Chapter Twenty-Four
Braden
I should have dressed up as a clown for Halloween.
It would have fit my new personality perfectly, the way I was fooling myself into thinking I would get away with sneaking around with Emily, that there would never be any consequences for our actions.
But fuck, I wanted to play that part.
I wanted to be na?ve, to play pretend, to act like it was all fun and games.
And so, I did.
Two weeks passed with me wrapped up in Emily, October fading day by day as I lost myself in her anytime I had the chance. If I wasn’t at practice, traveling, or playing a game — I was finding a way to get to her.
The list was just a bonus. Sure, I liked ticking the boxes — fucking her in front of my window with the lights off, knowing anyone could walk by and see us if they looked close enough; bending her over her kitchen table when her roommate wasn’t home; letting her use her blindfold and handcuffs on me while we both tried not to laugh at the awkwardness of me having no arms to use, and her only having one.
But that was just the icing on the cake.
What I loved more were the small moments with Emily, the nights where she was too tired to go home and fell asleep in my bed, or the days at the stadium when we tried and failed to ignore each other, when she’d smile at me and I’d reach out to touch her, just barely, as I passed by.
It was hearing more about her time before she lived in Seattle, about traveling abroad and dipping her toes in the strangest jobs imaginable as she tried to find her way. It was cooking for her and hearing the pornographic moans she made when she took the first bite.
It was seeing her sleepy and sated after we fucked and she smoked a joint, the way she carried herself like she didn’t have a worry in the world.
It was so opposite of me, how tightly I was wound, how careful I always was. Spending time with her was like being thrown inside an action thriller novel or movie — I felt like I was living another life, like I was playing a role I didn’t realize I’d been cast in.
I loved it.
It was easy to lose myself in her. The season changed, fall clutching Seattle in a tight embrace, and I found myself stretched between two lives.
When I was working, I was locked in and focused, having some of the best performances of my career.
And when I wasn’t working, I was finding a new spark for life with a woman who intrigued me even more the more I got to know her.
“We gonna see another monster game from you tomorrow?” Gino asked, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he dropped onto the bench across from me. After a light day, we were all wrapping up, ready to get some good rest before the game tomorrow.
I looked up from where I was pulling on my socks. “You trying to gas me up or jinx me?”
“Neither. Just trying to figure out who the hell you are lately.” Gino held his hands up. “It’s a good kind of inquisition, I swear.”
Kyle snorted from where he was digging through his bag. “He’s been possessed. That’s my theory.”
“By what?” Lavonte asked, peeling off one of his gloves. “A demon?”
“No,” Joshua chimed in dryly. “A woman.”
The locker room erupted in a chorus of ooohs and cackles, and I rolled my eyes, keeping my head down like that would somehow save me.
“Wow, I didn’t realize you were all dressing as Tweedle Dees and Dumbers for the holiday,” I muttered.
“Am I wrong?” Josh asked.
I shook my head, fighting a smile as I stuffed my tape in my locker.
“Man’s been playing like he’s got something to prove,” Gino said, pointing at me. “Or someone to impress.”
Kyle looked over at me then, a little too knowingly. “Could be both.”
I shot him a look that said shut the fuck up, but he only grinned wider.
It was hard to fight my own grin with them going on like that. I felt what they’d been seeing — the way I’d been playing more loosely, more instinctively.
And it’d been paying off.
I wasn’t suddenly some untouchable version of myself, wasn’t walking on water or putting up cartoon numbers every game. But I’d been sharper and faster, not hesitating so much before the snap. I wasn’t overthinking every route, every cut, every rep until I strangled the life out of it.
I’d always been disciplined. Careful. Controlled.
But lately, I’d been free.
And that led to me being explosive.
Sitting there in the middle of a loud locker room that smelled like detergent, sweat, and somebody’s disgusting protein shake, I found myself wondering if maybe it had less to do with football than I wanted it to.
Practice had been stable. Guidance from my coaches hadn’t shifted at all.
What had changed was how I spent my off time.
Maybe Emily had gotten under my skin deeper than I’d realized.
Maybe sneaking around with her, laughing with her, touching her whenever I could get away with it, living in all that chaos and heat and recklessness — maybe it had cracked something open in me.
Maybe letting go in one part of my life had made me better in the other.
That thought should’ve made me uneasy.
