Roman (Raleigh Raptors Book 2)

by Samantha Whiskey

  “Always,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his own as we headed to the parking lot.

  The sun coated the collection of boutique shops with a golden light, the air humid yet comforting at the same time. “I really needed to get out of the house,” I admitted, sucking in a good lungful of that fresh air.

  “I know,” he said, flashing me a cocky look. “I’m always right.”

  I barked out a laugh, and play shoved him. “Oh, you think so, huh?” I teased. “What about that time you thought it would be a brilliant idea to fill Jace Keller’s locker with bullfrogs?”

  Roman froze on the sidewalk, gaping at me. “Jace was a class-A prick,” he argued. “He cut off one of your braids!”

  “And I broke his nose for that.”

  “That wasn’t enough,” Roman said, laughing.

  “It took us an entire week to catch them,” I said through my laughter. “And those bullfrogs earned us a month’s detention!”

  “In fourth grade! I think we ended up passing notes the entire time, anyway.”

  I snort-laughed at the memory. He was right, damn him.

  That megawatt smile stretched his lips as he pointed at me. “See,” he said, tilting his chin in the air. “Always. Right.”

  “Gah!” I threw my arms up in mock-defeat, but the laughter and happiness peeking out of my heart were real. “How do you do it?” I asked as we rounded the corner, near where he’d parked.

  “Years of practice,” he said. “If you’re referring to my ability to be correct at any given point in time.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said. “Somehow, you know just how to make me laugh. Or smile.”

  “It’s not hard,” he said, his voice lowering as our pace slowed.

  I furrowed my brow. I’d been told for years how hard I was to please, even when I’d done everything in my power to be as low-maintenance as possible.

  “Roman—” My words died in my throat as I skidded to an abrupt halt.

  My eyes widened, my world and vision narrowing to the car parked a few spaces down from Roman’s.

  Electric green. Aston Martin.

  The air in my lungs tightened, all at once too much and not enough. I backed up one step, then two, until I’d made it onto the sidewalk bordering the boutique shops. I scanned the area surrounding us, my eyes darting every direction.

  “T?” Roman was at my side in an instant. “What’s wrong.”

  “He’s here.” I choked out the words.

  “Where do you see him?” Roman followed my line of sight, landing on Rick’s car.

  But where was he? Rick hated places like this—he had a personal shopper who purchased all of his clothes, and they certainly weren’t from the shops around here. Was he following me? How would he even know—

  “Omigod,” I gasped, and fished my phone from my pocket. No wonder…he’d shut everything else of mine down but this. This one way to get into contact with me.

  Or track me.

  “This is his,” I said, my fingers trembling around the iPhone. “He set it up for me. Put the tracking app on it in case we got separated at events.” And he’d used it countless times to practically follow me into the lady’s room on more than one occasion. Or use it as a weapon against me when I’d gone somewhere without telling him specifics—like the one time I’d gone shopping with Liberty for a Raptors pre-season party last year. God, he’d broken two dishes that night after he’d asked me where all we’d gone and I’d forgotten to mention the Cuban restaurant we’d stopped at for lunch.

  The memories hit me in the chest, over and over again—him screaming and hurtling dishes across the room, him calm and cold as he blamed himself for not being able to hold my attention, his pleas for me not to leave him because he’d be lost without me. His excuses of pressure from his position, his media presence, his team.

  Each dark memory climbed higher and higher in my throat until I couldn’t breathe or think around them. Until everything he’d done choked the life from me. Until I saw nothing but red because of that damn fear clawing in my veins at the thought of him here, watching me. Watching us.

  I jerked my arm down and the phone clattered against the sidewalk with a satisfying crunch.

  “T,” Roman said as he put a hand on my shoulder.

  I flinched out of instinct at the touch, my eyes flaring wide as I looked from him to the smashed phone and back again. “I’m sorry!” I blurted, hurrying to gather the broken pieces off of the sidewalk, cringing at the curious looks I got from shoppers passing by.

  “Stop,” Roman whispered, on his knees beside me. He grabbed my shaking hands, a gentle touch, and I dropped the pieces.

  “I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” I said, almost on autopilot. God, this would be on the social sites soon. Especially if someone had identified Roman. How embarrassing, how mortifying—

  “Teagan Ray Hall.”

  I focused clearly on Roman’s dark eyes, the use of my full name snapping me totally to the present. His face softened, not with pity but with understanding and just a hint of anger—not at me, but something deeper. “When have I ever given a shit about scenes?”

  My bottom lip trembled, my entire body trembled, and I shook my head.

  Never.

  Not once had he ever chided me for doing anything in public or private or…ever.

  “Come on,” he said, hauling me to my feet. We walked in silence to his car where I stowed the bags in his trunk. “There’s a Verizon over there,” he said, pointing down the sidewalk. “Let’s go get you a new phone.”

  I followed him, more inside my head than the present. I kept waiting for Rick to pop up from around the corner, waiting for him to unleash that cold fury he usually reserved for behind closed doors. It would land on Roman, too, simply because he was here. Simply because he was my friend.

  The thought twisted something dark and angry inside me.

