Page 15 of Wild for the Knight

Negative Ghost Rider, not going there. Not now, not ever.

“I still don’t like you,” I yell, forcing my voice to stay steady. I’m met with a beat of silence.

“Ditto.” He says, his voice gravely, but with an undercurrent of what feels a lot like amusement, floats through the garage.

He’s standing there with his thumb hooked into the silver chain hanging around his neck, his strong legs separated just enough to make it look like he could stand there all day and watch me spiral without moving an inch. And God help me, that smirk. Cocky, knowing, and straight up sinful.

I shut the door and throw the car in reverse, slamming my foot on the gas like I’m running from something. Maybe I am. I grit my teeth and focus on the road ahead. I just want to get home and go to sleep. My brain needs a hard reset. And maybe my hormones need one too, because what the heck?! Have I mentioned his arms? The way the veins run down them, just begging for me to trace them. Nope.

I think the hell not.

My glove hits Nelson’s mitt with so much force that he stumbles. “Geez, Butterfly.” He says as he flings the mitt off his hand and into the corner of the ring. “What happened?” He shakes out his hand in an effort to stop the pain, I’m assuming.

I drop to the floor with a huff, pulling my knees into my chest, then crossing them at the ankle. I wrap my arms around the outside of my legs, letting my hands dangle in the middle. “I ran into them yesterday.” His eyebrows shoot up, only realizing what I’m saying when I don’t elaborate.

“Them, them?” I nod. “How are you doing?” I know what he means, but it doesn’t stop me from laughing.

“I’m here, beating the crap out of your mitts. Clearly, I’m not great.” I wish I could say I was fine and dandy, but in reality, I’m just pissed. “I froze, Nelson. Froze.” I smack the floor with my ungloved hand as the anger tears through my bloodstream. “A decade of doing this, and when I needed it, it was like I've never thrown a punch in my life.”

What do you do in that situation? When you’ve prepared for something you hope will never happen, then it does, and your mind goes blank. I couldn’t even tell you what they said yesterday, but I can tell you the cologne they had on. It was the same one they wore in college. The one that haunted me for years, that every time I caught the scent I’d haul ass in the opposite direction.

I feel the tears building behind my eyes, and I hate it. I hate every second of it. I hate being weak, I hate crying. But most of all, I hate being out of control. We leave tomorrow for a week. A week that’s going to be chaotic. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for feelings.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask as I look up from the floor.

My eyes meet his dark brown ones that have always reminded me of a chocolate bar. He gives me a sad half-smile before he sits down on the mat with me. “There is nothing wrong with you, Abby.”

I beg to freaking differ.

Chapter 7 - Tatum

I’m questioning every decision I’ve ever made, at this present moment in time. How did I end up in a car with someone who is bouncing in her seat singing “Damn Good Day To Leave” at the top of her lungs at 9 AM? Why did I let my brother talk me into this? Why did I want to be a part of this?

It’s our team's break. I should be at the beach, kicking a soccer ball around with my teammates. But no, I’m heading north into the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, Georgia, with Abby. Not to mention some of Greyson’s teammates will be there, too. No one can tell me I’m not taking one for the team here.

My hand moves to turn the volume down, and it’s met with a harsh smack. “I can’t listen to this the entire drive. Put headphones on or something.” We’re only forty-five minutes in, and I’m already over every bit of this trip. After shopping for decorations earlier this week, picking up whatever Greyson needed last minute, and both our bags, her Grand Cherokee is stuffed to the point I can’t even recline my seat. I’m six foot two for crying out loud. I don’t fit, and this music is way too loud. And it’s country. Who the hell has a playlist that goes from Pantera to country? That’s some anomaly.

Her head turns toward me before refocusing on the road. Her eyes roll, the right one twitching a bit before she reaches into a bag in the back seat. The car jerks as she rummages around looking for whatever it is she’s looking for.

“Geez, woman. Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it. I don’t want to die today.” I’ve never met a more stubborn person than the one sitting next to me. She doesn’t say a word, just yanks her bag from the back seat onto her lap and continues her perusal of the mystery item.

She pulls out a pair of purple sparkly headphones, the big obnoxious kind that go over your ears. Placing them on top of her thighs, she flings her bag into the backseat, but not before it smacks the dead center of my chest. “Oops, sorry.” Her eyelashes flutter in faux innocence. Brat. At least the music is gone, for now. I lean my head against the window, pulling the string of my hoodie so it pulls down over my eyes. Maybe if I fall asleep for an hour or so, this will be a more manageable drive.

I stir when I feel the car come to a stop. “Where are we?”

“Tifton. It’s the halfway point.” Halfway?! I was asleep for four hours.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep for that long.” My hand finds the back of my neck, and I squeeze like I always do when I’m nervous. What is it with me and falling asleep in the car with her? She gives me a small, self-deprecating smile, and it feels like a needle in the heart. Why does that hurt?

I take her in as she sits in the driver’s seat. She looks so small. I mean, she’s a foot shorter than me on a good day, but right now she looks almost broken. There are bags under her eyes that usually aren’t there, and her oversized sweatshirt has a coffee stain right in the center of it. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, but there are pieces sticking out in all directions. The light that usually shines so bright in her eyes is gone. Her lack of cattiness is the biggest giveaway that she isn’t okay.

I’m not good with feelings, “Emotionally stunted,” my dad calls it. All my empathy left the second Nikki walked out of my room in college. Which, I’m assuming, is the reason Dr. Williams says I need to work on letting people in. How am I ever going to end up with friends, let alone a wife, if I can’t do basic things like feel sorry for someone when they’re sad? Or provide comfort when they need it?

I guess I just haven’t found the right person to bring it back out for yet. Maybe it’s something I can try with Abby. Let her see the softer side of me that I’ve kept hidden all these years. We fight like cats and dogs, there’s no chance of either of us falling for the other. It’s a safe test run. I kind of miss that guy if I’m being honest. I don’t want to be alone forever. But I also don’t want to get burned again.

I’ll make this week Tatum’s emotional boot camp. No one will even know. I’ll just slowly work on being her friend. Then maybe, just maybe, Hannah’s little friend. What was her name? Kelsey? Whatever it is, maybe she can be my first official test run. Who knows, she could be the future Mrs. Wilder.

“You can drive the rest of the way if you want.” Her eyes hold mine, but she looks away after a few seconds. I nod as I push my door open, stretching out my body. My arms reach over my head as I lean to one side, cracking my back. I feel her eyes on me, but I don’t turn around. After I run inside and grab an energy drink, I slide into the driver's seat and adjust it as much as I can. It’s not a comfortable fit by any means. But I make it work.