Instead, it made my pulse kick, like I’d stumbled upon the fountain of youth and was desperate to steal another drink.
“Look at him,” Lavonte said, pointing at me like I was under investigation. “Bro’s not even listening. He’s thinking about her right now.”
“I’m thinking about the game,” I said flatly.
“Sure, you are,” Kyle said.
Gino folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at me. “What, specifically?”
“The defensive structure,” I deadpanned.
Joshua barked out a laugh. “The defensive structure?”
“Yeah.”
Kyle zipped his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “That’s crazy, because you look like you’re thinking about bending somebody over a kitchen counter.”
The room exploded.
I laughed despite myself, shoving him in the shoulder as he passed. “Eat shit.”
“Aw,” he said, clutching his chest. “He didn’t deny it.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“That,” Gino said, pointing at my chest, “is a confirmation.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop smiling now.
I couldn’t stop feeling it either — that charge under my skin, that low hum that had been there for weeks now. Anticipation. Restlessness. Hunger.
For the game tomorrow.
For her.
“Whatever’s got you playing like this,” Lavonte said, standing and grabbing his slides, “Keep it going. I don’t care if it’s a girl, a witch, or a Halloween curse.”
I laughed, but when the noise around me picked back up and the guys moved on to talking shit about somebody’s costume party plans, I sat there for a second longer, staring into my locker.
A witch, huh.
Didn’t feel that far off.
Because ever since Emily, it was like my life had split open, like I was under a spell.
And I had no idea yet if that was going to save me — or ruin me.
My phone buzzed just as I slung my duffle bag into the back of my Bronco.
Trouble: Meet me here.
She dropped a pin, and when I clicked on it, I couldn’t figure out where the hell she was asking me to go. It looked like a parking lot, and it was about a two-minute drive away.
Me: When?
Trouble: Now.
Maybe I should have been embarrassed by how fast I turned the ignition and sped off at her request, but that hum was taking over my senses, my body vibrating with the need to be near her.
My guess wasn’t far off. It wasn’t a parking lot, but a garage. I entered and took a ticket before calling Emily.
“I’m here.”
“Fifth floor,” she said, and then hung up.
I shook my head, wondering what the hell she was up to.
When I rounded the corner that led from the fourth floor to the fifth, I hit the brakes, heart lurching into my throat.
“Oh, shit,” I cursed in surprise. My body was already in fight or flight. I was ready to kick the car into reverse and steamroll my way right out of that garage.
But in the next breath, I realized the source of my instinctual fear was also the source of my every desire lately.
Emily stood in the middle of the garage between two lines of parked cars.
Wearing a fucking mask.
It was black, completely covering her face, with neon pink exes for eyes and matching cross stitches over her mouth.
And somehow, despite the fact that she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a slasher film and into my nightmares, I knew exactly who it was.
Maybe it was the way she stood — all confidence and mischief, legs planted like she owned the entire goddamn garage.
Maybe it was her braids spilling from the mask, or the curve of her body, impossible to mistake even under the dim fluorescent lights.
Or maybe it was the black wrist splint strapped to one arm, sleek and low-profile, like she’d found the goth, Halloween-approved version of the medical one she’d been wearing.
Jesus Christ.
She was dressed in some barely there excuse for a costume that looked a hell of a lot more like expensive lingerie than anything you’d buy in a plastic package at Party City.
Black lace clung to her like it had been poured over her body, all dainty lines and wicked little cutouts, with sheer panels that showed just enough skin to make my brain short-circuit.
A tiny skirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, and her heels were liquid black and sky high.
In her good hand, she held a baseball bat, the end of it resting against the concrete before she slowly lifted it and slung it over her shoulder like she was deciding whether to seduce me or cave my skull in.
Then, she tilted her head.
And crooked one finger at me.
A laugh punched out of me before I could stop it, sharp and disbelieving as I threw the Bronco into park.
“What the fuck,” I muttered to myself, dragging a hand down my jaw.
Because I genuinely couldn’t decide if I should be turned on or absolutely terrified.
Unfortunately for me, the answer was both.
At her insistence, I put the car in drive again and parked in the parking spot she’d waved me into — one wedged between two large, lifted trucks.
As soon as I was parked, she stopped at my bumper for a second before hopping in the passenger seat.
She leaned the bat against her door, the butt of it by her feet.
And then she revealed a second mask.