Chapter 30
chapter
thirty
It’s no big deal .
I’ve forced those words through my brain so many times, I barely hear them anymore. Hell, they’re hardly even words at this point. More like mush.
The hallway system under King Stadium isn’t as inviting as the new-and-improved floors above. Instead of frosted glass and sleek gold trim, the tunnels are simple, utilitarian concrete.
Even so, the cool surface feels good against my back as I collapse into it, remembering how to inhale on each individual breath. In. Out.
It’s no big deal.
Out. In.
No big deal .
Colt is off his crutches and out of his sling, but it takes him a while to catch up to me. When I finally hear his boot hit the pavement at the bottom of the emergency stairwell, I’ve been hiding under the stadium for close to ten minutes.
He mutters to himself, hobbling around the corner at the end of the hall and staring daggers as I come into view.
“ Goddamn it , Bridget! You can’t run off like that! Do you know how many people I barked at to get down here just now? I didn’t even realize you’d taken the service stairs until I was halfway to the?—”
Colt’s voice dies as I lift my face from my hands to look at him. His gray gaze traces the tear tracks streaked through my makeup. I sniffle, crossing my arms over my yellow eyelet sundress.
I was so stupidly proud to wear this damn dress. Knowing Adrian approved made it feel special. Now, I doubt I’ll ever be able to look at sunny fabric without seeing the sneers of hundreds of hecklers.
Colt’s eyes harden. His thick brows drop low. “Are you okay?”
I’m fine.
It’s no big deal.
But those words don’t even sound like a language to me anymore. So I swallow past a scratchy throat and shake my head.
Wordless though it may be, it’s still a huge admission for me. Part of my brain braces for fallout. But Colt only sighs, moving to stand beside me, both of us leaning against the wall.
The surly alpha takes his hat off and smooths his fingers through his long hair, tipping his dark head back to close his eyes. “Why would you be?” he muses. “All of this fucking sucks. We never should have done it.”
He’s so correct; it’s insane that his words hurt my feelings. When he feels me tense, he goes on, quieter, “I never liked the idea because I thought we got the raw side of the deal. But now I think this has been worse for you than any of us.”
Am I having a panic-induced delusion? Colt Davis? Standing here with me? Speaking without grunting or grumbling?
Within a moment, I go from unsure of my sanity to convinced it’s nonexistent. Because Colt winces and stretches his injured arm toward me. Offering his hand.
He turns his head next, peering over. The world stutters to a stop. Time melts away, jolting me back to the moment we first met, in Alicia’s hallway.
For a second, that same connection crackles between us. His gray gaze glows with intensity.
“Why did you agree to make this deal, Bridget?” he asks, low and rasping. “That day we met… You knew how I felt. Why did you decide to put us through this?”
I remember his eyes flashing. How he staggered away from me with contorted features.
Yeah, I knew he hated my scent. But I made the deal anyway.
“Part of me thinks I did it to spite you,” I admit sullenly, kicking the ground. “I needed to get out of there. And the way you stalked off was pretty insulting. The whole ‘proposal’ was, actually.”
Colt doesn’t drop his gaze. His brows knit, stormy confusion clouding his face. “Insulting? I was embarrassed as hell. Having to basically run to a guest room to jack off —” He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “It wasn’t my finest hour, okay, Bubbles?”
Wait.
What?
A slow, stupid sort of understanding unfolds in my mind. “So you weren’t turned off by my perfume?”
Colt’s storm-tossed irises blaze. “Turned off ? I was fighting for my fucking life. I thought my knot was going to explode.”
I have to focus on his fingers cupping mine to keep my lungs working. Blinking at his half-cringe, I stagger back through my memories.
Did he ever say he hated it? Didn’t he mutter an insult or say something to indicate that?—?
No . No, we shook hands. Our palms brushed, a lot like they are in this very moment… and I perfumed… and he?—
Oh. Oh no .
He… liked me?
“I was going to ask to court you,” he rumbles, locking our gazes.
For the first time since that day, he smiles at me. It’s a bleak, humorless one, though. “What a chump, right?”