Roman: A Raleigh Raptor Novel

by Whiskey, Samantha

I’d give it two more days, and then I’d be able to distract her with more than a few kisses.

  18

  Teagan

  The sound of clattering helmets.

  The sharp thwack of flesh hitting flesh.

  The collective gasp and silence among the crowd.

  Roman, unconscious and carted off the field.

  The sight of him in that hospital bed.

  The memories raced and flashed in my mind, each one breaking a piece of my soul.

  New images raced ahead of the old ones—one where he didn’t wake up. One where the hit was hard enough to claim his life. A headstone. A gravesite. Me clinging to his mother as we both watched him be lowered into the ground.

  Liberty had told me enough about Nixon’s history—him losing his little brother to a concussion—to know it wasn’t unheard of. Especially with how many hits the NFL delivered.

  “Teagan,” Roman said my name like he’d said it several times. “What’s going on up there?” He asked, and he reached for me across the kitchen island. We’d just finished up a light dinner, Walt’s soft snores echoing peacefully from the living room. Goddamnit, this was supposed to be my life. Our life. One where I took care of Roman, and he took care of me, and we were happy.

  I backed away from his touch, my heart shattering at the hurt and confusion that colored his eyes at the move.

  Rick: Want to see more of my worst?

  His text from yesterday burned in the back of my mind. I still didn’t have a clue how he’d managed to find my new phone number, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have broken into Coach’s personal files and see Roman’s updated emergency contact info. I’d always been listed in the slot just above his mother, and he’d updated it with my new number the week he’d gotten me the new phone.

  It had been so easy for Rick to pull that block, to put Roman in danger, and no one knew it was intentional. And who would believe me if I told? Rick looked like he’d tripped. And what would Rick do if I tried to tell anyone the truth about his threats against Roman?

  What would he do if I didn’t do what he said?

  I’d endured enough punishments to know but still couldn’t believe he would do this to Roman. His teammate. I thought the only thing Rick cared about more than being possessive over me was his career.

  A cold oil slicked into my blood, my stomach bottoming out like someone had pushed me into an endless pit. There was a very real possibility I would vomit.

  “Teagan,” Roman said my name again, and I pushed away from the kitchen island, every muscle in my body trembling as I stood. “Is this about me getting hurt?” He asked. “Because I promise that is just part of the game. It always has been. Nothing has changed—”

  “I have,” I cut him off, my voice cracking as much as my heart. “I did a lot of thinking…the second I saw you carted off the field.”

  Roman pushed off his barstool, standing before me. “And?”

  The fact that he didn’t wince as he got off the barstool filled me with so much happiness and relief…

  Only to be swallowed up by an absolute, awful sensation—like someone clawing out my heart.

  But I had to do this.

  I couldn’t let Rick hurt him.

  Not again.

  Not if I could do something about it.

  I cleared my throat, silently begging for the strength to do this.

  To save him.

  I couldn’t be selfish with Roman. He was too important.

  I loved him too much to put him in harm’s way.

  “I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me,” I said, and I hated the words as much aloud as I did in my head. “You helped me get back on my feet. You helped me remember who I used to be. You’ve always been there for me, and I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”

  “T?”

  My heart broke at the way he said my name, at the confusion and desperation in the word. Hot tears welled behind my eyes, betraying the pain as they trailed down my cheeks.

  “Baby, what is it?” He reached for me, but again, I backed up, knowing if he touched me, I wouldn’t have the strength to do this. And he deserved so much better than me. Than someone with such dark baggage that it had nearly cost him his career, his life.

  “I realized something…”

  “Realized what?” He asked when I hadn’t finished.

  “I can’t give up my dream.” I choked out the words.

  He halted his approach, his hands dropping. “Your dream?” He whispered.

  “Having children of my own. Experiencing pregnancy. A family of my own.” A knife slid an inch into my chest at the devastation on his face. At the betrayal. And I fucking hated myself. Wanted to rip my own tongue out. But…it was the only way he’d believe me. The only flaw he’d ever seen himself as having, when in reality it didn’t even matter to me. “When I saw you carted off that field...I realized I wouldn’t even have a piece of you if the worst happened.”

  Liar. Wench.

  But I had to save him.

  “You said…” he shook his head. “About adoption—”

  Oh, God, he could see right through me. He wouldn’t take this without a fight...

  “Think about that wall in my home, Roman. We just saw it on Thanksgiving,” I said. “The one that charted our heights?”

  His eyes widened. “Adopted children grow just the same.”

  “It’s not the same,” I cried, unable to hold on to my emotions anymore as my soul fucking crumbled. I had to make him believe me. Had to. Had to. “If I stay with you, I’ll never be able to measure a little girl with your eyes and my hair. Or a little boy with your confidence and my creativity.”

  Roman stumbled back a few steps, his hand flying out to the lip of the island like he needed the stability to keep himself upright.

  That knife slid in another inch, slicing into my heart with a white-hot pain as I saw it in his eyes.

  The acceptance.

  The belief.

  That he wasn’t good enough for me.

  That he couldn’t give me everything I ever wanted.

  When it wasn’t further from the truth—all I wanted was him.

