattered more than playing the game. Until Elle. Until the idea of starting a family became a near reality. Now the game meant more, and it counted for a future I used to take for granted. What if I fucked up? What if–no, I pushed the negativity out.

  "Love," Elle said, squirming in the seat. "So much."

  I skimmed my fingers across her cheekbone, her soft skin like silk beneath my hand.

  With a hard swallow, I cranked the air up, hoping to keep her under till we made it home. Music played, though I switched to the sports channel every so often, attempting to drown out the inevitable–life.

  As expected, Elle's loud snorts made their appearance, and I smiled. The familiar sound brought me back to what mattered most: her. Only her.

  My cell buzzed in my pocket. With one hand on the wheel, I fished the device out and answered.

  "You back yet?"

  "Aww, miss me, sweetheart?"

  "Always a comedian," Bret said, laughing.

  "We're about an hour out."

  "Dude, what the fuck is that noise?"

  I laughed when Elle snorted. She'd be thoroughly humiliated knowing Bret heard her. "It's Elle."

  "No shit?" The jackass chortled in my ear.

  "You call for a reason, princess?"

  "Yeah, yeah." He coughed. "So I got the call to try out again."

  Thank God. Bret played hardball. The goofy bastard deserved the shot to go pro-ball, although I had to razz him a bit. "You got The Clap? Sorry, man."

  "What the…?" He groaned. "Don't be an idiot."

  "Nah, man, I'm happy for you."

  "Yeah, so we're celebrating tonight? You think the girls would be up for a little excitement?"

  "Tell Shrimp he's in deep shit," Alyssa said, apparently standing close by.

  "Tell your girl to calm her tits. Elle's asleep–"

  "I said to have Elle call."

  Bret had to find the one woman who drove me bat-shit crazy attractive. No, the man was in love with her.

  "I did tell her, Amazon. If you would've let me finish, you'd know that."

  "Oh. Well, um." Alyssa tripped over words, and I shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

  I had a conscience, and deep down, really fucking deep down, I cared for her. "Listen, she fell a
sleep as soon as we got on the road."

  "Okay, well, tell her to give me a buzz when she wakes up."

  "Amazon, you're–"

  "I'm what, Shrimp?"

  The irritating Alyssa I could take. "Annoying as fuck, now put Bret back on the line."

  "Asshole."

  "Dude, don't piss her off."

  Poor guy. He'd probably catch hell later. Did I feel bad? Nah, messing with them was entertaining, and definitely more fun. "Where's the get-together and what time?"

  "The frat house, and when you get there."

  "All right. See you later."

  The last hour dragged, but we made it. My ass was numb and due to Elle's snores, my eardrums possibly had permanent scarring. Never been so glad to be home. As if a sensor went off, Elle's eyes opened when we pulled into the driveway.

  "Wow, we're here already?" She stretched her arms in the air.

  "Yeah." I popped the trunk. "Sleep okay?" I ducked my head to grab our bags.

  "Like the dead," Elle said, grabbing the last suitcase.

  "No shit." I laughed, slamming the trunk shut.

  "Hey." She bumped me with her hip as her purse vibrated. "Shit, I bet that's Alyssa. I forgot to call."

  "She called while you were sleeping."

  "Fabulous." Elle hurried to unlock the front door, dropping her luggage on the couch, and dug in her purse. The last ring buzzed right when she found it. "I'm never going to hear the end of it." She was right because the phone rang again. Elle answered, "Alyssa, hey. What's going–"

  Elle dropped down in a chair at the kitchen table. I unloaded our clothes then put the bags on the top shelf of the closet. Elle marched in, yapping away.

  I plopped on the bed, face-first when Elle finished the call. The bed dipped, and she massaged the kinks in my back. Heaven.

  "So, party at the frat house tonight?"

  Only when Elle's magic kneading halted did I reply. "Yeah, party to celebrate Bret's invitation to try out this time, too."

  "Awesome." She applied pressure at the back of my neck where I carried more tension.

  "You coming?"

  "That depends on you." She giggled when I flipped over and pulled her on top of me.

  Elle's hair fell forward–tickling my nose, and I pushed it away to cup her face. She shifted to move, but I held her in place. "If you want to hang with the guys, I get it. I'll be fine. Promise." Elle tickled my side.

  The bed bounced when I flipped Elle to her back, straddling her. "I want you to be there."

  "All right."

  I smiled, hovering above her lips. "May want you to take advantage of me later." I pressed a fast kiss on her lips then jumped off the bed. "I'm gonna change real quick." I stripped my shirt off, heading into the closet.

  "You sure you're okay with me tagging along?" Elle rested her hip on the doorjamb.

  "'Course."

  The air conditioner kicked on, blowing a cold breeze on top of Elle. Goose bumps covered her skin. I rubbed her arms, warming the chill away. "I always want you."

  Elle nuzzled my neck. "Okay."

  I held her in my arms, relaxing the moment she fit against me. "Good."

  Elle

  The guys partied as if no one had classes the next day, including Tristan. Some guys stumbled past, spilling their Red Bulls and vodka, and a citrus smell cut across my nose.

  "They're dumb," Alyssa assessed correctly.

  "Pretty much." I nodded, lips thinned. I double checked my watch with the time on my cell. Two in the morning, no wonder my eyes were bleary.

  "I've got to get Tristan home." I looked up at Alyssa.

  "You may need help." She pointed to the living room.

  Tristan and a few other guys stupidly decided to create mock fighting matches. That was what happened when too many men got together and drank. A sophomore charged at Tristan, wrapping around his middle and threw him on his back.

  Unfortunately, a wooden end table broke the fall. I rushed to help Tristan up. "Are you okay?"

  Tristan and a few others laughed. He swiped at the pieces of wood stuck to his shirt. "Yeah, I'm great."

