by Rhonda James
I throw the covers back and abruptly sit up to argue.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I'm just saying, you transferred to GL to get away from a controlling asshole and re-connect with your brother. But he never made time for you and was totally on board with Brantley being your friend. It's not your fault you developed feelings for one another; it was inevitable. Two attractive people in their sexual prime. Hell, your brother's a fucking idiot for not seeing this coming. And who is he to dictate who you, or anyone else for that matter, can date? All this time you've been hiding behind a label when you both should have had the balls to confront his ass and tell him to either accept it or fuck off."
Her words strike a chord deep within me. I've spent my entire life avoiding conflict. As a child I was always the one to conform. I can't count how many times I allowed girls in high school to walk all over me. Looking back, that's probably why Justin had been drawn to me. He knew he could suggest something and I'd go right along with it, even when I may have disagreed.
I'd been the same way with Scott. He was my big brother. I looked up to him. No matter what it was, if he was doing it, I wanted to do it too. If he didn't like something, it usually meant I wouldn't like it either. But not because I'd formulated my own opinion. His approval meant everything to me. Then he moved away to college, and I was left to stand on my own two feet. For the first time in my life I was free to make my own choices, and that was a scary feeling. Justin swooped in and took over my voice, and for a while I willingly handed it over to him. Until I found the strength to take it back. But when it comes to Scott, it seems I'm not there yet.
Pursuing Brantley had been my first real act of defiance against Scott. Maybe it had something to do with my breakup with Justin. But I think the real reason had simply been Brantley's reaction when he'd learned who I was. The look on his face when he spoke about that fucking bro code Scott hung over their heads has been stamped on my brain. His stupid rules make me feel as if he's still trying to make decisions for me, as if I'm a silly teenager who can't possibly know what's good for her.
But I do know.
I know Brantley Cage is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Our friendship had been born out of need, yet somehow it still felt organic. We make each other laugh, and we wipe each other's tears. We talk about our fears, and encourage one another to chase our dreams.
Sleeping with him had been a choice.
And one I'll never regret.
But falling in love...
Falling in love had been inevitable.
By seven o'clock, I've grown tired of the silent treatment. Veronica was right. I can't let him fly back to Colorado without giving him a piece of my mind. Due to Christmas break, the buses aren't running, so I have to take an Uber. Earlier, I'd thought about all the places he could possibly be and only one made sense. He has to be at the arena. It's one of his favorite places to go, especially when he has something on his mind.
The building is closed for break, but I had the foresight to ask Davis if he had a key. Just so happens he did, and now I'm using it to let myself in. Davis said Brantley has been staying at the frat house with John, and I know he hates it there. He also informed me when Brantley has a lot on his mind, he tends to hide out in the weight room. So that's where I'm heading now.
The building is dark, and I have to use the flashlight on my phone to read the plaques on the doors. Halfway down the main corridor there's a small hallway on the right. I round the corner and come face-to-face with the door to the weight room. The door is one that only opens on this side of the building with one of those card access readers. Lucky for me, I'd already counted on that and came prepared. I swipe my student ID and open the door.
The room is huge, filled with every piece of equipment imaginable. A bank of treadmills line the entire outer wall, while hundreds of free weights take up space on the opposite interior wall. Large, padded squares dot various sections of the floor, while floor-to-ceiling mirrors decorate the wall behind the free weights. I assume this is so they can make sure they have proper form and don't injure themselves. Like the hallway, the room is mostly dark, with only half the room illuminated.
He's sitting on a bench by the free weights. His back is to me, and he's facing an empty wall. For a moment I think he's just sitting there, but as I inch closer, I spot the large dumbbell in his hand and see he's doing arm curls. He's wearing ear buds, so he doesn't hear me approach, and with every rep of the weight I see the pop in his veins and the bulge of his bicep. He's shirtless, and a sheen of perspiration glistens over the expanse of his muscular back.
