Mighty the Fallen (SHATTERED #1)

PROLOGUE

“You’re seriously not coming out with us?”

Head down, I tediously wrap a sheet of newspaper around a coffee mug at the kitchen counter like it’s requiring all my attention.

I don’t even know why this mug is in our kitchen.

It looks like one from the Sunshine Diner over by the college arena.

Five bucks says Jamie stole it on some early morning hangover breakfast run.

“No, I want to finish packing so I don’t have anything left to do tomorrow besides load up my car.”

“It’s our last night here. How can you miss this?”

“We went out last night! Did you forget all the groaning you did this morning? Because I haven’t.”

Glancing at the clock, I can see it’s already ten p.m. Is he ever going to leave?

“I’m recovered!” He laughs, snagging his jacket off the hook by the door to our rental duplex. “And that’s what our twenties are for. You only live once.”

I’m well aware that this is our last night here. It already took me most of the evening to break away from my parents after the graduation ceremony. Now, if my beloved roommate would just get the heck out, what’s left of the night may not be ruined.

“You call ending up with your face in a gutter living?” I challenge, pulling open a kitchen drawer to see if there’s anything left that I can grab to keep up the ruse of packing.

I seriously do not need the box of crap that I gathered while he was dragging his heels for the last hour. All my things are ready to go, and half of my boxes are already in the U-Haul trailer I rented.

“Hold up. Why do you smell so good?”

When did he move this close? Inching back, I flash him what I hope is a bemused expression.

“What?”

Sniffing the air, he pursues me like the pain in the ass that he is. How have I endured four years of college living with him?

Brow furrowing, he points at me. “You’re wearing cologne!”

“Yeah. So?” I laugh nervously, giving him a playful shove to push him away. “I wanted to feel like I’d washed all of last night off me.”

Turning away, I yank open another drawer, but it’s empty, so I move on to the next.

If Chris flakes on me because he sees Jamie is still here, I’m never speaking to my roommate again.

It’s my last chance to see Chris before we both leave tomorrow.

Apparently, I’m willing to throw away four years of friendship to do so.

My stomach twists into knots over how disloyal that makes me sound, but…

Well, I’ve been fully aware of how stupid I am for the Panthers’ star tight end for quite some time.

“You showered before the ceremony and then you showered when you got home,” he says suspiciously, drumming his fingertips against the counter. “One would think that would be enough to wash off a few hours at the bar from the night before.”

God, he’s annoying. And perceptive, which is…also annoying.

“Not expecting company, are you?” he ventures coyly, accusingly.

Super annoying!

“What? No.”

Me and my stupid nervous laughter. He’s going to see right through me. My cheeks are probably as red as my T-shirt. I hate lying to him, but what am I supposed to say?

Jamie, could you please leave so Chris can fuck me one last time?

I’d never hear the end of it. He’s not a fan of my…fandom, but I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight.

I can practically feel his suspicious gaze. Sighing, I swipe up another sheet of newspaper and flash him a withering look.

“I’m tired, Jay. I don’t feel like getting drunk again when I have to drive all day tomorrow. And we’re probably not going to go more than a day without talking to each other. We’ll be texting all the time, and I’ll see you again this summer before my doctorate program starts.”

He nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then raises his hands in surrender. “I know. Jeez, you make me sound needy. I was just making sure you weren’t going to engage in any bad decisions on your last night in town.”

I snort at that, although I know exactly what he’s implying. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s about to head out for a night of debauchery.”

“A night of art,” he corrects, which has me snorting as he heads to the door again. “Go-go dancing is an art. Besides, I only look, never touch. If one of them happens to fall into my lap or writes his phone number on my chest… What’s a guy supposed to do?”

My stomach flips when he swipes his keys off the hook on the wall. Finally!

I am being a terrible friend. He’s the one who pointed out that we’re young, though. Why shouldn’t I engage in a few bad decisions?

Or…the same one. Over and over.

I get a wave and a farewell from him that feels three hours overdue.

As soon as the door closes behind him, my legs act like someone just fired a starting gun at a track meet.