  “We’ll get you on my plan,” Roman said after we’d entered the phone store.

  I parted my lips to protest, but he quieted me with his hands raised. “Only until you can get your own,” he said. “I’m not trying to control you or do things for you. I just want to do whatever I can to make it easier for you to get your life back. Your life.”

  I swallowed the rock in my throat, nodding my thanks.

  A half-hour later, I had a new phone and a new number.

  Rick never showed himself. And something about his lack of appearance settled in my gut like an icy stone.

  But the new phone felt like a weapon, almost like I had a new identity. A small rush of power stirred in my blood as Roman drove us back to his place.

  Rick didn’t have this phone number.

  And he sure as hell wouldn’t get it.

  But what would he do when he found out he couldn’t get a hold of me? Couldn’t find me?

  Ice coated my throat, chilling my bones.

  He’d come after me, come after Roman. He’d find a way to—

  Stop, stop, stop.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool window of Roman’s car as we drove.

  No more.

  No more giving him power he didn’t deserve.

  I was stronger than this. I could survive this and come out smarter on the other side.

  Right?

  Part of me believed that—the part of me that had grown up running wild with Roman, believed it.

  But the other part of me? The one twisted by fear and weighted by shame? That part of me whispered that I’d never lose the shackles Rick had taken years to secure me with.

  The two pieces of me battled it out in a war of emotions I couldn’t control, and by the time we made it back to Roman’s, I didn’t even have the energy to put up my new clothes.

  Instead, I sank onto his bed and shut out the world.

  Because I couldn’t decide which was more terrifying—rediscovering myself or to search for a part of myself only to discover that girl no longer existed.

  5 />
  Roman

  The sound of weights clinking all around me filled my ears as I pushed up another rep. My chest and arms burned, but it felt great to be back with the team.

  “Thirty.” Hendrix stared down at me, spotting as I set the bar back in place. His usual, easy grin faded as his gaze darted across the room. “Shit,” he muttered as I sat up, my heart pounding with exertion.

  A quick look across the weight room was all I needed for my muscles to lock up.

  Rick was coming our way.

  “Want me to get Nixon?” Hendrix asked quietly.

  “No.” I stood and faced Rick head-on, crossing my arms over my chest and breathing through my instant, consuming need to beat the living shit out of him.

  “I want to see her,” Rick spoke through gritted teeth, stopping about twelve inches from my face.

  “I’ll be sure to tell her.” I cocked an eyebrow.

  “You’ll do more than that you—”

  “Hey now,” Hendrix warned softly, edging closer toward me.

  A vein in Rick’s forehead bulged.

  “Teagan makes her own choices,” I said. “So, yeah, I’ll tell her that you want to see her, but chances are that request will go with the roses you’ve sent every day for the past month—right into the trash.” I shrugged.

  “She’s mine!” He lunged for me, and I sidestepped, sending him sprawling across the weight bench.

  The room fell silent as every head turned our direction.

  “Oops.” I clucked my tongue. “Better watch where you’re throwing that weight around, Rick. You might get hurt.”

  “Padilla! Baker!” Coach boomed from the doorway. “My office, now.”

  My stomach clenched. She doesn’t want him to know. I repeated the phrase in my head with every step I took toward Coach’s office, Baker stalking closely behind. It was Teagan’s choice whether to press charges. Her choice to tell—or not tell—Coach. It didn’t matter how much the rage burned like acid in my veins, begging for any release. Her story wasn’t mine to tell.

  This was the first situation I’d ever been in where the only defense I could give her was my silence, and it fucking sucked.

  “You’d better not say a fucking word,” Rick seethed over my shoulder as we approached the heavy, wooden door that marked Coach’s office.

  “What? Scared the entire team will know you last all of fifteen seconds before you come? Pretty sure they already know. Word to the wise—stop overcompensating. Just admit you have a tiny dick and move on. Some women like that kind of thing.” I kept my voice calm, despite the tension radiating through my muscles.

  “You mother-fu—”

  “Get in here,” Coach barked, storming past his intern, who dutifully held the door open as Rick and I passed through.

  Two of the office’s walls were glass. To one side, I could see the turf of The Barn, our massive indoor training facility. Through the other side, I caught a glimpse of the maintenance staff spraying down the lines on the outdoor practice field.

  Two more days and that field would be lined with fans. Two more days, and unleashing my temper at practice would cost more than Teagan’s trust. It would be all over the gossip sites.

  “Sit,” Coach ordered as he sank into the high-back office chair behind his desk.

  I took the seat on the right.

  “I’d rather not.” Rick braced his hands on the back of the seat to my left.

  “Sit the fuck down,” Coach snapped.

  Rick sat.

  “You two want to tell me what the hell is going on?” He leaned back in his chair and looked at each of us in turn. “Roman?”

  She doesn’t want him to know, I reminded myself, locking my jaw to keep my mouth shut. How the fuck was I going to play on the same team as this abusive asshole and not say something? Not do something? Was I supposed to just let him get away with it? It’s not for you to decide. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  Rick shot me glance tinged with fear but smoothed it over with a smile as Coach said, “fine. Baker?”

