His sigh is weighted, and his hands drop to my hips, holding me, bracing me for what he’s about to say, “Kyle lied.”
Everything freezes and air is vacuumed from the room.
“He denied that TJ was at his apartment that day.”
“No, no, no.” I sit back, my hand covering my mouth, covering my repeated cry of denial.
“I confronted him on it last night, gave him a warning to do the right thing.”
“Oh, Drew, no.” This will all come back to him. Now I understand what Coach Kelley meant. “He must talk to Coach and London, too, if they knew about it already.”
He nods with a slow clench of his jaw.
“They'll drop the case, won't they? Since Kyle was the only witness.”
“It's not over yet. Kyle will do the right thing, hopefully. And if not, there are still campus security cameras. They might be able to track TJ to Kyle's.” He doesn't sound confident in that, neither am I. “TJ's being released today on bail, though.”
I drop my head onto his shoulder, breathing him in, wanting any bit of comfort I can get before I pull away. “I should go. I can't be here.”
“He won't come here. He knows better.” Drew's grip on me tightens, not letting me up.
“Please, take me back to my car.” I push on him and rise to my feet, but he comes with me.
“No.” He holds me still. “Stay here, with me.”
“I can't.”
“Stop running,” he demands.
“Let me go.” I squirm free from his arms, fear firing like gunshots through my body. “Just take me to my car, and leave me alone. Maybe—”
“Is that what you want?” He flinches back. “Me to leave you alone?”
I suck in breaths, unsure what step to take. That's not what I want. But I don't want him getting himself into more trouble, destroying his chances of the NFL, over me. When all I do is bring trouble.
“We both need to think about this.” I steady my breathing enough to talk. “We need space.”
He stares at me, deadly still, his eyes darkening with something like hate. “You're so full of shit. You don't want space, you want to run and hide and not face any of your problems.”
Each word stings as it hits me, knocking me back a few steps. “I'm scared.”
“That's not a fucking excuse.” He steps towards me with a sneer. “What has it solved, your running and hiding? Did things get better for you when you stayed at home? Did your problems go away? Or are they all still here, and you're still hiding.”
“Shut up.” The truths in his accusations crush me, and my heart falls like a pile of rubble into my stomach. “Shut up. You don't know what it was like. What am I supposed to do?”
“You don't disappear and make it easy on them.” He's quick to respond. “You fight back.”
“That's not me. I can't do that.” I press my hand to my stomach, pain radiating through me.
“At least try,” his frustration blows across me. “Don't go away. Stay. Show up. Go to class on Monday. Don't accept everything they do, or they will keep walking all over you.”
I swipe my hand over my tears, my failure to do anything squeezing me. “Stop trying to change me.”
“I'm not.” His hands are on me, gripping my shoulders with panic. “Damn it, I don't want to change you. I want to free you from this all.”
“You can't.” Something in me springs up like a caged animal, wild and angry in its attempt to get free, and I push him away. “I listened to you and reported him, but look how that failed. It doesn't work. Nothing does. And now things are worse for you and for me. Stop fighting for me before you lose everything.” I push by him, scurrying to the door, but I'm spun around and pinned to the wall.
“You're not going anywhere.” His lips slam into me, his body pressing into mine, his movements and kiss vibrating like a growl. Intensity radiates through his hard body, his lips pulling at mine as his tongue slides between them. His hands are strong as they move up my side, over my shoulders, to my face, positioning me so he can have better access.
When I catch up with the moment, the sudden shock wearing off, the overpowering anger flowing through his touch terrifies me, and I push his chest to get him away. A tangle of thoughts and regrets overpowering the rush he delivers.
“Stop.” I push on him again, and he grants a little more space, lifting his head slightly. “I'm not her.”
He pulls back then, face lined with confusion. “Who?”
“Tatum.”
“I didn't—” He reaches for me, but I sidestep him.
“I'm not trapping you. I'm not arguing with you to keep you. I don't want you to touch me like this—because you're angry with me, and this is how you show it.”
His mouth moves, but no words come out as he shakes his head.
“Take me back to my car.” My lips tingle with the force of his kiss, and I cover them with the tips of my fingers, tasting him there still.
“I wasn't thinking of her. It's not like that. I'm not angry with you.” He steps close again, but doesn't touch me. “I'm angry at everyone else, but not you. And don't for one second compare yourself to her. I panicked because you were leaving, not listening to me. That wasn't the same thing as her. I was fighting to keep you with me. I know you're not asking me to do anything, but I want to.”
“But at what cost? I don't want this to ruin your future.”
He shakes his head, arm shooting out to pull me into him. “It won't. Maybe I made a mistake going after Kyle. But I'm more determined than ever now to get to the NFL, to take you away from all of this so you can live without having to worry about who's going to show up.”
“Take me—what?” I don't allow myself to comprehend, to accept.
“I love you.” He dips down to look me in the eyes, and my heart skips. “I want to do this. I want you with me.”
“Don't—” I can't finish though. I want to tell him it's too soon, not to say that, but all my protests evaporate when I look into his deep green eyes. The overwhelming truth springs from my lips when I open them, “I love you.”
