Chapter 8 #2
It would be my first official game with the Patriots, and I wouldn’t let them down.
That was my chance, my moment to shine and show them who I was, and would always be, the starting quarterback (minus the temper tantrums).
I was a cocky asshole, but I wasn’t blinded by that to not see how getting violent on the field let my team down.
Especially when the guy I was fucking up was on the same side.
Sitting down on the mattress, I found Storm’s number and typed in my message.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t know if she’d respond. Fuck me, she could be sitting in bed with that prick as she read it.
I did not relish that thought at all. The belief that she wasn’t sleeping with him was shot out of the water with what she’d said that night, but then, after she’d gone off like a firecracker in my arms. I knew she couldn’t be getting any.
At least, not like that anyway. That’s what I hoped.
First, how did you get my number, and second, you’re an asshole. Hope snaked up my spine as she replied seconds later.
I quickly messaged a ballsy reply. I stole your number from Nix’s phone.
Really? Well, it’s your funeral. I wondered if she’d rat me out to her brother. They seemed so chummy now, considering they used to be at each other’s throats all the time.
Look. I’m sorry, OK, for what I said. You’re right, I was an asshole.
At least you admit it. It can’t happen again, Reed. I mean it. I felt a surge of annoyance, considering how much she’d enjoyed herself. I’d been the one left hanging due to the fucker who’d decided to sneak out of the Gala for a smoke.
Whatever you say. I responded. Are we on for Monday?
You mean you intend to show up. Tramping down that swell of irritation, I didn’t point out that the coach was the reason I couldn’t attend my last session, as I’d already done that at the Gala. Storm, being Storm, still picked and chose what she listened to.
Giving the message a withering look, I counted to ten and responded. I said I would.
You promise to tell me everything? Don’t hold back.
I took a deep breath before I replied. Yes.
My cell pinged in my hand. Good, talking is the first step.
I got that.
What about our date?
What about it?
Well, I paid fifty grand for you. I pointed out with a huff. Mia was not happy as my PR person and my lawyer.
We can discuss that on Monday.
During my therapy session? Isn’t that breaking the rules again, mixing business and pleasure? I replied, hitting send.
I think those waters are already well and truly muddied, Reed. And besides. We need to treat both as business.
I pushed back onto the bed and stretched my legs out on the mattress. It felt good to be talking, even if it was via text message.
I grinned. Storm was protesting far too much to mean it. Who was she trying to convince? If you say so.
She didn’t rise to the bait. See you at nine sharp on Monday.
Curiosity got the better of me. Will do. Where are you now?
In bed. A place you should be. You’re training tomorrow.
A picture of Storm curled up on her bed in the nightie she used to wear hit me.
I remembered there were a couple of occasions where she’d smuggled me into her bedroom.
Did she still sleep in the same bed where I’d nailed her that first time, or had she switched rooms to be with dick breath?
So, are you back at the hotel or not? They say you cannot get a tone from a text, but I felt one from that message.
Did she think I was out partying or something? Those days were long gone. I’m just about to hit the sack, actually.
Good. I could imagine the look on her snooty face as she messaged that.
Clearing my throat, I looked up at the ceiling before typing in my reply. Can I ask you something?
The buffering icon appeared to say she was messaging back. No, but you will anyway.
What are you wearing?
I added a winking face emoji and waited for a reply. I got nothing back. No shock there then.
Grinning, I thought about the motorcycle Storm had won and how good it would feel to teach her to ride. Riding a bike was uplifting and as addictive as fuck, and I knew she would take to it like a duck to water. It was at that point that I hatched the idea for our perfect date.
Firing off a few messages to my brother Micah, I explained that I’d call him after practice the following day. I then reread my text thread with Storm.
My darling not-so-sweet Teacup could dance around the situation between us all she liked, but it would end only one way.
And how was that, you may ask: with Storm Summers back in my bed and, most importantly, as a permanent part of my future. The love I felt for her was boundless, insane, and unapologetic: the forever kind. She didn’t realize that yet, but she would.