Being this close makes my heart race. I know it's only been three days, but suddenly it seems as though it's been a lifetime. Taking a deep breath for strength, I step out of the shadows and finally come into view. He senses movement, which makes him turn his head, and when our eyes meet in the mirror, I choke back a sob.
His face is a complete mess. Both eyes have dark bruises beneath them as a result of the broken nose. The left side of his bottom lip is split, and dried blood fills the large crack that's there. And there's a bruise lining his left jaw. That was from the first blow.
My eyes never leave his as I make my way over to where he's sitting. I circle the bench, and when he doesn't stop me, I kneel in front of him, filling the space between his legs. His breathing is heavy, and it's the only sound I hear as I lift my hand to cup his cheek. The knuckles of his right hand are cracked and dotted with dried blood. With the opposite hand, I gently bring his fingers to my lips. Covering each digit with soft kisses before reaching his thumb. Never taking my eyes off his, I circle the tip of his thumb with my tongue before drawing it all the way into my warm mouth. An audible sigh escapes his damaged lips as the weight he's holding drops to the mat with a thud. Using his free hand, he threads his fingers around the nape of my neck and pulls me up to meet his waiting lips.
I don't care that the last words he spoke were a dismissal.
I don't care that it's been days since he last touched me.
I only focus on the relief coursing through me when his damaged mouth covers mine in the sweetest kiss I've ever experienced.
Reaching between us, I close my fingers around the thin cord and pop the buds from his ears. Though my mind swirls with questions, I don't voice them. Instead, I speak with my hands as they skim over the hard plains of his abdominal muscles, taking care to avoid the bruise on his ribs as I work my way up his chest. I boldly press my lips to his chest and my tongue sweeps over the heated flesh in long, languid strokes, stopping only when I've reached his earlobe.
His hands fist the back of my shirt, and all I can think about is getting naked with him in this room. I press myself further into him, feeling the length of his arousal as it grinds against the flat of my belly.
"I've missed you, so much."
His hands tighten their grip, and he releases a sigh of his own. "Cassie, you shouldn't be here. Anyone could come in and—"
"I don't care about someone seeing us. I don't care about any of that anymore. The only thing I care about is you and what's happening between us. Don't you see? We don't have to hide anymore. We can be together and no longer be saddled by guilt." Though my words are muffled by his flesh I know he hears because his shoulders sag as if he's carrying the weight of the world on them.
"Baby, I wish it were that easy. Jesus, I wish I could be everything you need me to be." He cups a hand under my chin and gently lifts my head to meet his gaze. "I'm so sorry for yelling at you, but I needed you to get out of there. It was the only way I could protect you."
"B, don't you know by now that I only feel safe when I'm with you? Without you, I'm empty and weak. I need you more than anything else."
I don't give him a chance to argue, I just kiss him. Gently at first, but then I'm no longer able to hold back. He opens, granting me access to explore and tease his tongue with mine. Soon, he's giving as much as he takes, cupping my ass in his hands and lifting me un
til I straddle his waist. My lips begin to travel as I slowly rock my pelvis back and forth, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping and suckling from one side to the other.
"Cassie, stop. I can't do this." He pulls back to meet my hurt gaze.
"I know why you're doing this." I draw a breath, letting it out on a long exhale. "You don't trust me with your heart. You're afraid if you give it to me there's a chance it could be broken again."
"It's been shattered once. I'm afraid next time it won't get broken. It'll be obliterated," he says quietly.
I press a single kiss to his lips. "You're my Superman. You're not supposed to be afraid of anything."
"Even Superman had weaknesses."
I flatten my hands against his chest and push back, needing to see his face.
There's pain masked beneath the blood and bruises. By looking in his eyes I know what's happening.
I'm losing him.
My greatest fear is happening right before my eyes, and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
"You coward," I accuse through trembling lips. When he doesn't defend himself, I can't help shaking my head. "You're running away instead of fighting for us."