And this time his lips are soft and slow, brushing against mine as he walks me back to the counter, lifting me up by my hips and nudging his body between my legs. His hands slide up my sides.
“I love you.” His smile spreads across my skin as his fingers find the zipper to my sweater. “Let me take care of you.” He dips his hands inside my open hoodie with a soft touch to my waist, an even softer caress of his lips to my ear. “I love you.”
I shudder with his words, each declaration, each touch, soothing and calming my soul. I run my fingers through his hair, trailing them down his neck and bring my mouth to his, letting go of everything that doesn't belong in this moment. “I love you, too.”
His hands grip me to him as he hardens the kiss and he lifts me off the counter, onto him, palms gripping my butt as my legs wrap around his waist.
A hard knock rattling the screen door stills us, and he lowers me to my feet as the doorbell echoes through the house.
My heart drops to the floor as the knocks bang the door again. We both look in that direction, and he squeezes my side at the clear site of police through the window.
“Stay inside,” he demands as he leaves my side to open the door.
“We're with the Sheriffs department,” the balding, round police officer states the second the door is opened.
Drew steps outside, pulling the door shut behind him, but not before I hear the officer say, “Andrew Fayden, I've got a warrant for your arrest.”
32: Darkness
His touch, his earlier words—I love you—linger on my skin, in my mind, but my pounding heart buries it.
The soft click of the door closing is thunder in my blood, and lightning cracks as Drew comes into view in the side window when he jerks away from the officer.
I swing open the door and step outside into the bright sunlight.
“Is this really necessary?” Drew lifts his he
ad to the sky as a petite brunette handcuffs him, reading him his rights without responding to his question.
“Should I add resisting arrest to the charges?” The older male officer asks him.
“I'm not resisting anything.” Drew drops his narrowed eyes to the man, but then he slides them to me, lines flickering in his jaw as he tries to remain calm. “Brook, go in and get my phone. I'm going to need the numbers.”
I have to rip myself away from the scene, but I hurry back inside to grab his phone from the charger on the kitchen counter. When I come back outside, the brunette is walking him down the porch steps to the waiting patrol car. The male has the back door open for them.
“Why is he being arrested?” I ask anyone who will listen.
The female pauses to turn to me, but keeps her grip on Drew.
“Brooklyn Shaw, right?” She doesn't wait for a response. “I recognize you from the file. This is an on-going investigation. Expect someone to be in contact with you soon, though.”
“He didn't do anything,” I persist, panic flooding me as they get closer to the police cruiser.
“You can't arrest me without telling me why.” Drew's getting louder and slows his steps against the officer's push. “I want to call my lawyer. Did you get my phone?”
“You're being charged with assault, obstruction of justice, and tampering with a witness.” The man grabs his other arm so both officers flank him now. “Save the lawyer for the police station.”
“I've got his phone.” I hold it up, and the man turns back to grab it. “I'm so sorry.” I say to Drew as I follow the group, knowing now it had to be Kyle that reported him. “What should I do? Should I call someone for you?”
“It's okay, it's not your fault.” He manages a convincing careless smile as he ducks into the back seat. “I won't stay in long. Take my truck. Go home. I'll call you tomorrow.”
They close the door on him before he can say anymore, and I shudder with my next breath, each door slam of the cruiser snapping my nerves. Watching them pull out of the driveways is like being ripped apart. Their out of sight the second they turn on the road, blocked by the large evergreen trees lining the property, but I stare after the car, like it might reappear, wishing it was all a mistake.
It was a mistake for him to be arrested—my mistake because I let him fight the battles that were never his to fight. They were mine. And now he was punished for it.
I stand there for an infinite amount of time, seconds that feel like hours as I gather my shattered pieces and configure them into some sort of plan. It's more of a feeling than true thought, but it has me moving, back inside the house to grab his keys and my phone.
Standing in the center of his kitchen, my phone in my hands, the warmth that surrounded me only moments ago is long gone. A hollow, numb void left in its place.
He loves me. He said so. But I can't feel it now. I don't deserve to feel it because he deserves more. So much more.
With a detached calm, I pull up the number I'm looking for on my phone and press dial. The ice in my veins explodes into fire when Kyle answers.
“Brook,” he sounds worn down, but I have no sympathy for that. “You shouldn't have called.”
“Why? Why did you do it?” Anger burns my throat.
“I warned you, repeatedly, to stay away,” he growls back. “You should have listened.”
“I did listen,” I shriek, pacing the kitchen, unable to stand still. “I never said anything. I didn't—”
“You reported him,” he cuts me off with a booming voice, but then drops it back down. “You should have just dropped it.”
“TJ was the one not dropping it. I didn't say anything, but then he started lies about me.”
“Let it go. It's over now.”
“No.” I pick up Drew's keys from the counter, determination running through me. “It's not over. I'm not letting this go.”
“Don't be stupid. You don't realize who you're messing with. It'll only get worse if you keep pushing.”
