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The streetlights illuminate a bottle of water in the cupholder in the door. I reach for it and chug half the bottle, wiping away the dribble that leaks from the side of my mouth with the back of my hand.
My gaze swings back to Ian, but all I can see is the dark hair he keeps in a short military cut and his massive arm.
Memories flood my head. Marcus, Asher, and I at our little hideout spot on the cliff. Road trips to the desert, listening to comedians in the car, and laughing until our stomachs hurt. Stolen moments with Asher, baking cookies for him, sleepovers in the media room at my parents’ house. A life that was ripped away from me in a single night.
My brother’s dead, and my first love disappeared at the same time.
Closing my eyes, I lift the bottle and take a deep pull from it with tears trailing down my face.
I hate my life.
The only person who loved me left. I don’t even know what happened to Marcus. The police report said someone called in a drowning. Asher sent me a text message that just said, “I’m sorry,” then nothing except for birthday and Christmas texts, which I refuse to respond to. What is he sorry for? Not having the answer still haunts me. But it doesn’t stop me from stalking his career, watching his games and interviews. I hate him, but I can’t stop myself from wondering if he thinks about me. If he regrets the way he disappeared on me.
The driver pulls into the underground parking garage of my building and stops next to the elevator. Ian gets out, the big man making me feel like a child next to him, opens my door, and hits the button to call the elevator. The car pulls away, and I assume the driver is going to park, then disappear into the security apartment that my parents pay for. He’s not my problem.
“You need to be more careful before one of the vultures gets pictures of you that puts you back on your parents’ radar.” Ian stands in the small space with me, our reflection staring back at us in the perfectly polished mirrored walls. Despite the long black sleeves of his button-up shirt, I can see peeks of ink poking out at the wrists and collar. He hasn’t been following me around for very long, six months maybe. Pretty sure that’s a record.
Since Marcus died, my parents stuck me with a babysitter, and I’ve made it my life’s mission to get them to quit. I guess I’m losing my touch.
The doors slide open, and I walk away from the hulking man with a body that screams military and badass. The exact opposite of me. Maybe if I had joined the military or gone to college, my parents would be proud of me or care at all. I unlock my door and close it in Ian’s face. I don’t have the energy for him tonight.
“Good night, babysitter!” I yell through the door with my back leaned against it. I can hear him sigh and walk away. With an exhausted breath, I drop my keys on the counter and head toward my room to shower. I toss my phone on the unmade bed and strip my clothes off before fumbling my way into the connected bathroom. I’ve lived in this apartment since I turned eighteen and haven’t changed anything. The walls in my room are dark blue with white trim, the bed a tangled mess of blue sheets and what used to be a white comforter. I don’t care enough to buy a new one.
There’s no motivation in my body to take care of anything anymore. Not even my kitchen, which used to be my pride and joy. Cooking made me happy, but who do I have to cook for now? My kitchen is a mess of crumbs and take-out trash.
When did Jordan say the cleaner comes again?
It just makes me more aware of being completely alone.
The water pounds in the glass-walled shower, steam billowing from it. I slide the door open and step inside, dropping to the pebbled stone floor and letting it beat some heat into my chilled body. What’s the point? With one arm around my knees, pressing into my chest, my other hand finds the scars on my inner thigh and traces them. It’s been a while since I added another tally to my body. The need haunts the back of my subconscious, but it’s not overwhelming. Yet. I could do it, cut my skin and watch it bleed, but I don’tneedit. Not yet.
I drop my head back against the wall, the water hitting me in the chest and running down my body. It takes a while, but the heat seeps in, and I’m able to relax enough to possibly sleep. I manage to force myself off the floor of the shower and find a towel. All the energy I had is gone, so I do a shitty job of drying off and fall face first onto my mattress.
CHAPTERSIX
Asher
Sweat drips down my face, making my beard itch as I do the damn burpees that I hate so fucking much. Jump. Drop to the floor. Push-up. Up into a jump. Over and over. My home gym gets a lot of use in the off-season, and today is no exception. With training camp coming up, I need to push my workouts harder so I can keep up. I’m sure my downstairs neighbors hate me, but I really don’t give a fuck.
The bruises on my knuckles from the fight yesterday ache every time my hands hit the ground. The split in my lip pulls as I breathe. Fuck that guy.
I ended up spending a night in jail but was released this morning. My agent pulled whatever fucking magic he does and is not happy with me, but look how much I don’t give a shit.
Breaking Benjamin blasts in my ears as I push my body to keep going. To use the anger at being called an over-hyped pussy by some asshole in a bar for something productive.
Air is rushing in and out of my lungs as I start my last set. I’m halfway through a push-up when the overhead lights flash.
Great. My fucking agent is here, probably to yell at me for being a testosterone-driven dumbass.
I get up and pull my AirPods out of my ears, breathing hard as I reach for a water bottle.
“Are you trying to get fired? Traded?” The buzzkill in a suit has his arms folded, and if looks could kill, I would be bloody on the floor. He fucking hates me, but I pay him to put up with me, so he does. The slim redhead has his own explosive temper when he’s behind closed doors.
I wipe the sweat from my face before I respond. “Dude had it coming.”
“He’s in the hospital with a concussion and broken cheekbone!” Franklin yells. “You broke his face!”
Okay, that was probably overkill.
