Fool Me Once (New England Bay Sharks #2)

Chapter 3

I grip the sink with both hands, breathing in and out in a weak-ass attempt to calm myself down. I knew I shouldn’t have come here, but being the people pleaser that I am, I didn’t want to say no to my best friend.

I should be able to do things like this.

I’m not a weak bitch who lets the past control the present.

All right, that’s a lie because, obviously, I am.

Hesitantly, I lift my gaze to the mirror and look at myself. I’m met with a face I don’t recognize—an almost-ghost-like person with soulless eyes and lips turned down at the corners.

At age twenty-three, I already have frown lines because I’ve spent so much of the past few years sad.

Every single thing in my life right now is a mess, and I don’t know how it’s going to get better. I can’t run from Richie forever, and I know he’ll keep looking for me.

The fact that my parents haven’t said anything about me leaving or asked why can only mean Richie hasn’t reached out to them to make up some bogus story. I’m sure he thinks I told them the truth. That he’s an abusive prick who turned out to be the furthest thing from the man he was when he charmed me into saying yes to his proposal. There were signs, sure, but I never, in my wildest dreams, would have imagined he was the monster that he showed me he is.

There’s a harsh knock on the door, and my eyes widen. Clearing my throat, I run a hand over my hair, smoothing it out.

“Be right out,” I say, the words coming out as a weak mutter.

Rolling my shoulders back, I lift my hand to the door, and just as I open it, I’m met with Smith’s annoyingly handsome face, his body blocking the doorway.

His tattooed arms are on full display, making it clear he’s changed a bit in the past six years. Before he left for Connecticut, he didn’t have a single bit of ink. Now, he’s covered. His dirty-blond hair is shorter than it was in high school when he had that shaggy look. And his body is pure muscle.

“Who the fuck did that to your face, Gemma?” His voice is gritty and deep.

Even though this particular bathroom is down a hallway in a more private part of the house, I’m still worried someone is going to hear him.

“I told you, I got into a car accident,” I answer quickly and coolly before narrowing my eyes at him. “Not like it’s any of your damn business, Sawyer .”

He leans one arm against the doorframe, crowding my space with his stupid, delicious-smelling body. I hate him. I really, really hate him.

“Oh, are we on a last-name basis only now, Jones ?” His eyes are dark and irate, and I feel a shiver of fear roll down my spine. “And, yeah, it is, Gem. When you showed up in Portland—your face battered to fuck—it became my business real fucking fast.”

I take a step back into the bathroom to put some space between us because, frankly, I can’t stand being this close to him. My face burns hot with heat, and my heart feels like it might leap out of my chest as I hear it pumping inside my own ears.

“Fuck. Off,” I hiss, my chest heaving as I give him another harsh glare before looking away.

Because eye contact … yeah, that’s not anything my body wants to take part in right now.

I pull in a deep breath and prepare to bolt past him. I don’t owe him a goddamn explanation to anything. He left me without even saying goodbye. And he’s never once apologized for it either.

Quickly, I duck my head down and attempt to go under his arm and squeeze past him. His arm loops tenderly around my frame, and when he pushes me deeper into the bathroom before he pulls the door closed, a yelp escapes my throat when his hold clutches my rib cage. His touch isn’t aggressive or frightening, but my injuries … are still very much fresh.

Within a split second, he pulls his arm back, looking sick. I wrap my arms around myself as tears involuntarily spring to my eyes from the pain of having my ribs touched.

He looks down at me, stumbling back until he’s against the door .

“Lift your shirt up, Gemma.” Though the words come out in a deep command, he doesn’t sound intimidating. To be honest, he just sounds … worried.

My eyes cut back to his once more, and I suck in a breath, forcing myself to pull my shit together. I can’t let him see me this way, and I really can’t let him find out the truth about why I’m here—or why I have these bumps and bruises.

“No,” I say sharply. “You lost your chance to see me without a shirt, assfuck.”

“There’s that grit. There’s the girl I know,” he whispers, his voice a little softer this time. “I was wondering if you were still somewhere inside there, Firefly.”

Firefly. I don’t know why he’s always called me that, but this is not the time to ask.

