It’ll be like a second dumping all over again.
So please, please, please, don’t walk out and leave me behind.
Please don’t—
I looked up. He stepped closer, his head tilted to the right.
I eyed his hands. They were at his side.
I wanted them on me. Once he reached for me, he could make the world go away. All the hurt and sadness, all that was stripped away under his touch, but he didn’t lift them to me.
“The correct usage of crazy aside, you are a complete ball of psychosis at times.”
That’s what he said.
My chest filled with warmth.
He laughed, a self-deprecating edge to it. “Having said that, you were like an itch. I needed to scratch it, and the more I did, the more it grew until it took me over completely.”
He began to scratch at his chest idly. “It was on the outside at first, then on the inside. I felt like I was being tickled constantly. I liked it, but it was odd at the same time, and then suddenly one day, I found myself wondering about you. I wanted to know what you were doing, how you were. I mean, you were thirteen feet away in a ball cage, but I still had the thoughts. They just built and built, and you started to fucking take over. All my brother shit, that got pushed aside. You and basketball. That was what I thought about, and it was nice—a nice break from everything else. And somewhere along the line I began worrying about you, caring about you, doing things to make you feel better, to make sure you were okay. Then we started screwing and I thought, Okay, this will get her out of my system. It was the opposite. You started to consume me, and I hated it. I loathed it, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s like you decided to take over everything inside my body, move in, and be content to live with me for the rest of time, and I had no say about it.”
He scowled at me. “It was really fucking annoying. Now you’re in there, and I give a shit. And I want you around me all the time. And I loved that your boss got canned, and I loved fucking you away from camp. And then I had to leave, and I just wanted to be back with you. I didn’t care where it was. Here, I mean, not really here. We’re in Chicago, but you know what I mean. If I’m on the road or in Seattle or at your place—wherever you are. I just want to be around you, and I want to make you happy, and I don’t ever, ever want you to walk away from me again.”
He stepped closer, within touching distance. His eyes were so fierce, shooting daggers at me. “Got it? You’re all about being exposed and shit—well, you’re not alone. I love you, and I have no idea what to do with this. I don’t say pretty words or make fucking declarations. I like you. I love you. I want to always be with you, and that’s that. Right? Isn’t that good enough?”
He was almost shouting at me.
I loved it.
I lapped it all up like a cat getting cream for the first time. Yes, sir. More, sir. I’ll drool for it.
He laughed at me. “You’re beaming.”
I was.
I loved to beam.
Standing up on my tiptoes, I raised my arms for him. He stepped in, folding his around me, and his head bent to my neck. I kissed his jawline, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and I whispered against his lips, “You’re annoyed at how much you love me. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said.”
He barked a laugh. “I doubt it. I bet Damian said all sorts of nice things to you.”
He did, but he said not-so-nice things to me too.
“Your net worth outweighs his. How about that?”
Another bark from him, then his hands shifted to grip my ass, and he began nuzzling my neck. “God.” He pressed a lingering kiss to my throat. “I really fucking love you.”
“I really fucking love you too.”
He kissed me. My lips molded to his, my body melting.
Then he lifted his head. “Don’t ever leave me. Okay?”
I sobered at that question and leaned backward. My hands rested on his biceps. “Same. Got it?” I held up my pinkie.
He stared at me as a wicked grin curved on his face. “Really?”
I raised it higher. “Got it?”
“You and me?” He wrapped his pinkie around mine, everything in him gentle. He smoothed his hand through my hair, the touch loving, and he let out a soft sigh. “I about died when I got your texts tonight.”
I tightened my pinkie around his. “Really? How so?”
He laughed again, his hand breaking away, but curving around my back and sweeping up under my shirt. His head bent. I felt his lips tasting my neck, tantalizing, caressing and licking.
“Just almost shit my pants thinking what you’d think seeing that girl. I didn’t touch her, but I didn’t stop her from touching me.” He looked at me, earnest. “I’ve not touched anyone since you. I swear. You’ve ruined me. I’ve realized it’s either you or no one.”
I smoothed my hand up his arm, twining my fingers around the back of his neck, and I leaned back to smile at him. Dazzling.
“Oh, Reese. You’re trying to tell me an NBA player wouldn’t eventually have sex with all those girls who throw themselves at you guys? You’re right. I believe in the Easter Bunny too.”
His hands squeezed my sides, and his mouth found mine. “It’s true. I don’t care what you say.”
Then his tongue danced with mine, and soon we were doing more than kissing. Soon no more words were needed, except that I really loved the way he professed his love as he slid inside of me that night—and afterwards, and before we fell asleep, and again and again and again.
Breaking News
Roman Forster, the older brother of Seattle Thunder player Reese Forster, has died. Medical personnel found his body early this morning after responding to a 911 call from his hotel room. Sources indicate he died from an overdose.
Roman Forster had been recently released on bail for pending sexual assault charges. Though estranged from his younger brother, Reese Forster, Roman had indicated in interviews that he wished to make amends. A source close to the family reports that a history of alcoholism and addiction has played a part in their estrangement. It’s also reported that Reese Forster is estranged from his mother and father.