  "Maybe we should go home." I picked out a shard of wood stuck in his hair.

  "All right," Tristan slurred. He stumbled, and I grabbed his waist, the two of us nearly toppling over.

  "Daniels, get outta here," Jarred said, lending a hand to keep us both upright.

  "On it, man." Tristan half-assed saluted Jarred.

  "I didn't think tonight would get so crazy," Jarred admitted with a grunt, carrying most of Tristan's weight.

  "Me either."

  Jarred helped me get Tristan to the car, and as soon as he slipped inside, Tristan passed out.

  "Will you be okay with him?"

  "We'll follow," Bret said, Alyssa beside him.

  "Thanks, guys."

  My mouth watered and nausea set in. The car reeked of beer and tequila. My foot slipped on the brake pedal, and the car jerked, the tires squealing. Tristan's head slumped forward. "Shit." Sweat from his hair coated my palm when I shifted him back in the seat.

  Thank God Bret and Alyssa followed us home. Tristan barely moved from the car by himself. It took all three of us to get him out, into the house, and finally on the bed.

  "What a celebration." Bret bent at the waist, huffing and puffing.

  "Congrats on the call, by the way."

  "Thanks, Elle." He pointed to Tristan's sleeping form. "You gonna be okay?"

  Tristan's mouth hung open with drool spilling out. Attractive. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks for everything."

  I waved from the door at Alyssa and Bret as they backed out of the drive and down the street. Door locked and lights out, I headed to the bedroom.

  What the hell was going on inside Tristan's head? He'd never risk an injury so close to a big game. So why gamble it now? I chewed on the inside of my bottom lip, contemplating what plan to take.

  What could I do? Not much at the moment. I headed to the bathroom. The hot shower washed the remnants of tonight's party off, though it did little to help me figure out what was up with Tristan's behavior. Our conversation in the morning at the bed-and-breakfast filtered in. He'd hinted about providing for his family. Was that his issue?

  The comfy shorts and Tristan's old baggy shirt I slipped into was the perfect combo for relaxing in. If only I could.

  On the counter, Tristan's toothbrush and toothpaste clumped together drew my attention. I picked up the mess and washed the excess paste off before placing the tube and toothbrush in the proper container.

  Since I'd straightened up his side, I did the same to my sink and cleaned up there, too. Once the counters were picked up and towels hung on racks, I headed out.

  My cell rang. Rushing to answer the call, I said, "Hello?"

  "Richards, glad you're up."

  I pulled the phone from my ear to be certain of the time. Yup, two-thirty in the morning. "Rixon, why the hell are you calling so late?"

  "Better question is why are you answering so late?" He paused. "Could it have anything to do with your star boyfriend partying it up tonight?"

  My jaw hurt from grinding my teeth. "Are you seriously trying to get a story out of me?"

  "Is that a denial?"

  "You're an asshole. I'm hanging up, and if you print a story about Tristan, I'll kick your ass." I flexed my free hand. "Again."

  "Hey, hey." He sighed. "I'm kidding."

  "Bullshit," I said.

  "I am kidding… mostly."

  "Hanging up."

  "Wait! So I got word of a crazy party at Tristan's fraternity. Some freshman took pictures of him on the ground. Looked like he'd been in a fight or something."

  I shook my head. "No, he wasn't, and I'm serious about the story, Rixon."

  "All right, all right. No story." He huffed. "Everything's okay, then?"

  "Yes, we're great."

  "Sounds good. I, ah, I'll see you tomorrow."

  I hit end without answering, and tossed the ph
one on the dresser. Tristan never shifted when the device thudded against the wood.

  Once Tristan went pro, parties like tonight, and his behavior during them, would send the media into a frenzy. Rixon's call only solidified my decision to call in for help tomorrow. Tristan had to face whatever in the hell was bothering him.

  I checked to make sure he hadn't vomited. The man hadn't moved from where Bret dropped him. His shoes fell on the ground once I finally got them tugged off. I didn't bother with his jeans. I grabbed an extra blanket from the top of the closet and covered him with it.

  Not wanting Tristan to suffer too much, I added ibuprofen and a bottle of water on the nightstand. Done, I headed to the living room ready to pass out.

  Snuggled under the blanket, I prayed that he'd face his demons before he ended up blowing the one thing he'd wanted most out of life–football.

  Tristan

  My eyes stung like I'd rubbed a jalapeño in them. The burn hurt worse when I blinked against the bright sun filtering through the blinds.

  Wetness pooled around the side of my face when I shifted on the bed. Apparently one of the guys rolled over me with a bulldozer.

  The stench of alcohol pierced my nose as I ran a hand over my face. The events from last night flashed back in spurts–throbbing memories of too much beer and a shit-ton of tequila brought up the dreary truth of what I'd done. The last time I'd felt so shitty Robbie, the dickhead, had painted my face and nails while I'd been passed out.

  Thankfully, Robbie got kicked out of school at the beginning of the season for beating the shit out of a freshman.

  A ding, ding, ding in the distance drew me back into the hangover from hell. I groaned, reaching across the mattress for Elle, only to find her side empty. Without thought, I jolted upright, ignoring the splitting headache and pounding behind my eyes.

  "Spud?" I waited, holding my breath until I didn't hear her reply. My parched mouth and sticky tongue nearly salivated when I saw the bottled water sitting on my nightstand.

  More than half the contents downed, I popped the pills Elle had left me and finished off the water.

  "Elle?" I stood. Surprisingly, the room didn't spin. Scratching my crotch, I shuffled to the bathroom, ready to clean the halitosis-funk wafting from my mouth. I leaned my forehead on the cabinets above the toilet for support to drain the main vein. Best. Piss. Ever.