“Yeah. I know.” I pull the front door shut behind me as I exit the house. “It's going to get worse for everyone. Your lies will come back to you.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he delivers the line like he's a robot.
I stop at his emotionless tone, but then keep walking down the porch steps. “I hope he's worth it, Kyle, because you ruined the season. Good luck getting drafted when your team sucks.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” his bitter laugh grates in my skull.
“I know TJ's never going to choose you. Maybe Rose won't last, but there will be others. It'll never be you.” My sharp words hurt, spoken for all the wrong reasons, and my frustrated despair swells under the hatred. “And maybe you still will get drafted, but you'll have to live knowing that your lies took that dream from someone else.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” it's that same practiced line, in that same emotionless way.
“They arrested Drew,” I yell as I swing open the truck door, loosing control, wanting to shake him into feeling a fraction of guilt.
“What?” It's a barely heard whisper, but the surprise in it gives me a moment’s slight satisfaction. “When?”
“Just now—” My heart implodes, sucking in my words, when the car door won't close.
Scott’s holding the door open, the fear in his eyes freezes me.
“Hang up now,” London hisses behind me, and something hard presses low to the back of my skull.
“Where are you?” Kyle questions over the phone.
“Call the cops. I'm at—” my panicked plea bursts.
A blinding, burning flash scatters all my senses into pain filled darkness.
Throbbing.
“Why” echoes.
Pounding.
“Too late.” Distant
Falling.
Silence.
* * *
Ringing fills my skull; piercing till it shatters my blood, fire in my bones.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” a mumbled low chant cuts through the dense air around me.
“Shut up.” A distant, underwater response.
I crack my eyes open, struggling under the weight. Dark jeans pace in front of me. The memory of my sister with a gun to my head fills me with panic, but I don’t have control of my body, every movement is a struggle. Everything hurts. Even the slight shift of my head makes my stomach roll, but I need to see who’s around me, where we are, what’s going on.
It’s my sister pacing. Her hair’s pulled into a tight ponytail and a cigarette in her mouth.
She pulls it from her lips and blows out a stream of smoke in my direction. “If you would have done your part earlier today, like we agreed on, it wouldn't have had to be this way.”
Her voice is still muffled low under the ringing in my head, but both my hearing and my sight are slowly clearing, in and out of focus.
“I tried, you showed up too early. You should have stayed in the car.” Scott's somewhere, but I can't see him.
I roll to my back, needing to get up from lying on the couch, but shooting pain from my head down takes away my hair.
“She's awake.” London declares, but I don’t see her anymore.
I see Scott, above me. Then I feel it. The hand on my shoulder, and my body comes back to me, pain slamming at every thought, with every heartbeat.
“I'm so sorry,” Scott repeats as he brushes sticky hair off of my face.
I try to move away, to sit up on the couch, but I’m stuck in slow, weak motion, and Scott easily stops me, holding me down with his hands.
“Stay still. You're going to be in pain, but if you stay still, you'll be okay.” And something in his heavy voice warns of far more than the pain I feel now.
“They're almost here.”
I turn my head towards my sister’s voice; she’s walking from the kitchen to the living room, Drew’s living room, with a cigarette in one hand and a gun dangling from the other.
&nb
sp; “Why are you doing this?” My voice shakes, strained and breathless. “Who's coming? What do you want?”
She straightens up with an intake of breath, and her voice quakes with unrestrained hate. “I want you out of my life.”
“I didn't—”
“That's what you always say,” she snaps, coming close. “It's never your fault. You're always innocent. First Dad's accident, then high school, and now you're back again, fucking up my life.”
Scott springs to his feet from the edge of the couch, stepping in front of her as her face twists into rage and she lunges for me. “Calm down.”
“Get off of me.” She shoves him away, walking to the opposite side of the room where the hallway to the bedrooms is. She leans against the wall and glares back to me. “It's going to stop.”
“I never did anything to you.” I scoot into sitting, fighting through the pain that courses in me. But then Scott’s beside me again, crossing his arm over the front of me, trapping me.
“Yeah, you didn't. You're little miss innocent. You just got your boyfriend to do it. Shut down our connections with the players, with the frats. Why can't you mind your own fucking business?”
“I didn't tell him to do that.” I’m desperate, terrified, and too weak to stand, to fight. The room spins from sitting up, it’s hard to follow what she’s saying.
“Well you didn't tell him to stop, either.” She tosses the cigarette out on the ground, the burning cherry at the tip glows over the small fibers of the rug, but she doesn't move to put it out.
“Pick it up. That can be evidence against you.” Scott points to the cigarette, but hesitates, not rising to his feet.
“Better not leave her side,” London taunts with a wicked smile. “You already fucked up your job one time, don't want to let her get away again or you'll get nothing.” She steps close to us, her black sneaker putting out the cigarette. She cocks her head as she looks past Scott. “Maybe you should tie her up now.”
He drops his arm back over me, pulling me almost behind him. “She's not going anywhere. We don't need to tie her up.” He looks back to me, his blue eyes wide. “Right? You're going to stay seated and listen. They only want to talk to you.”
Hustle Page 37