By His Play

45. Effie

45

EFFIE

K ieran’s final words echo through the air long after the door slams behind him.

A sob threatens to erupt, but I fight it.

He has my key. He could change his mind and come back any moment, and the last thing I want is for him to find me breaking.

I stand by everything I just said to him.

All of it was true.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

I don’t think I’ve ever stood up to him like that before.

Well, aside from when I told him to leave me in St. Louis.

Things really have changed.

Once I’m confident that he’s gone, I run to the front door, still battling my raging emotions as I put the safety chain across to stop him from walking back in.

As soon as it’s in place, my legs carry me to the bathroom without conscious thought.

I turn the shower on and then strip down to nothing.

It’s not until I’m standing under the stream of water that I finally break down.

Powerful sobs rock through my body as I cry into my hands.

Unable to hold myself up, my back collides with the cold tiles, and I slide down the wall until my ass hits the floor.

For the longest time, I sit there sobbing for everything I’ve lost.

When I eventually lift my head, my eyes are sore and my throat is rough.

Climbing to my feet, I make a half-assed attempt to clean myself before wrapping my body and hair in towels and shuffling toward my bedroom.

Without bothering to remove the towels, I crawl into bed, numb everywhere apart from my heart. That feels like it’s been in a war and is bleeding out.

M y eyes don’t want to open the next morning when my alarm starts blaring.

Blindly, I reach out and turn it off.

But as much as I want to go back to sleep, guilt keeps me from drifting off.

I made myself a promise when I passed the city limit for Chicago, and I don’t want to break that already.

I remain where I am until my alarm goes off again, and this time, I force myself to sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

I startle when my feet hit the towel I fell asleep in before looking over my shoulder for the other one.

Reaching up, I touch my hair and cringe.

I can only imagine how I look.

After pulling on a clean pair of yoga pants and a sports bra, I force myself to stand in front of the sink to brush my teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasp as I take in my reflection.

I don’t stand a chance of covering all this up before I’m due at the office.

That won’t stop me from giving it a damn good go, though.

By the time I’ve completed my new morning routine and find myself back in the shower, I feel marginally better.

I focus on what I need to do today, on the meetings I have, and the phone calls I need to make. It’s easier to think about that than it is to replay everything that happened from the moment I stepped into my apartment last night.

With more makeup on than I’d usually wear to work, I grab my purse and head out, already knowing that today is going to be a nightmare.

T hankfully, not being close with my colleagues meant that I didn’t get much more than a few concerned stares during our morning team meeting. I kept it as short as I could, allowing me to retreat to my office a little under an hour after the meeting started.

I had loads more I needed to talk to my team about. There was so much I needed to be caught up on, but I didn’t have the bandwidth.

There’s always tomorrow.

Dropping into my chair, I wake my computer up and begin sifting through the seemingly endless number of emails that need my attention.

I get through three when my cell dings with a message.

Telling myself to ignore it, I open the next email and begin to read.

But my cell goes off again.

After reading the same line four times and not taking in a single word of it, I reach for my cell.

Deep down, I know it isn’t Kieran.

I hurt him last night when I sent him away.

It isn’t going to be a repeat of when he left St. Louis. He isn’t going to call and message me daily. He isn’t going to beg me to talk to him.

Instead, he’s going to punish me by severing all contact.

Knowing someone so well is as much a blessing as it is a curse.

Brax: So, Kieran knows you’re back then.

Brax: Would I be right to assume you didn’t get a chance to explain?

“Fucking hell,” I groan.

He continues to type as I try to figure out what to say.

Brax: Shall we move that drink to tonight? I can pick you up from work. Dinner, maybe?

I should say no. Going out with Kieran’s friend would be wrong.

But…isn’t he my friend, too?

And he’s willing to listen. I really need someone to do that right now.

Kieran is usually my sounding board.

Him or Grams.

I swallow the messy ball of emotion that threatens to clog my throat.

I haven’t had that for weeks, and I need to get all this off my chest. I need the weight to lift.

Without overthinking the consequences, I allow myself to have a friend.

Effie: Dinner sounds great. I’ll be finished at six. Can we have tacos?

Brax: Whatever you’d like.

I hesitate before sending my next message, but in the end, my concern over my best friend gets the better of me.

Effie: Is he okay?

Brax: No. But you already knew that, didn’t you?

“Shit,” I hiss.

The rest of my day passes slowly. Even my colleagues seem to notice my mood and begin to look at me differently, Even Henry asks if I need to go home during our afternoon meeting.

I assure him that I’m fine, but I don’t think he believes a word of it. But thankfully, he returns to discussing our targets for the next two quarters.

Every year, we reach more future football stars, and that means our funding needs to increase.

When we originally started, we received donations from players and a handful of businesses connected to Callahan Enterprises. We’re so far from that now, it’s incredible but also terrifying.

The kind of figures I’m trying to secure blow my mind. But it’s worth it.