A spokesperson for Reese Forster had no comment when we reached out.
The Seattle Thunder is scheduled to play the Chicago Chasers this evening. It’s not been reported whether Forster will be playing.
We’ll be following this story as more details develop.
Chapter 50
The call came at three that morning.
They asked Reese where he was, and told him to stay put.
The first knock came thirty minutes later, and Stan and Juan came into Trent’s apartment. Unshed tears glistened in Juan’s eyes, though Stan barely blinked when they walked past me. I saw him wiping his eyes in the kitchen corner later on.
The phone rang over and over after that. Stan took some of the calls. Juan talked to the coach, but after an hour of being beside Reese, Juan bunked down in Trent’s guest bedroom.
Reese couldn’t take time off, so they made the best decision they could. I found extra bedding for Stan, who said he’d sleep on the couch. I changed the bedding in Trent’s guest room as well, but Juan insisted on having us use Trent’s main room. He said we might need privacy and the bathroom was attached. Plus, this was my friend’s place, so that was that. We lie in bed until Reese’s alarm went off.
He turned it off, but didn’t move.
I didn’t have to ask if he’d gotten any sleep. He hadn’t. We’d both lain in bed, and I’d held him as tears slipped down his face.
A soft knock came an hour later, and Juan stuck his head in. There were heavy bags under his eyes. “I’m heading back to be with the team. Coach called, said you weren’t answering your phone. You want anything special from us?”
Reese sat up on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, his head in his hands. “Nah. Thanks, man.”
“Yeah.” Juan’s gaze met mine over Reese’s head. “You need
anything?”
I shook my head, my hand resting on Reese’s back, moving up and down, comforting. “I’ll call if I think of anything.”
“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “I heard the team is moving hotels tonight. The lobby was flooded with fans, so I’ll grab all your stuff. Marie said she was flying in. She’ll handle it all, bring your stuff wherever you end up.”
“Have Marie give it to Stan. I’m sure we’ll fly out of here tonight. He’ll make sure it’s all on the plane.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thanks, man. Means a lot.”
My eyes closed. Reese’s voice was hoarse, and I could feel the emotion in him. I blinked back a tear of my own, my strokes growing firmer as I rubbed over Reese’s back.
Someone knocked on the apartment door.
Reese looked up.
Juan glanced over his shoulder.
We heard muted footsteps, then the door opening and low murmurs.
Juan looked back. “It’s Coach.”
Reese sighed, running a hand over his face. “Tell him I’ll be out. Gotta dress quick.”
“Will do.”
After Reese got up and went in the bathroom, Juan said to me, “You’ll take care of him?”
“Always.”
He nodded. “Roman was a pain in the ass,” he whispered, “but Reese loved him. You love family whether they’re kind or not to you.”
Then he shut the door behind him, and I could hear him talking to someone on the other side.
Waiting for Reese, I slipped out of bed and grabbed some clothes—his sweatshirt, some leggings, and a pair of ballet slippers I’d grabbed at the last second. I sat on the edge of the bed until it was evident Reese wasn’t coming out anytime soon.
I crossed to the bathroom, knocking. I tried the handle. “Reese?”
He didn’t answer.
Opening the door, my heart broke. There was no other way to say it. He sat on the floor in his sweatpants by the toilet. His knees were up as he did his best to curl himself into a ball. His head was in his hands, and I didn’t think.
Going to him, I said his name once, sliding to my knees and moving right between his legs.
A sob left him, but he opened his arms. Crawling into his lap, I straddled his waist and wound my arms around him, pulling him close.
His hands balled into fists at my sides, and he cried.
There were no words. Not like this, when it’s raw and new and has the power to change you forever. Nothing could take it away or soothe it, and the only thing I could offer was knowing he wasn’t alone.
I brushed his hair back, kissing his forehead and whispering over and over, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Eventually I felt a presence behind us.
Twisting my head just enough, I saw Coach Winston at the door, looking utterly broken. Reese seemed oblivious. His tears kept falling, his head buried against me, and I just kept soothing him. I was doing the best I could.
Coach nodded to me and mouthed, “Thank you.”
I nodded back, just the smallest of motions, and he eased back. I heard the bedroom door click shut softly, and I assumed he would talk to Stan about whatever needed to be said to Reese.
Thirty minutes later, Reese pulled himself together, his eyes red-rimmed and still sniffling. He dressed for the day, putting on the suit Juan had brought with him the night before. I didn’t know what all happened on the day of a game, but figured there were team things he needed to attend to.
He stepped into the hall, and I was right behind him. Stan straightened in the hallway. He had dressed in a suit as well.
He noted our clasped hands and cleared his throat. “I’ll make sure Charlie’s in a room close by for you.”
Reese’s voice was raspy. “Thanks.”
And just like that, we gathered the rest of our stuff and headed out. I took Trent’s keys with me. Going downstairs, no one said a word in the elevator, but an SUV was waiting for us.
This was Stan’s doing.