  He relaxed, going so far as to hunch his shoulders slightly. “Roman kidnapped my girlfriend.”

  Coach’s eyebrows shot sky-high.

  I scoffed.

  “Your ex-girlfriend has been my best friend for the last twenty-two years, and last time I checked, she drove herself to my house. The fact that you are such an asshole that she refuses to speak to you is hardly my issue.” My eyes narrowed on the slimy fucker.

  He had the nerve to look wounded. “Man. I get it. It’s hard to want something you can never have.”

  My blood ran cold both at the insinuation and its truthfulness.

  “But if you don’t at least let me make sure she’s alive in there, I’m going to have to bring the authorities into this. Teagan would never stay away this long on her own.” Fake concern lit his eyes as his forehead puckered.

  Fuck keeping my temper in check, I was going to crush his damned throat so he couldn’t utter another manipulative lie.

  Coach hit the intercom button on his phone. “Rob.”

  “Yes, sir?” The intern’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Can you tell me if I have any other appointments this afternoon?” he asked casually.

  “No, sir. Not until the one with Mr. Rutherford this evening,” Rob answered.

  “Excellent, thank you.” Coach released the button and leaned back in his seat. “Sorry about that, I just had to make sure I didn’t have the producers for The Real Housewives of Raleigh booked or anything.”

  I blinked.

  Baker tensed.

  “But it appears my day is drama and bullshit-free with the exception of you two.” Coach leveled us both with a glare. “Look, I could give a shit about your love lives. I just need to know if you can keep it professional on the field…and in my damned weight room.” He crossed one ankle over his knee, cool as a cucumber.

  Because he didn’t know the real reason Teagan had fled to my house that night. Coach Goodman was a solid guy. He was ridiculously protective over his daughter, Savannah, too. There was no way he’d look the other way if he knew what Baker had done, right?

  But it wasn’t like Teagan had allowed me to take pictures of those bruises, which meant it would be Rick’s word against mine…especially if Teagan wasn’t willing to come forward.

  “No problem, Coach. I’m sorry I let my temper get the best of me. I just really love her, you know?” Baker’s face fell.

  I blatantly shook my head at his whole forsaken-lover routine before catching the arched eyebrow Coach threw my way. “I’ll be fine.”

  Coach glanced between us for a few seconds, as if weighing our responses before nodding. “Good. Now get the hell out of my office. I don’t want to see that shit in there again.” He pointed toward the weight room.

  “Yes, sir,” we both answered in tandem as we rose from our chairs.

  “You are a piece of work,” I said under my breath as Baker and I walked out into the hallway. Both Nixon and Hendrix stood against the wall, hydrating and doing a piss-poor job at pretending nonchalance.

  “I’m not fucking kidding, Padilla,” he hissed as the door shut behind us. “I don’t lose what’s mine.”

  “I’ll be certain to let her know that you asked after her well-being.” I gave him a mock salute and headed toward my friends.

  Nixon’s eyes followed Baker until he cleared the doors back to the weight room. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” I took the drink Hendrix offered and chugged half of it to wash the tension out of my throat.

  “Looks really fine to me,” Hendrix rolled his eyes.

  “You going to be able to deal with his shit all season long?” Nixon asked in that serious tone of his.

  I took a deep breath and stared at the weight room door, imagining closing Rick’s head in it a few dozen times. “I don’t really have a choice.”

  “If you want to throw him in front of the bus before we leave for the first
away game, I’m here for that.” Hendrix shrugged. Guy didn’t even know the full history behind why T was living with me, but he still had my back. He was like that.

  “I’ll help,” Nixon added, straight-faced.

  A smile cracked across my features. “I might just take you up on that.”

  We headed back into the weight room to finish our work out. Sure, I had about five million reasons a year not to start shit with Rick, but the money didn’t matter when it came to Teagan. I’d toss my NFL career in a heartbeat if it kept her safe.

  I settled in on another machine and blatantly ignored the glare Rick shot my way. Until Teagan was ready to deal with what he’d done to her, the least I could do was ignore his shitty disposition…if she was ever ready.

  “I’m just saying that I could get used to seeing you around here,” Mom said with a sly smile, twisting her glass of wine between her fingers as the four of us sat at my dining room table.

  I groaned and wished for the thousandth time that our dads had come to dinner instead of our moms. But no, the two of them were off at a classic car convention on a boys’ weekend, leaving me to fend for myself.

  “Oh, well—” Teagan started, blushing deep pink.

  “Here, here,” T’s mom agreed, lifting her wine glass and grinning back at my mom. The two women couldn’t be any more different in looks—just like T and me, but they’d been close friends just as long as Teagan and me, too.

  Teagan shot me a pleading look across the table, but I just shrugged and leaned back in my chair. Trying to detour our mothers from a topic of conversation was about as easy as rerouting a hurricane. It didn’t happen.

  “Not that I didn’t like Rick, honey,” Mrs. Hall said with a faltering smile. “He just always seemed so…”

  Abusive? Manipulative?

  “Well, he liked to hover,” she finished quickly, setting her glass down on the table.

  “He did,” Teagan agreed, tucking her hair behind her ears and shifting in her seat.