Letting out a frustrated huff, he stands and paces the floor, then turns and points to his face.
"I did fight for us! I'm wearing the fucking scars to prove it. Christ, what more do you want from me?" his chest heaves as he looks down at me with pain in his eyes and anguish on his battered face.
"I want you to tell me it wasn't a mistake, and that I'm not the only one in this room who fell in love." I plead with him.
He brings a hand to his mouth, and his eyes meet mine for the briefest of moments before closing.
"It wasn't a mistake."
I wait for him to keep going. To hear him say he loves me and needs me more than his next breath. But the words never come. It's almost as if the last months never occurred. That everything between us was just a beautiful dream that turned into one horrific nightmare. My heart cracks, standing still as if it's stopped beating.
"Fuck you, Brantley Cage. Fuck you and your goddamn fears," I cry out in despair, beating my fists against his chest. "Fuck you for being so sexy. For coming to my rescue, and for—"
Out of nowhere, he grabs my face, smashing his mouth over mine, forcing his wicked tongue deep inside. Goosebumps prick my flesh. But I'm far from being cold. I meld into him. Tongues spiraling round and round like a wild tornado. Kissing me like he owns me. Kissing me until I'm dizzy and we're both gasping for air.
"Fuck you, Cassie. Fuck you for making me fall in love with you," he growls. Then he storms out of the room and leaves me to process what just happened.
Did he just say what I think he said?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BRANTLEY
This just hasn't been my night.
I came to the arena with the hope of being alone. Being at the frat house means I've had zero privacy for three fucking days. I suppose I could go back to the house, but I really don't feel like going another round with Rivers. Dude's got a mean right hook, and I've got the busted nose and bruises to prove it. I'm fairly certain he doesn't look much better, but I haven't laid eyes on him since I stormed off that night.
I talked to Davis after I left, and he told me he'd given Cassie a ride home. He said she was a mess, and he asked what the hell I'd been thinking kicking her out when she hadn't been wearing clothes. Honestly, once the fists started flying, I'd forgotten everything else. But after speaking with him, it all came crashing back on me.
Making snow angels in the yard.
Cassie standing behind me in my jersey.
Screwing against the pantry door.
I swear to god she looked so fucking beautiful, I half expected animated wildlife to start circling her and singing. Like something out of a Disney movie or some crazy shit like that.
I felt so many things when I looked at her. I wanted to have my way with her on the kitchen table, then take her up to my room and beg her to never leave me. I wanted to tell her to keep my jersey and wear it every goddamn day. I wanted to tell her that no matter how hard I'd tried to fight it, I'd fallen deeply in love with her.
I should have known the fantasy we'd created was too good to be true. We'd been playing house for so long, I'd forgotten our walls were made of glass. Sooner or later, reality was bound to come crashing in.
Hearing Rivers say that shit to Cassie left a deep gash in my heart. Not only because it hurt to hear him saying those things about me. But also because in a way he'd been right. I have been with my fair share of women over the last four years. And I've made it abundantly clear to everyone with ears I'm not looking for a relationship. When Cassie came along, I'd been quick to tell her the same thing. She seemed content to simply be my friend, so spending time with her had been easy. Natural even. But every day, a little piece of her had wormed its way into my every thought. My every desire. My heart.
I want to believe what Cassie and I share is the real thing. But Vanessa had claimed to love me, and look how that turned out. After that heartbreak, it's been hard for me to freely hand over my heart to someone else. It's not because I don't believe Cassie will take care of it. I've been guarding it so long, I'm afraid I may not trust myself to give her my whole heart. Hell, after the way it was obliterated, I'm not even sure how much of it's left to give away. And she deserves nothing less than all of it.
So that's the question I've been asking myself since that night in my kitchen. Can I give it away and risk being hurt again? I'll keep searching until I find the answer. But I don't think it's fair to ask her to wait around while I try to figure it out.
