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He grows still. Every muscle in his body seems to coil and tension spools off of him. The air between us grows heavy with emotion. The seconds tick by. I risk a sideways glance to find he’s staring straight through the windshield. His jaw is tight, and he’s holding onto the steering wheel with such force that the skin across his knuckles is stretched white.
"Cade, I—"
"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to own up to your mistakes now and apologize. Not after all this time. Not after you turned your back on me; after what you did. Not after you helped to bring me down. You made me lose my seat in the school, my position as the captain of the school cricket team, and the respect of my parents. It was because of that incident that my father almost disowned me. It’s because of the notoriety from that day that he refuses to speak to me. It’s because of what you did, that I grew up overnight. I lost my childhood that day. I lost everything that made me what I was—"
"And yet, you’ve done well for yourself."
"—no thanks to you."
I swallow. "I… I’m sorry, Cade. Truly."
"I don’t want to hear that word from you. Don’t want to see the tears you don’t mean. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t ever have wanted to see you again."
My heart feels like it’s going to burst. My chest hurts so bad I’m sure I’m going into cardiac arrest. I press my knuckles into the space above my breastbone and tip up my chin at him. "So why… Why am I here?"
He turns off the road and into the carpark. The automatic barriers rise, and he drives in. He turns a corner, then eases the vehicle to a stop. He shuts off the engine, then turns to face me. "Why, to return the favor you did me. So I can make your life miserable, of course."
10
Cade
"Is she with you?" My teammate, Ray, glances over my shoulder.
I straighten, my chest heaving with the effort of having pushed through a hundred pushups. I pull off my sweat-soaked T-shirt, then wipe my face. I turn, knowing already who he’s pointing to, but unable to resist looking anyway. All through my training, I’ve been aware of her gaze following me. Annoyingly so. And I’ve tried my best to put her out of mind and focus on my physical fitness. And failed. Which has pissed me off to no end.
After that declaration that I’m out to make her life miserable, I saw her face fall. It should have made me happy. Instead, my chest hurt.Perhaps, it’s the fact that I skipped my morning coffee in my rush to get to her apartment? Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Yes, that’s the only reason my arms and legs felt weak as I parked my car.I told her to position herself in the stands so she’d be visible to everyone else. Paparazzi were bound to be around for the photo-call later, and I wanted them to get a good picture of the two of us. At least, that was my explanation to her—and to myself—as to why I wanted her there. Truth is, I enjoy knowing she’s here at my beck and call, waiting for me. It satisfies the primitive part of me to know that she’s here solely for me.So why is she speaking to another man?And one of my teammates, at that. He says something, and she laughs.
Ray whistles. "Looks like Derek’s making a move on your girl."
Anger clenches my guts. Pinpricks of something hot—something like jealousy stabs into my chest.Jealousy? Nah. I’m not jealous.I have no need to be jealous.I’m not interested in her in that way. No. She can do whatever the fuck she wants, right?
I lower myself onto my back, feet flat, knees bent, then start on my sit-ups. "She’s not my girl." I bend my hips and waist, lock my fingers behind my head, then lift up.
"Oh?" Ray looks at me, then back at her. "So, you’re okay with her leaving with Derek?"
"The fuck?" I release my fingers and jump up to my feet. I turn to find her following Derek up the steps in the direction of the players’ pavilion.
"But she’s not your girl, so I’m sure you don’t mind if she fucks him, eh?"
The pinpricks of heat in my chest ignite into a full-blown fire. The pores on my body pop. My vision tunnels. Only when my fingers wrap around Ray’s collar, do I realize I’ve moved. "Shut the fuck up," I growl.
He arches an eyebrow, then raises both of his hands, palms face out. "I’m not the one you need to go after, man." He jerks his chin in the direction where Abby’s headed.
"Bloody fuck." I release him, then turn and race off the field and toward the stairs leading up between the seats.
"Hey, Kingston, need to talk to you about some changes in the schedule." Coach’s voice follows me.
I ignore him and take the steps two at a time. I reach the top, burst through the doors and into the room. Chest heaving, blood pounding at my temples, I glance around the empty room, then turn toward the door that leads toward the players’ dressing rooms.
Up another flight of stairs, through another waiting room, and then I burst into the dressing room. There’s no one there. I pause, my chest rising and falling, sweat beading my forehead.Where the fuck is she?
The sound of voices reaches me. I move past the lockers and in the direction of the showers.The hell are they doing?My heart slams into my ribcage. My pulse rate ratchets up. My muscles tense. I turn another corner and find him holding her hand.He’s. Holding. Her. Hand. He has his fingers around her wrist. How dare he?The pressure that’s been building in my chest seems to explode through my body. My shoulders bunch. In two steps, I’ve reached them.
Derek looks up at me, then smirks.
I bury my fist in his face.
Abby screams.
