AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I let out a surprised chuckle at her question. “No way.”
Nobody would ever describe Prescott as aniceguy. Not that he’s my guy. Or my anything, really.
My brother lets out a snort. “As if she would ever settle for a nice guy.”
I glare at him across the table, but he conveniently ignores me.
Callie looks between the two of us, clearly confused. “Why not?”
“I don’t have time for guys,” I shrug, slipping a strand of my hair behind my ear.
Which is true...In a way. I don’t have time for guys. Especially forniceguys. What would I do with a guy like Maddox? I’m too jaded for somebody like that. Too broken. Too…
I look up, my eyes scanning the busy room. I’m not sure what I’m looking for until I see it.
Seehim.
It’s as if the air’s been kicked out of my lungs. I would have probably been knocked on my ass if I hadn’t been seated.
Days.
It’s been three days since I saw him. Since I’ve heard his voice. Since he walked away. Since I let him.
I wanted to pick up my phone and call him so many times. Hell, I’d even settle for a text. I needed to explain everything to him so badly, but I knew there wouldn’t be a point. Knowing what I knew, I understood there wasn’t any chance for us.
I don’t want there to be a chance for us.
I’m sick with a similar illness to the one that took his brother. Prescott went through too much as it is. He doesn’t deserve to do it all over again.
He already saw one person he loved die. He shouldn’t have to go through it all over again.
He never said he loved you.
Maybe, but I love him too much to put him through it. I’m not sure exactly when it happened or how it happened, but it’s true. I’m in love with my brother’s best friend, and there is no escaping it.
Prescott turns his head. It’s like there’s a pull between us because his eyes find mine instantly like he knew just where to look, where to find me.
And for the second time today, I’m left breathless.
Not because of the piercing heat of those dark eyes as they settle on mine.
But because of the dark bruises marring his face.
One of his eyes is half closed, and his lip is split open.
Nixon’s scraped knuckles pop into my mind.
Rough practice.
The same practice where Prescott is every freaking day.
“Nixon?” I ask slowly, my gaze still holding onto Prescott’s, unwilling to let go.
“Yeah?”
“What happened to your hands?” I ask once again. My voice is unusually still, almost detached.
Nixon must feel something’s off because he turns to me. “I told you, it was a ro—”