By the time the clock ticks around to six my stomach is growling, reminding me that the pastry I grabbed from the coffee shop downstairs on my way in this morning was nowhere near enough.

Nerves flutter in my stomach as I ride the elevator to the ground floor. Brax is waiting for me; I had a message five minutes ago.

I know how Kieran will react to this when he finds out. And I’m confident that somehow, he will. But what does he expect me to do? Hide under a rock and live my life without anyone but him?

Loneliness dances beneath my skin and forces me forward.

As the doors open, I find Brax leaning against one of the thick pillars that litter the reception of our building.

A few people are looking his way. I can understand why. Even without knowing who he is, he has a presence. And of course, it doesn’t help that he’s taller and broader than any other man in this building.

“Ah, Miss Campbell. Your chariot awaits.”

“You’re such a goof,” I laugh.

“That’s what all the girls say. I think it might be why I’m perpetually single.” His voice holds a mocking tone, but I’m not entirely sure he’s joking.

I have heard plenty of stories that he isn’t missing out on female attention. Kieran is more than happy to share some of his wilder nights with friends, but as far as I know, Brax has never had a girlfriend.

I’d always assumed it was for the same reasons Kieran chooses to continue to play the field.

“Girls love a funny guy,” I argue as he gestures for me to go ahead.

“I’m sure they do,” he mutters behind me as I say goodbye to the security guard on shift.

My steps slow as I take in the car parked right in front of the building in the designated taxi lane. Trust a football player to have the arrogance to ignore the rules.

“Someone has been throwing their cash around like it’s a football,” I tease.

“Treated myself,” he says as he steps up to the red Maserati and opens the door for me.

The amount of attention he’d garnered inside is nothing compared to the number of eyes that are on him—on us—now.

Unease trickles through my veins.

Someone is going to take a picture of us together, and it’ll be online before my ass hits the passenger seat.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile. It’s the first genuine one I’ve given anyone all day.

“Still in the mood for Mexican?” he asks once he joins me and brings the beast of an engine to life.

“Yes,” I state, my stomach growling all over again as I think about the tacos I’ve been craving all day.

“Any preference on place or are you happy for me to choose?”

“Nope, wherever you want to go.”

As Brax speeds out into traffic, I sit back in his ridiculously comfortable passenger seat and watch the world go by.

He aimlessly chats about his day for a while, allowing me to lose myself in thoughts that aren’t my own for a few minutes.

But it all comes crashing down when he tests the waters and mentions Kieran.

“Brax,” I warn, the pain last night caused rushing to the surface again.

“Understood,” he says with a laugh that makes my brows pinch. “You need tequila before we dive into that.”

“Maybe not even then,” I mutter under my breath.

Before long, we’ve left the city rush hour traffic behind and we’re heading down the freeway.

A little concern nags at me that he’s taking me as far away as possible so we’re not spotted.

Is he really that worried about being seen with me?

But then I remember the show of helping me into his car outside the office, and I stop myself.

“Here we go,” Brax finally announces as he signals and pulls toward a building that is obviously a Mexican restaurant. It looks like it’s been plucked straight out of Mexico with cacti surrounding the building and a huge sombrero on the roof.

“Best tacos in the state,” Brax announces proudly.

“Then how come I’ve never heard of it before?”

“Also the state’s best-kept secret.”

No sooner have we stepped through the door than we’re greeted by a guy with a heavy accent and the friendliest smile I’ve ever seen.

We’re guided to a quiet table, and after Brax takes it upon himself to order our drinks, we’re left with the menus.

“Bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

He smirks at me from across the table, and I can’t help but smile back.

Brax is a good guy. Hot, too. But for some reason, when he turns his entire focus on me, I don’t get butterflies. My heart doesn’t race and my blood doesn’t turn to lava.

I’d begun to think it was all in my head. That after Kieran left St. Louis, I’d made up this infatuation with him.

But then I found him in my apartment last night, and once the fear had subsided, the desire returned.

It never used to be the case. I used to look at him and see him in the way I do Brax. But something changed.

Probably about the time he kissed you.

Or maybe when he tied you to the bed and made you ? —

I slam those thoughts down. They’re not needed or useful.

“Trust me. A margarita from here will fix you right up.”

“Trying to get me drunk, Mr. Whitlock?”

“Absolutely not. Carrying Kieran’s ass home last night was more than enough.”

My brow wrinkles as a server appears with two shots of tequila, a soda for Brax, and a huge margarita for me.

“You had to carry him home? Why? From where?” I ask once we’re left alone again.

Brax pushes a shot toward me.

“Drink. Take the edge off. Then, I’ll tell you.”

Hesitantly, I lift the glass.

I’m not a huge fan of shots, but what have I got to lose?

Together we lift them to our lips and swallow.

“Oh my god,” I complain as the alcohol burns down my throat. “So?” I demand.

“You need to start. I need to know what happened before I was called to rescue his ass.”