  He was too good for me.

  And he wasn’t safe if I stayed here.

  I couldn’t pretend Rick wouldn’t do this the next game Roman was in…not twenty-four hours away. I couldn’t cower and allow Roman to get hit again, for Rick to pull another block, or worse…

  To save Roman, I would destroy myself.

  Destroy him.

  Because he would hate me after this, I knew that in the depths of my fractured soul.

  But he’d be alive. He’d be safe.

  “Why are you doing this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

  I twisted the ring off my finger, the move alone carrying a weight I knew would drown me as I set it down on the island. “I’m sorry,” I said, and fucking meant it. “I can’t put myself in another situation where I give up what I want most.”

  God, he would hate me after this.

  I wasn’t only losing the love of my life. I was losing my best friend.

  He’ll heal. He’ll live. That’s all that matters.

  And what would I do? Could I recover from this? What would the next demand from Rick be? I shuddered at the thought, knowing he could demand anything from me now, and I’d succumb. Now that I knew just how badly he could hurt Roman.

  “You’re scared?” Roman’s eyes were locked on mine, and I tried to blink away the fear coating my skin.

  “It’s over, Roman,” I said, clearing my throat and raising my chin ever so slightly. “Once I sell my next piece, I’ll send you a check.”

  He scoffed. “For what?”

  “For all the clothes and food and…” A sharp breath stung my chest. “Everything you did for me.”

  His gaze narrowed as he shook his head. “Don’t fucking bother,” he said, and I hated the bite in his tone.

  But he needed to be there.
At that level of anger. Anger would prevent him from looking too closely. From seeing past my walls and discovering the fraud I was.

  That couldn’t happen.

  “Roman I—”

  “Get out,” he said, his words colder than I’d ever heard them. He laid his palm over the ring on the island.

  “I’ll come back for my things later,” I said.

  “Just go, Teagan. Leave before I say something I can’t take back.”

  I backed toward the door, my soul bleeding from the wound I’d hand-delivered to it.

  I love you.

  I’m sorry.

  “Goodbye, Roman,” I whispered with my hand on the knob.

  He didn’t look up from where he still stood by the island, even when Walt hurried to his side, some animal instinct alerting him to the danger I’d posed to his owner.

  Roman didn’t part his lips for any more words.

  Didn’t move, as I opened the door and shut it behind me.

  And an hour later, long after I’d fallen into the bed at my apartment, I still hadn’t managed to stop crying.

  A small relief pooled at the edges of my pain, knowing Roman was safe. Knowing I’d done what I could to protect him in the only way I knew how—which was to crush us both.

  Me: It’s done. Leave him alone unless you’re protecting him on that field.

  I typed the text to Rick, my eyes glistening with tears. I tucked my head against my pillow, breathing in Roman’s scent from the last time he’d slept over, and mourned the moment it would be washed clean.

  I’d pulled out every doubt, and insecurity Roman had ever had about our relationship—about his inability to have children.

  Heartless.

  Cold.

  Wench.

  Rick: Smart girl.

  I scowled at the return text and tossed my phone to the other side of the bed, burying my head in my pillow as I bawled and cringed and felt every inch of my soul die.

  But Roman would be safe. Rick wouldn’t be able to doubt it, not when he saw Roman. Because Roman believed it.

  He’d be safe.

  That’s the only solace I could take in this dark, brutal situation. And I could spend the rest of my forever convincing myself that I'd done the right thing.

  Even when I felt like a part of me had died.

  19

  Roman

  Three fucking weeks—that’s how long it had been since Teagan had come to her senses and walked out on me. Three weeks of complete, abject misery.

  Not that I blamed her.

  Who the hell would ever settle for less than they deserved? That was something I never wanted for her. I’d rushed things. I’d missed the signs. For fuck’s sake, the woman had moved out, and I’d proposed?

  The worst of it was that I’d taken advantage of her emotional vulnerability to play out my own dreams while forsaking hers.

  “I still feel like this is a miscommunication of some sort,” Mom said through the speaker in my car as I zipped through traffic on my way to the stadium.

  “It’s not.” I pulled onto the highway and cursed at the traffic. If one thing could go my way right now, that would be great.

  “Well, I talked to her mom and we both—”

  “No!” I cut her off and merged into traffic. “This isn’t up for discussion. We’re not kids anymore, Mom. This isn’t something that you can fix by having a playdate or work it out with Mrs. Hall. Teagan wants things that I can’t give her.”

  The line fell silent as Mom absorbed what I’d said.

  I used the time to cut across all three lanes of traffic.

  “She wants kids,” Mom whispered.

  “Bingo, and I can’t give them to her. Not the biological kind.” I ignored the speed limit and put the pedal down. Who cared if I got pulled over? Who cared about…anything? Nothing mattered.

  “Oh, Roman. I didn’t realize.” Her voice lost that chipper we’ll-fix-this edge she’d had when she’d called.

  I hadn’t told her about what had happened with T, and apparently, T hadn’t been forthcoming with her parents either, so they were just putting the pieces together. Any other day I might have been able to handle it. Might have been able to soothe Mom’s feelings, too, but today I could barely handle my own.

