AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Stefan
I didn’t hear her come in from the game, didn’t hear her retrieve her post-game snack or watch whatever tape the video coaches pulled for her as she eats her veggies and hummus and drinks her chocolate milk.
But I do hear her soft footsteps down the hall, nearly silent as she passes the door to the guest suite.
Similarly quiet as she climbs the stairs, only the squeaky fourth riser giving her away.
A pause, the whole house seeming to draw in a breath and hold it.
Then she continues to climb.
I don’t know why I get out of bed.
I shouldn’t.
But…I watched her in the game (without Tiff, who wisely left my grumpy ass to complete that activity by myself), and I watched her fight for the win, then for the shutout, and…
I remembered the way I saw the fight leave her eyes in the kitchen earlier.
So…some part of me can’t keep from throwing back the covers, sliding out of bed, moving up the stairs—and skipping the fourth, squeaky one.
I can’t stop myself from walking down the hall, from listening outside Roxie’s room as Brit checks on her.
I can’t stop myself from slipping into her room, and waiting, seeing the bedside lamp on, her snack positioned on the wooden surface, the iPad loaded and video to review ready on the mattress, its bright glare obvious in the otherwise dim space.
A soft thud of a door being quietly shut.
More footsteps.
And then?—
“Jesus fucking Christ, Stefan,” she snaps, skittering to a stop, her hand clamped over her chest. “What the hell are you doing?”
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Or maybe I do.
Maybe I’ve decided that I need to undo everything.
Maybe I’m just a fucking dumbass.
I barely resist the urge to shove my hands into my hair, to clench the locks, to turn around and escape from the room.
But I do resist, and when I get a good look at Brit, at her face, her eyes, the pain written into the lines of her expression and the dark circles beneath her lower lashes…
I come up with the reason I’m in her room.
Why I’m pushing myself into her life when I was so determined to keep myself out of it.
Because she’s exhausted and in pain and she needs some fucking rest.
“Brit,” I say, moving toward her. “You need to go to bed.”
She lifts a brow, looks around the space deliberately—and yeah, I know I’m making that a little difficult right now, considering I’ve invaded her bedroom.
But that’s not what I mean.
She needs to have that snack and go to sleep.
