Page 11 of Watched

“Hi, Mum.” I plant on a convincing smile, kissing both her cheeks. The cool disappointment seeps into my bones as I shake my father’s hand. “I wasn’t aware you were coming.” I wrench my hand away. “This is a sponsor event.”

“I was once a player,” Dad throws back, narrowing his emerald eyes.

My father played in the league, but once he retired when I was sixteen, he became as bitter as the coffee he drinks. Some people’s names out live them, but some people out live their name. My father is the latter.

I stand quietly and make small talk when needed, refraining from apologising to those my father holds hostage with his dribble of stories. The man nods while my father talks, then glances past me, waving someone over. Most likely a sacrifice so he can run. Truthfully, I don’t blame him.

He wraps an arm around the tall man stepping up beside me. “My business partner, Aaron Weston,” the man whose name I’ve already forgotten greets.

Aaron’s dark chocolate eyes scan all of us, his matching hair well-kept and styled. “Great game, Rome.”

Again, I force a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Aaron waves a hand to someone. “This is my son, Rain.”

Hot breath fans my left ear. “Hello, Rome.”

I stiffen at the same possessive tone attached to my name, the same voice that has been haunting me for over a week. My head jerks as I slowly look left. His angular features stare back at me, and I almost wish he were wearing that mask.

He is undoubtedly his father’s son. Same eyes, same hair, although Rain’s has that dishevelled look, with trimmed sides and back. I eye his black trousers and the white button down strangling his large chest and arms. The unkept look doesn’t stop at his hair, his sleeves rolled up carelessly, but at least his shirt is…somewhat ironed.

A mischievous smirk tilts his thick lips as he takes my mother’s hand to kiss then shakes my fathers with a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Aston. I’m a big fan of your son.” A whimper tightens my throat as his arm wraps around my tense shoulders.

My father narrows his gaze to the arm holding me hostage. “Is that so?”

“Best I’ve ever seen,” Rain chirps.

I can’t move. I know my mother can sense my discomfort. I’m sure everyone can, because I can’t seem to blink or stop my eyes bulging.

“Are you a fan of football, dear?” my mother asks.

“I wasn’t until recently.” Rain’s hand glides tauntingly slow down my steeled spine.

“And what do you do, Rain?” my father asks. Though, because of the blood thudding in my ears, I’m having difficulty keeping up with the conversation.

“Security for Weston & Myer.” Rain tips his glass of amber liquid to his father. “Cybersecurity, to be exact.”

“Rain’s very good with computers,” Aaron adds proudly.

That’s how he knew I was on the phone with Connor and why the police couldn’t find any traces of the texts.

“E-excuse me,” I whisper.

The music and chatter only grow louder and more unbearable as I push through the crowd to snatch a bottle of water. My unsteady hand brushes others, knocking a few and sending one tumbling off the table. As I force myself to reach for it, a large hand wraps around it, the silver ring secured on his middle right finger winking in the light.

“You look incredible,” he groans quietly, taking the bottle from the floor to place it back on the table. I rigidly straighten, and he points to the bottle trembling in my hand. “Want me to open that for you?” I just stare, unable to move. “You aren’t blinking.” The sloshing water threatens to spill over the rim as I uncap the bottle and take a drink. “It’s okay, Rome. Don’t be scared.”

“I-I need to leave,” I stutter and begin chugging more water.

Drown it. Just fucking down it.

“I wouldn’t suggest that. Not unless you prefer me chasing you through the crowd.”

The liquid catches in my throat, and I splutter out a cough. He flashes a devious grin as I wipe the dribbling liquid from my chin with the back of my hand.

“Why are you here?” I whisper. “What do you want?”

“To get to know you. My father is also investing in your team. I’ll be your personal cheerleader.” Please don’t tell me this twat will attend my games. “You haven’t answered my texts or calls.” He arches a brow. “Did you get my flowers?”