  “I know. And don’t you dare go back to her mom with this. The last thing Teagan needs is to get guilt-tripped by her own family.”

  The line went silent again.

  “Mom. Promise me.”

  Her sigh was loud enough to rumble my speakers. “Fine. I’ll let you two sort this out. Do you still want us there today?”

  My foot eased off the pedal as the pain of it all consumed my chest. “Of course I do. It’s the AFC Championship.”

  “I know you’ll win. It’s your year!”

  Now her chipper tone was over the top.

  “Let’s hope. I’ll see you after the game, okay?”

  “I love you, Roman. You are an extraordinary man. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. Love you, too.” I hung up, and blasted my music, letting it drown out the thoughts I’d been fighting to keep at bay since Teagan had crushed my heart and walked away without a second glance.

  Every day I watched my front door, my phone, and my social media, hoping she’d come back around. Hoping it was really the initial scare of my injury was what had spooked her. Hoping she hadn’t been honest in the kitchen that day.

  But three weeks had gone by without a single peep.

  The only thing that hurt worse than losing the woman you loved was being completely ghosted by your best friend.

  I made it to the stadium, parked in the player’s lot, and headed inside. We had hours before game time, and I needed to get my head on straight.

  Most of the guys were already in the locker room, either buzzing with the electricity in the air, or silent and solemn as they prepared for what would either be the first step in a Superbowl season, or the last game of this year.

  At least the bench felt familiar as I sat. Everything else in my life had turned upside down. Football had always been like that for me. Relationships went sideways? So what. Failed a test that week? Who cared. As long as I showed up on game day and did what I needed to, shit fell into place.

  But that center, that grounded place inside me where I prepped for every game was missing. It had been the same last week—my first game back after the concussion. I could fight it all I wanted to. The truth stared me abashedly in the face.

  I would trade it all—the fame, the money, the game itself—to have Teagan back.

  “Looking a little nauseated there, Padilla. You nervous or something?” Baker asked as he plopped down on the bench in front of mine, wearing the mother of all smirks.

  Fucking asshole.

  “I’m fine.” I grabbed a bottle of water from my bag and twisted it open.

  “You sure?” His face tilted to the side, and he almost looked concerned, but there was a menacing little spark in his eyes. “I mean, I know firsthand what it feels like to play after the woman you love puts your heart through a meat grinder.”

  No one had been happier to hear about the demise of my relationship than Baker.

  “He’s fine,” Hendrix snapped, taking the empty seat beside me. “Focus on your own game, twinkle toes. We can’t afford to have you tripping all over the place today.”

  “Stop,” I muttered under my breath at Hendrix. We had a policy on this team. We watched the game footage and got better, but once that footage was analyzed, we didn’t harp on one another.

  “Fuck off, Malone,” Baker snarled, flipping off Hendrix.

  “No, thanks, I’m busy tonight.” Hendrix winked.

  “Knock it off,” I lectured them both. We were hours away from playing for the AFC Championship. We didn’t need this shit in the locker room.

  “Relax, Padilla. Just men being men,” Baker crooned. “Not that you’d know anything about being a man.”

  Rage rushed through my veins eve
n as my stomach twisted. He knew.

  “It’s okay, though.” He crossed his ankles and braced his weight on his hands beside him. “Now that Teagan’s gotten over her little rebellious phase, we can get started on that family she’s always wanted.”

  “You fucking prick,” Hendrix seethed.

  Every muscle in my body coiled, testing the bounds of my self-control. Not in the locker room. Not in the locker room. Not. In. The. Locker. Room.

  “How does it feel to not even rate as a rebound? Because you know she’s coming right back to—”

  I was across the locker room before he finished, my fist stopping the barrage of bullshit from his mouth.

  We toppled over the bench as I swung again, pounding his face with my fist.

  “Holy shit!” Someone shouted.

  “Okay, okay.” Hendrix grabbed one of my arms as someone took the other—Nixon. “We’re going to need that hand today, buddy.” They hauled me away.

  “He assaulted me!” Rick cried, scrambling to his feet and holding his face.

  “You want to talk about assault, asshole?” I fired back, surging against the hands that held me back. “You really want to go there? Let’s talk about the mother-fucking bruises!”

  He blanched as his gaze darted around the dozens of players surrounding us. “You sucker-punched me right in the face!”

  Nixon scoffed. “That was hardly a sucker punch. In fact, I didn’t see anything. Did you, Hendrix?”

  “Nope. I saw Roman trip and fall…just like you did a few weeks ago.” Hendrix shrugged.

  The blood rushed back into Baker’s face, turning him red as a cherry tomato.

  Nixon sat me on the bench. “Put some ice on your fucking hand.”

  “Show’s over,” Hendrix announced.

  Conversation resumed, but there was more than one questioning glance thrown in Baker’s direction.

  “How did it feel?” Hendrix asked a few minutes later as I iced my throbbing hand.

  “Better than it did the first time,” I admitted quietly.

  “Look,” Nixon started from my other side, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve both given you some space for the last few weeks, and I know that right now, our heads need to be on the game…”