Racing across the living room, my bare feet make a squeaking sound against the hardwood flooring when I jerk to a stop at my bedroom doorway.

Reaching around the doorframe, I flip the switch on the wall inside, turning out the light—my sign that the coast is clear.

It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Chris.

Seen him here. Sneaking glances at him during the final for the one class we had together this semester doesn’t count.

He got approval to complete his classwork remotely these last few weeks after he got invited to the NFL draft.

It left me in limbo, both silently hoping for his dreams to come true and wishing that they wouldn’t, so he could finally have an excuse to stay in my orbit.

The orbit of people who aren’t perfect superhumans.

To be honest, though, my brain can’t fathom him as anything other than a star athlete.

Shaking my head, I walk to the sofa, the only piece of furniture left in the living room.

He got selected in the first round of the draft.

Of course, he did. I never doubted he would.

That has nothing to do with my foolish crush.

Granted, I’ve learned more about football these past two years than I ever imagined I would, but I’m far from an expert on the game.

Still, it would be obvious to anyone with half an inkling about football that he’s a phenomenon.

Rubbing my stomach, the thought drops the bottom out of it. Now that he’s made it, why would he show up tonight? He left again after finals last week for mini-camp, where draftees go to get acclimated to the NFL playbook. He’s really in. It’s begun.

A thirty-two-million-dollar contract. He can have whatever—and whoever—he wants. But…he did say he’d be here.

Flopping down on the couch, I throw my forearm over my eyes. Maybe if I close them, it’ll blot out the incessant thoughts that have been spinning me up over the past month.

It’s over. It’s really over.

No more Chris. No more me and Chris.

I know we made no promises. The only hints he ever dropped were that he couldn’t wait to leave here and never look back.

I understood that for what it included—me.

I’d be part of the past he wants to leave behind, not the future he’s been so eager for.

He never said it any plainer because he didn’t have to, not that we spent much of our time together talking.

A punch of lust warms my cheeks. Shifting, I adjust myself through my shorts.

To be fair, when he’s within reach, I don’t exactly have talking on the brain either.

That’s the thing about me and Chris—there’s a powerful force that draws us together like nothing could disrupt it. I’m gasoline, and he’s a flamethrower.

Whenever he talks about the future, though, ours are separate.

It’s almost like he’s reinforcing that I’ll be far away from him, like he thinks I’ll forget.

I know I’ve heard this from Jamie dozens of times, too—harsh reminders that one Panthers tight end and a wallflower, future physical therapist like me, can only be fuck buddies, but I resent it. Chris chose me.

I still shiver each time I think of the way he held my gaze the first time he noticed me.

I was waiting for Jamie outside of one of his classes that they share.

It was just a few seconds in passing, but the way he looked at me made my throat go dry.

I ran into him at a bar shortly after that.

We chatted about nothing worth any merit; all I remember is the way we couldn’t take our eyes off each other.

He ran his hand down my arm before he left, and I cataloged the move in my brain as though it was the equivalent of receiving someone’s letterman jacket.

A week later, I saw him in the back of the library, and it was nothing short of a lightning bolt striking between us.

Any doubt I had over his interest in guys, or rather me, was resolved when I nervously admitted that I didn’t have a girlfriend because I preferred boyfriends.

“And do you have one at the moment?” he asked, voice dropping as he stepped closer.

“No.” I gulped, backing into a shelf until the book spines dug into my back.

He rested his hands on a shelf above my head, his meaty biceps framing my face. His gaze slid down my body, and for the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to feel truly desirable.

“Would you be interested in having a special friend?”

I suspected immediately what he meant, but I got stuck on the words. I’ve never been good at innuendo.

“I… Sure. I can always use another friend.”

His breath gusted out, amused. He glanced down at where my hands were holding a book to my chest like it was a shield.

It was both a test and an invitation. He waited patiently as I figured that out, and then I finally worked up the nerve.

Reaching out, I stroked the back of my knuckles over his abs, my hand trembling.

His slow inhale was a sexual validation I hadn’t known I’d been looking for my entire adult life.

He leaned his hips against mine, showing me how hard he was, meeting how hard I was.