Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
KERIAN
After the shit I talked to Zander about West Virginia State, their fucking offense has been kicking our ass. They have the lead, 28–24, but it’s our play in the last twenty seconds of the fourth quarter. If I don’t get this fucking touchdown, it’ll be fucking embarrassing.
This is their best game all season, something that pisses me off beyond belief. West Virginia State is a team no one in the conference takes seriously because they suck so bad.
Those fuckers showed up today.
It’s fourth and long and I have to make something happen if I’m going to take home the win. Memories of the picture Zander sent me dance behind my lids. I need this.
I take a breath and steel myself to do this . I’m drawn out of the thought as something knocks into my shoulder—I don’t even have to look up to know who it is, but I still turn my eyes so I can level him with a glare. Easton looks over at me, a hard edge to his voice. “Way to fuck us with this win, Slade.”
I grit my teeth, close to fucking decking him, but the cameras are trained on us, so I keep my temper in check.
In the huddle, I give the play, and my entire O line looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I have. It doesn’t matter. If anyone can pull this off, I know I can. I know I have to.
“Just be where you fucking need to be and it’ll work,” I say, raising an eyebrow as I look at everyone. Shrugging, we break the huddle and line up.
Blowing out a long breath, I step behind the center and call the play. When the ball is snapped, I grip it tight and scramble in the pocket, avoiding a sack.
Almost… almost.
Just as I see a defenseman from West Virginia State gunning towards me from my left, I see my tight end all alone at the ten-yard line. Cocking my arm back, I launch the ball, watching it spiral in the air before I’m tackled to the ground.
Hail Marys never work, but maybe that’s because I’m not the one fucking doing it.
My field of vision is obscured for a brief moment, but the roar of the crowd makes me smile.
Fuck yes.
And somewhere in my chest, something feels warm , because I know at least one person would realize how absolutely godly that play was. I pick myself up from the ground with a cocky smirk that I know probably eats Easton alive, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not who I’m thinking about.
My eyes flick in the direction of the parking lot where I have my bag and phone stashed. I wonder if Zander watched? I wonder if he already sent me pictures, or if I can text him and tell him I expect him to be in that red lingerie waiting for me…
The smirk that starts to cross my features dies in a wash of ash that coats my tongue when I catch sight of who is in the stands.
Of course they’re already making their way down to the field like they have any right to greet me.
My dad’s smile is full of pride, but I can see behind the bullshit—it’s fucking proprietary. Calculating.
He’s looking at the way I played like a pro and seeing the dollar signs. That’s all I’ve ever been to him, though—a dollar sign. An extension of his accomplishments. I’ve never really been a person. Just something he could break or brag about.
I freeze on the field and watch as my mother’s mouth pinches into a frustrated line a second before her pretty red lips lift into a smile.
“Kerian! Sweetheart, what an amazing game.” She sounds so sweet, and she holds her arms out to me like I asked them to be here.
When she does, all I can see is every time she kept them at her side while Dad beat the shit out of me. All I see is a childhood of her looking the other way while I learned discipline and respect and whatever else his bad mood wanted to dole out on me any arbitrary day of the week.
My brows snap together and I turn without a word, refusing to give them the satisfaction of speaking to me, of seeing me. And I’m definitely not giving them the chance to make me wear a fucking mask of respect and spout platitudes just because I’m in front of my team.
Fuck that.
“Slade, we won, what’s your fucking—” I push past Easton hard enough that he goes flying, and ignore the sound of the low curse that tears from his chest.
It’s worse, because I can hear them call my name as I make my way silently to the locker room, and I know I’m going to get an endless stream of calls later until I pick up.
Fuck.
Fuck .
I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, they’re still there. I can see the expression on my dad’s face.
Fuck this.
“Not feeling well.” I mutter to Coach as a way of excuse, then I make a line straight for my car. I’ll drop my shit off to get washed in the morning. I’m not giving my parents a chance to wait outside the locker room so they can tell me how proud they are of me while my dad silently contemplates the best way to get me back under his control.
I’ve done my best to make it clear that he can fuck off and die for all I care, but they’re persistent. I’ll give them that.
I’m glad the game was a home game—it makes it easy for me to fling off the majority of my shit and toss it in my trunk so I can peel out of the parking lot without looking back.
Just like I thought, my phone starts ringing.
My mood goes darker, because I can see it there—past the call.
A text notification.
When I hit a red light, I send the next call that comes through to voicemail and open up the text.
Dimples: A fuckin hail mary!
Dimples: You were amazing. I owe u a reward
And then…
Dimples: Kerian? Call me
I stare at the last sentence for entirely too long, until the sound of a horn behind me honks and makes me realize I need to keep driving.
You were amazing .
Not, you owe your talent to me.
Not, you owe me your life.
No expectations.
Just Zander… saying he wants to reward me for how well I did.
I should turn off my phone and go straight to my apartment, take a shower and go the fuck to bed.
I should keep my phone off for the rest of the week, because it will probably take my parents at least that long to realize I’m not going to answer them.
Instead, I wait until the buzzing and my mother’s name stops flashing on the screen to send Zander a text.
Me: Can I see you?
I’ve already sent it when I realize what an asshole I am. I should have hedged it with something like show me my reward. Or even a demand that he be on his knees waiting for me when I get there.
Instead, I sounded… what?
Vulnerable?
But there’s no way he’d know over a text, so?—
The next call that comes through makes my stomach drop for a different reason, but I answer.