He’s seen me for a whopping forty-five minutes tonight, and he already sees right through me. Richie hated this side of me. The side that spoke up or caused a ruckus. He didn’t appreciate my sarcasm, and he certainly didn’t like it when I talked back. And after a certain point, when things got bad and it hit me how truly awful my fiancé was, I knew to fall in line. The last thing I wanted was to make him mad.

“You don’t know me,” I sass. “So, stop trying to pretend like you do.”

Even though I avert my eyes to the floor, I still feel his stare on me. The tension is so thick in this bathroom; it’s suffocating. All these years later, and still, Smith Sawyer has the ability to get under my skin and make my heart feel like it’s under attack.

His fingers reach out, tugging at the hem of my shirt, and as a reflex, I lurch backward, hitting my back against the wall.

“Jesus Christ, Gemma, it’s me.” The words sound like a plea, and he looks pained. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Every bit of the cockiness he had in his tone when he first came in here is gone. He keeps his hand on the fabric, and my heart races, but I’m ready to fight. As he unhurriedly lifts my shirt, I land a punch to his stomach to try to stop him. It’s too late because even though my shirt doesn’t lift all the way, it’s enough for him to see the dark and angry bruises on the bottom of my abdomen .

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he hisses sadly, pulling his hand away before I yank the fabric back down and cover myself up.

For a few moments, we just stand there. Me looking straight ahead with my heart pumping in my chest and him growing visibly more pissed off by the second. His hand reaches out to me, and he timidly pushes my chin upward in an attempt to force my eyes to meet his.

“Look at me,” he mutters, keeping his fingers against my flesh. “Please.”

I try like hell to keep my eyes looking down, but eventually, they betray me and lift to look at him. He searches my face, but I’m not sure what for, and when he opens his mouth to speak, I’m scared of what he’s going to say.

“If someone—if he —hurt you, I need you to tell me,” he rasps, yet there’s an unmistakable hint of rage in his tone. “Please, Gem, tell me. Did he fucking do this to you? Your fiancé?”

I stare blankly at him, wondering if I can trust him the way I used to. If maybe, just maybe, I could tell him the truth and get it off my chest. His sister knows, but with Smith, it’s different. His sister is my best friend and my soulmate. But I’ve always found a sort of comfort in Smith that I have never found anywhere else.

But before the words slip from my mouth, I remind myself that he left me—he left and didn’t even look back. He’s the reason I threw myself at the first man who told me he loved me. I was so desperate to fill that void that I wound up with a monster.

“I told you,” I say through gritted teeth, “I was in a car accident.” My eyes flash to the door for a split second, almost as a plea or maybe a threat. “Now, move out of my way. Because the last place I want to be right now is anywhere with you.”

It takes him some seconds, but finally, he drops his hand down and steps to the side. Just as I bolt, pushing the door open and almost making it out, his hand grabs my wrist with little force, but enough to anchor me still.

“You can come to me anytime, Firefly. I’ll always be here.” His voice is gruff now. “You know that.”

I keep my eyes straight ahead, and after a few moments of nothing, he sighs.

“Gemma, if I find out that your fiancé did this, you can forget about ever seeing him again. Because he’ll be fucking dead. ”

The moment his hand releases me, even though part of my body doesn’t want to, I scram from the bathroom and away from him.

When I’m alone in the bathroom, my body throbs with a combination of anger, sadness, and guilt.

Once Gemma left the room, it took every bit of willpower I had not to chase after her and follow her around like a puppy dog, simply because whatever she’d endured … I didn’t want it to ever happen again.

I’d broken Gemma’s trust long ago, and while I’d thought I was doing her a favor—letting her go the way that I did so that she could chase down her dreams—now, I feel sick, thinking that I pushed her into the arms of a monster. Because in my gut and with everything that I am, I know that those bruises aren’t from a car wreck. I just fucking know it.

After hearing the cry that escaped her mouth when I touched her ribs, I debated not pushing it further. After all, it was pretty fucking clear that she’d been through something horrific. But I had to see for myself, and when I tugged just enough of her shirt up to see her stomach was bruised, I wanted to throw up, murder the man who had done it, and drop to my knees and press a kiss to each of them and promise her I’d never let anyone hurt her again, all at the same time.

She hates me now though. She really, really fucking hates me.

She’s always been feisty and smart-mouthed. But she’s forever had a kind way about her. Now, it seems like that part of her might be gone because all I see is a harsh exterior.

