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That was a freaking fact.
“I wasn’t nagging,” I stated. Then thought about it and, in my head, amended the statement to add ‘mostly’ to it.
He tilted his head to the side like he wanted to argue otherwise. “You were nagging, but you had a right to. I have a lot going on right now.”
My first thought was: The end has come. He’s opening up to me.
My second thought was: It’s so obvious he’s stressed as hell.
I hadn’t caught onto his body language, or the tightness he carried both in his shoulders and his voice as he spoke, but now up close, it was obvious. He’d been through a lot in just the first month of the regular season. He’d already sprained his ankle. Zac had gotten kicked off the team. On top of that, he was worried about his visa and his future with not just the Three Hundreds but in the NFO, period. His injury would be a factor in his career for the rest of his life. Any time he made a mistake, people would wonder if he hadn’t come back as strongly as he’d been before, even if it had nothing to do with his Achilles tendon.
The guy looked ready to snap, and it was barely the end of September. I wanted to ask him if he’d heard anything back from the immigration lawyer, or if our marriage license had showed up, or if Trevor had quit being a pain in the ass and started to look for another team or a better deal or whatever it was that he wanted out of the next stage of his career but…
I didn’t. Today would be a bad day for me to ask and for him not to answer. I was too raw and tired and disillusioned.
And it was in that moment, with that thought, the slightest bit of remorse flickered through my brain because I realized that maybe I had been itching for a fight. Maybe. And maybe this really had been the worst time—for him—to give him so much shit when he already had so much on his shoulders.
Plus, I wasn’t in the best state of mind either.
But apologizing wasn’t my forte and doing so wasn’t easy, but a good person recognized when they were wrong and accepted their faults. “I’m sorry for exploding on you. I was angry that you didn’t go, but I know why you bailed. I just don’t like it when people say they’ll do something and then don’t, but I’ve been like that for a long time. It has nothing to do with you.” I took those words straight from the Bank of Aiden. On top of that, there was everything else that had built up over the course of the weekend that wasn’t his fault. Not that I would bring it up.
His response was a nod of acceptance, of acknowledgment that we’d both handled the situation badly.
“So, I’m sorry too. I know how important your career is to you.” With a sigh, I held out my hand to him. “Friends?”
Aiden glanced from my outstretched palm to my face before taking my hand in his. “Friends.” It was midshake that he looked down at his giant hand swallowing mine, and the most disgusted expression came over that perfectly stoic face. “What the hell happened to your wrist?”
Yeah, I didn’t even bother trying to pull my sleeve down and play stupid. I’d forgotten that I’d tugged them up like an idiot. I slipped out of his hold and let the familiar flow of anger creep down the back of my neck once more at the memory of my sister’s idiot husband.
Specifically, him grabbing my arm and yanking me away after I’d yelled at Susie because she’d practically said she wished she’d have killed me. I’d told her she was out of her goddamn mind. But I hadn’t asked her for the millionth time why she hated me so much. What could I have possibly done before I was even four years old to make me her archnemesis? I was mad at myself for not preventing the entire situation, mostly. Then again, her husband had dropped his grip of steel the minute I’d charged my leg upward to try and knee him in the balls, ramming him straight into the inner thigh instead.
“It’s nothing.”
Those dark brown eyes blazed up to meet mine, and I swore on my life, the fury in those irises was enough for me to stop breathing. “Vanessa,” Aiden growled, literally growled, as he softly tugged the sleeve further up my forearm to display the five-inch bruise just above my wrist.
I watched as he gazed at the stupid, stupid discoloration. “I got into an argument with my sister.” Was there a point in not telling him who it was with? I only had to glance at the hard drawn line of his mouth to know he wasn’t going to let this go. “Her husband was there and he got a little handsy, so I tried to knee him in the balls.”
His nostrils flared and a muscle in his cheek visibly twitched. “Your sister’s husband?”
“Yes.”
His cheek spasmed again. “Why?”
“It was stupid. It doesn’t matter.”
Was that a grumble caught in his throat? “Of course it matters.” His voice was deceptively soft. “Why did he do it?”
I knew that look on his face; it was his stubborn one. The one that said it was pointless to argue with him. While I wasn’t crazy about spreading Susie’s business around, much less share how rocky my relationship with my third oldest sister was, Susie and I could be on Jerry Springer. She made her choices years ago, and it was no one else’s fault but her own what she had gotten out of them. We’d grown up under the same circumstances, neither one of us having something the other didn’t. I couldn’t feel any pity for her.
Rubbing my hands over my pant legs, I blew out a breath. “She didn’t like the way I was looking at her and we got into a fight,” I explained, leaving out a couple of details and colorful words, even though it wasn’t much of an explanation. “Her husband overheard us arguing” —her calling me a bitch and me telling her she was an immature twat— “and he grabbed me.”