But first, I had to get that piece of shit out of her life, and I knew I’d need help from my boys. I remember Phoenix said we needed to remove him from her life. But how?
Sighing, I pressed my fingers against my closed eyes and tried to steer away the headache growing behind them.
As I leaned my head against the headboard of the bed, my cell vibrated again, and I dropped my hand and glanced down to look at it.
Speaking of the fucking devil, literally. It was from Phoenix. So, Storm had grassed me up to the big man. I asked for her number like a normal person, and he didn’t give it to me, so I had to take it myself.
I have a bone to pick with you.
Oh dear.
STORM
When Reed arrived for his first official session on Monday morning, I was more than ready to hear his story.
I had my game face on and would not discuss what had happened at the Gala.
There was no point, as more behavior like that would only end in complications.
Complications fucked with your best laid plans: believe me, I knew that in spades; I had experienced that through my father’s eyes when the mindfuck that he fathered Phoenix got out.
I’d smoothed things over with Jasper by booking our honeymoon, something I had been avoiding like COVID.
We would continue our marital facade for three weeks in the Bahamas, and I had purposefully chosen somewhere that was clichéd for newlyweds.
It wasn’t a place I particularly wanted to go back to.
I had been there many times with my parents, during those days when my mother and father were in love.
I didn’t particularly want memories of those better times, but I’d had to choose somewhere tried and tested.
I certainly wasn’t going to book a place that Reed and I had spoken about visiting together one day.
I couldn’t bear the thought of making memories in one of those countries Reed and I had enthused about with the wrong man.
So, my point being, the fact that I had taken the plunge to book the trip had gotten Jasper off my back. Mission accomplished.
Reed was early again, but this time I didn’t throw myself onto the floor like a loser.
The knock was loud and confident. But the man who entered the room, not so much.
I sensed the nervous energy that surrounded him as he lingered by the doorway.
“Please, come in.”
Tension rippled through his body with each step, and I pushed to my feet, motioning towards my therapy chair.
“Good morning,” I began, thoroughly businesslike on the surface. Inside my guts were doing cartwheels.
I straightened the neck on my blouse, and his eyes were drawn there. “Morning, you look nice.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. Why wouldn’t I? I rarely got genuine ones from Jasper. His dark hair was still messy in that I don’t give a shit way, but Reed wasn’t looking too shabby either, and so I echoed the comment. “Thanks. So do you?”
“I doubt that,” he began, glancing around the room before his gaze came back to rest on my face.
Reed’s body language was defeatist as he stopped beside the chair, his foot tapping like a snare drum. He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave me a hard look. “I’m not really in the right headspace for this today,” he began.
I narrowed my eyes to drive my point home. “That’s why you’re here, Reed.”
After a beat or two, he removed his hands from his jeans and scratched his jaw.
“Please,” I said, pointing to the chair with one hand. He glanced down at it like he could smell sour milk. “It won’t bite,” I added, trying to lighten the mood.
“No, but I might,” he replied, his expression turning more Reed-ish.
I watched, taking in every expression that crossed his face in those few seconds as he lowered his large body into the seat.
Fidgeting to get comfortable, Reed then leaned back and placed one foot on his knee.
He was projecting a sense of being relaxed, but I saw straight through that.
Taking a deep breath, I lowered myself into my own chair.
“So, where should I start?” Reed asked, resting a hand on his raised knee.
I pursed my lips, pulling the file with Reed’s handwritten notes towards me. Reed started to tap his fingers on the armrests of the chair. I read his behavior; it was textbook during the first therapy session when the client didn’t know what to expect.
I placed my arms on the desk in front of me.
“Why don’t you start where you feel the most comfortable?” I suggested, opening my laptop. The glow highlighted my face.
I was in business dress, and Reed looked casual in jeans and a button-down tee.
I could see he was out of his comfort zone, but this was me.
We had shared so much together once; we could do it again.
I wanted to help him so much, for him to see how far I’d come from the spoiled rich bitch I used to be.
Reed didn’t answer immediately; he was checking out the space around us. It was something I noticed he did often, almost as if he was always looking over his shoulder. I imagined it was a habit that came with being famous.