I might be high profile as a professional athlete for one of New England’s beloved hockey teams, but that isn’t going to stop me from going after Richie—or whoever the fuck it was that did this to her.

Gemma might not realize it, but despite what she thinks, she took my heart when we were kids. I never got it back.

For years, I’ve wished I could go back to the day I left her behind and change the course. And for all those years, I’ve resented her father for making me do what I did.

She might hate me, but she’s here now. And whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs me.

And I sure as hell need her.

Pulling in every bit of air that my lungs will hold, I slowly let it out before manning up, pushing the door open, and heading out of the bathroom.

The closer I get to the living room, the louder this place is. But before I can make it back to the center of the house, I see my sister and Gemma putting their coats on near the door.

Gemma sees me coming first and quickly averts her gaze toward the ground. I know I fucked up all those years ago, leaving her behind the cold way that I did, but how she’s acting? It’s not just me she’s being strange with. It’s everyone in the room.

When they first got here tonight, some of the guys from my team introduced themselves, and she was polite, but it was clear as day she was uneasy about the encounter. She kept fidgeting, wringing her fingers together, and wouldn’t look any of them in the eye.

She’s anxious. And I really, really fucking hate it.

“You’re leaving?” I call out, but even I’m not sure if I’m asking Gemma or Saylor.

Gemma ignores me, but Saylor nods once and turns her body to face mine.

“Yeah, we’re going to get going.”

“But you’ve been drinking,” rushes from my mouth before I look past her and at Gemma. “Has Gem been drinking too?”

Gemma simply casts a glare at me and rolls her eyes, but my sister shakes her head and answers for her. “No, she hasn’t had anything to drink. If she had, I wouldn’t have her drive me home. Contrary to what you might think, I’m not a complete moron.”

I know why I don’t want them to leave. Because after seeing the shaky state Gemma is in these days, I fucking hate thinking about them taking off right now. She isn’t okay, and it’s easy to tell that.

“Yeah, well, we’re not in California anymore. It’s dark and spitting snow. I should take you both home.” I walk closer to them. “I rode with some of the guys here anyway. ”

My sister looks genuinely frustrated with me and widens her eyes. Stop , she mouths in warning.

I might be Saylor’s blood, but there’s no one she considers more family than Gemma Jones. The two of them have been inseparable since the day they first met, and I’m not sure either of them could survive without the other.

Gemma stuffs her hands into her pockets. “You do realize I grew up in Maine, too, right? I think I can handle driving in some snowflakes.” She nudges my sister. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Saylor mutters, still looking at me. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.”

When she turns around and they head out the door, I take in the giant fucking snowflakes falling from the sky and covering the entire driveway. It rained earlier, then the temperature dropped, and now, it’s snowing. The roads are going to be a goddamn ice rink.

Grabbing my own jacket, I catch the door just before it closes, earning a dirty look from my sister and an even meaner one from Gemma.

“The roads are fucking shit, okay? And, yes, Dale Earnhardt, I’m sure you’re a great fucking driver. But other people on the roads aren’t.” I hold my hand out. “Give me the keys. I’m driving you guys home. I’ll have Ryder pick me up after he leaves here.”

For a moment, it’s a staredown between the three of us. But finally, Gemma shoves the keys against my chest before hightailing it to the car and climbing into the back seat.

“Can you just stop?” Saylor hisses through her teeth. “I had to pep her up to even come here tonight. And I promised you wouldn’t fuck with her if she did.”

“I’m not fucking with her!” I throw my arms out. “I’m sorry for not wanting my sister and her best friend to get killed in a car accident on the way home from Friendsgiving. Excuse the fuck out of me.”

She drives her finger into my abdomen. “Don’t try to act like you’re Superman, big bro. If that girl wasn’t with me, you wouldn’t have paid attention to the weather, and we both know it.”

Quickly, she backs away, but not before giving me a look of warning.

“Don’t talk to her on the way home. Don’t crack one of your lame-ass jokes. Don’t ask her how she is, and don’t you dare pry for information.” She inhales. “You lost the right years ago, Smith. Don’t act like you give a damn now.”

Spinning around, she heads to the car and gets in on the passenger side, and I know this ride home is going to be quiet and awkward.

Because you don’t want to piss off my little sister. Especially when it comes to her best friend.