“Are you all right?”
What the fuck ?
Did Zander see my expression on the footage when I saw my parents? I’ve worked my entire life to make sure that no one sees that. I’m pretty sure I didn’t let anything show on my features. I spent my entire childhood learning how to ignore my emotions, how to ignore my feelings about anything so they never had the satisfaction of seeing it…
So why does he know?
“Fuck off, Braithe.” I mutter it… and then, like I can’t help myself, I add. “Leave your door unlocked?”
Zander doesn’t hesitate.
“Sure.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up before he gets a chance to question me and head to my apartment. I’m not showering in some tiny dorm shower, and I’m thankful that Asher is out on some trip for his class still when I head inside. I’m in and out in a flash, though, because I wouldn’t put it past my parents to show up here once they realize I’m not coming out of the locker room with the rest of my team.
Sure enough, my phone rings again, and then I get a text.
Mom: Kerian, your father is very disappointed in you for leaving like that. We’re coming over to discuss this and the future your father has planned.
Not my future.
His.
I know what he wants.
I throw clothes into a duffle bag without paying attention to what I’m grabbing and head back to my car, thankful that they aren’t waiting in the lobby of the apartment building to ambush me.
I drive over the speed limit to get to my destination, and I shoot Zander a text that I’m there before I head up.
His security guard really is shit—the asshole has his nose buried in a magazine, and he doesn’t even look up when I pass by him to head upstairs.
And Zander doesn’t wait for me to knock before he opens the door.
“Hey.” His voice is… soft. When I won the game, I’d imagined coming over here and he’d be in nothing but that red lingerie when he answered the door. His skin would be flushed, and he’d be awkward and horny and I’d put him on his knees and make him suck my dick and tell me what a fucking god I was at the game.
Instead… he’s in a baggy shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, and he’s quiet when he shuts the door behind me and takes my duffle bag from me. He tosses it on the ground and steps into me.
It’s easy to open my arms and twist his body so his shoulders are pressed against the door—easier still to kiss him hard and mean, biting his lower lip until he opens his mouth and lets me inside.
What isn’t easy is when he spills his fingers through my hair and pulls me away.
“Kerian?” He cuts himself off at whatever expression crosses my features from the question in his tone, but that doesn’t stop him from yanking me across the room toward his tiny-ass bed.
“You’re not dressed to impress, Dimples.” I say it with the same snark I always have, but the words feel a little hollow… Maybe that’s because he takes the time to drag my shirt up and over my head before he pushes me onto the bed.
Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t even bother trying to hide what he’s doing when he crawls on top of me and curls his broad body against mine.
The weight of him… the pressure… there’s something soothing about it. Zander leans forward and presses his lips to my neck, then lifts up and starts carding his fingers through my hair.
“You were amazing.” There’s nothing sexy about his voice. But the sensation of his blunt nails dragging along my scalp is. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole game. I’m lucky Luca wasn’t here. He would have gotten sick of me cheering.”
“Yeah?” I ask, and he nods.
“Yeah.” Zander drops down and presses a kiss to my throat again, trailing his lips over my pulse. It jumps under his touch, and I wonder if he noticed.
Fuck, he probably noticed.
I need to roll him underneath me, to tell him he owes me exactly what he promised. I look up at him and his expression is soft.
Sweet.
Concerned when he trails his fingers through my still damp hair again… and I suddenly realize how exhausted I am.
“Hey, Dimples?”
He pauses his motion like he’s been caught doing something, but arches a brow.
“Hm?”
“You owe me—” He tenses, his lips parting like he’s about to say something. “But I’m fucking tired tonight. Tomorrow. My place.”
Tomorrow. I could pull myself out of whatever this shit is by tomorrow and have him on his knees for me, underneath me.
Where he belongs.
“Okay.”
“I should?—”
“But I think you should stay for a while. If you sneak out now, you might get caught.” He twists on the bed before I have a chance to argue, pressing us chest to chest, so I can feel the way his heart is pounding just as hard as mine is.
Stay.
He wants me to stay… without the implications of sex, or desire, or any kind of motive other than…
“Fine.” I snap the word like he offended me, and his expression goes soft again.
Shit, I can’t look at him. More, I can’t stand the way he looks at me—like I’m transparent. Like he can see through me. Like he doesn’t care that all the room inside me is empty shadows, because it just leaves space for his light.
I push him over roughly, and he lets out a small shocked sound when I manhandle him so his back is plastered to my front and I can throw one arm around his waist.
“Kerian, are you?—”
“Put a movie on your phone or something before I change my mind.”
He’s still for a breath, then he pulls his phone up, propping it on his bedside table after he turns on some dumbass superhero film. It doesn’t really matter. My fingers slip beneath his shirt and trail up… up… up to the steady beat of his heart.
Up… and I bury my nose against his hair.
Zander smells clean and warm. And I’m not sure why, but when he wriggles his body back until he’s flush against me and raises one hand to press his fingers to mine through the fabric of his shirt, I feel myself settle.
I’m usually keyed up after a surprise run-in with my family—angry, violent, horny. I don’t feel settled after, and I sure as shit don’t relax.
I definitely don’t sleep for a few days.
But Zander starts talking in a soft voice, his soothing tone rambling something about the casting choices for the movie he put on, and I fall into the sound of it.
I’m not sure when it happens, but my head drops to his shoulder so I can bury my nose against the curve of his neck as I drift off.
Fuck me, I’m in trouble.