I hadn't been prepared to see her tonight. I've skipped classes all week just to avoid running into her. I didn't want her seeing my face all messed up. I knew it would only make her feel guilty for not talking to Scott ourselves instead of letting him find out on his own. Davis told me how he found out, and the next time I see that prick, Justin, I'll be sure to kick his punk ass. Davis kindly pointed out I'll get my chance when we go against Minnesota after break. I'll gladly spend the night in the sin bin if it means I get to pound his face into the ice.
I make it back to the locker room and see the light on in Coach's office. Christ, I cannot catch a break tonight. There's no way I'm getting past his office without him seeing me, so I might as well say hello.
"Knock, knock," I lean in the doorway and wait for him to call me in. I know I could walk right in and take a seat across from him, but I'm not sure if he had the same idea as me and was counting on having the space to himself.
"Brantley, I'm surprised to see you here this late. Sit down and keep me company." He tosses his glasses on the desk and rubs a hand over his tired eyes.
"Well, I don't want to bother you. I just wanted to say hi, and wish you a Merry Christmas."
"Nonsense, get in here. I wanted to talk with you about something anyway." He points to an empty seat and then lowers his index finger. I take that to mean park your ass in that chair, which I've heard him tell me on more than one occasion, so I do as his finger says.
"I've waited three days for you or Rivers to have the balls to tell me what the hell went down between you two," his brow arches as he waits for me to respond. When I don't, he adds, "I'm still waiting."
"It was just a simple misunderstanding." I give my shoulder a shrug as if it's no big deal.
"Bullshit!" he barks, and the force of his voice knocks me back in my chair. "Two of my best players come in looking as if they've gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson, and you're going to sit there and tell me it was a simple misunderstanding?"
"He didn't like that I've been messing around with his sister," I concede.
"Yeah, I've noticed Cassie's been attending a lot of practices." He leans forward and scratches a hand over his chin. "So, what happened, he pull the big brother card on you?"
"Basically, but it goes deeper than that," I go quiet, and he takes that time to
study my face. "He said I'm not good enough for her. You think maybe that's true?"
"First of all, I hate you even have to ask me that question. It tells me you actually believe that shit. Let me tell you something, Cage. You're a great kid. There's not a doubt in my mind you're more than good enough for this young woman. But it doesn't really matter what I think. What matters is what you think."
I draw a deep breath and let out a loud whoosh of air. "I want to be worthy of her love."
He nods his head and scratches his chin again. "I see. Are you in love with her?"
"Yes," I answer right away.
A smug smile fills his face as he sits back with his hands behind his head and stares.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask defensively.
"Nothing. I just like the way you didn't even hesitate when I asked that question. So what's next?"
"Not sure. Guess I need some time to think it through."
"Sounds like you're afraid of getting hurt again. I get that. What you went through was rough for a kid your age. But, in all the years I've known you I've never seen you back down when something you wanted was within reach."
He gets up and walks around to where I'm sitting, then leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest.
"Allow me to make an analogy. It's the final game of the Frozen Four. Score is tied with fifteen seconds left on the clock and it's your puck. Spiker's in the net and he's all over the crease, leaving only the thinnest chance of scoring. Do you take the shot anyway?"
It's a no-brainer.
"Hell, yeah, I do. I have to take it. I wouldn't waste an opportunity to knock the chip off Spiker's shoulder, not to mention I wouldn't want to let my team down." He just looks at me and does that head bob thing again.
"Interesting. Allow me to draw another scenario. It's the Stanley Cup Finals. You're playing D for the Chicago—"
"But I'm not going to Chicago. I'm going to Detroit," I interject.
"Please, allow me to finish. You're with Chicago and it's down to the final seconds of game seven. It's all on you, and Rivers has been on top of his game all night. Stopping every shot on goal. The puck races down the ice, and at the last minute it's handed off to you, because you have an opening. Now, do you hesitate to take the shot because Rivers is your friend, and by scoring you'll strip him of the opportunity to win the cup? Or, do you take the shot?"