On the drive to the stadium, he informed Reese, “I’ve chartered a private jet. A car will take us straight to the airport after your game. Your coaches are aware of everything. They’re on board for you to take the weekend. You’ll be expected back to the arena Monday morning for your game that evening.”
Reese nodded.
“Your mother identified the body this morning, and she reached out about funeral planning. She’d like you to pay for everything.”
Reese’s hand tightened over mine. “Of course.”
Stan paused, then coughed. “The timing was good—shit.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. That was a bad choice of words…”
“Roman went to rehab twelve times.”
I looked over. Stan stopped talking.
Reese was gazing out the window, his hand still holding mine.
“And he wasn’t alone in that hotel room. Two girls were with him. One already reached out, asking for money to keep quiet.”
Stan’s eyes closed for a beat. “I didn’t know that.”
Reese’s voice was devoid of emotion. He kept looking out the window. “She reached out via my Instagram. My social media team sent it to my publicist. Monica’s waiting for my decision.”
“I can—” Stan’s voice was strangled and thick at the same time. “I can handle it all, if you want?”
“No.”
So sad.
So empty.
But so firm at the same time.
Reese sounded sure as he said, “No. I don’t care what they come out and say. It’s no secret what Roman was like. I’ve never paid to have anyone keep quiet about him. I’m not going to start now.”
Stan winced, looking down at his lap for a second. He looked up at me first, then Reese. “The medical examiner’s report says overdose, but some media outlets are reporting it was suicide. How do you want me to handle that?”
Reese turned to look at him now, his eyes hollow, his face gaunt. “How do you usually handle it? I’ve never spoken out about Roman. Won’t start now, not about this. Why would I change now that he’s dead?” He raised our clasped hands and pressed a kiss to the back of mine before turning once more to the window. “He’s at peace now, Stan.”
Agony ripped through me, and tears came to my eyes. I held them back, but my chest felt a crushing weight, as it had over and over since that phone call.
“I gave up on a relationship with my brother long ago, but I didn’t stop caring,” Reese added. “That’s the part that was hard—still loving him when I couldn’t do anything to help him. He tried a couple other times.”
Stan’s eyes widened.
Reese kept on, not seeing his manager’s reaction, “It was earlier in my career, when I was in college, so it never hit the news. No one cared about Roman Forster back then, but it was only two times. He wasn’t bad all the time, or struggling all the time. He went in waves. He had some good times when he was doing well, when rehab stuck for a bit. But then he’d fall back down. He’s better now, though. He’s not hurting anymore.”
A car honked outside.
A sprinkle of rain sounded on the top of our vehicle.
We drove a few more blocks.
“What should I tell your mother?” Stan asked.
“Tell her I’ll pay.” Reese’s hand squeezed mine so tight as he looked over at his manager. “But only if Dad goes to a six-month rehab and she’s checked into a mental health facility. I won’t pay for shit if they both don’t agree, and they go today.”
Stan’s face went white. “What about Roman’s funeral?”
Reese went back to that window, his hand easing on mine, but not letting go. “They get committed, but they’ll need permission to leave for his funeral, and only his funeral. They go to the church, to his burial site, and then back into wherever they go. No time afterward for ‘coffee hour.’ I won’t do anything if those steps aren’t taken today. And if she thinks about going to a tabloid and selling some story that I won’t pay f
or anything, let her know I will respond, and I will be giving my terms to the public.” He laughed, bitter and empty. “She always hated what people thought of her. If anything, that’s the only threat that’ll work on them both.”
“Okay.”
We pulled into a back parking lot for the stadium.
Stan had his phone out as the doors opened and we got out. “One of our lawyers is with her. I’ll relay your terms, and I’ll give the word to start the process. We’ll get them both into facilities today. Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you,” Reese said.
Stadium employees greeted us just inside the door. A photographer and camera crew were there, but no one paid them any attention. When Reese turned down the hallway, Stan caught me and held me back.
The phone to his ear, he said under his breath, “He’s gotta be with the team now. There’ll be some press interviews, just one, but he needs to focus on the game as much as possible.”
“What do I do?”
“There’s a family lobby here. I’ll show you where, and I’ll get a pass for you. You can come and go as you want. Reese needs to know you’re close by, but I know him. He won’t reach out for you until after the game. He’ll try to put everything out of his mind as much as possible right now.”
I nodded. I could do that.
Be here. On call.
I could more than do that.
* * *
Trent called. Owen called. Grant called. I talked to Sophia and Hadley as well.
I asked Stan at one point if I could get Trent a pass to come in and stay with me. So two hours into me being here, Trent came to sit next to me.
We didn’t talk much.
I texted with Reese a few times, checking on him, but I knew he needed to focus.
The afternoon stretched into evening, and someone from their team came to get me. Reese had requested to see me an hour before going onto the court.
Trent had gone up to the box by then. He said his friend and my airplane buddy Dwayne was there, and he didn’t know anything about what had happened. Someone had taken a picture of Reese kissing me the night before, but my face wasn’t visible, and in light of Roman’s death, Stan got that story killed right away. I hadn’t even known about it until Trent mentioned seeing it in an early alert, then nothing after that.
Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6 Page 106