Chapter 4
VINCENT
I lasted seven days in their house.
After I agreed to move in, Asher went back to my house with me to pack a full duffel. I also checked out of my hotel, (reluctantly) filed a police report, and went ahead with the security upgrades on Monday.
As expected, the police were less than impressed by my problem.
They thought it was normal weird shit celebrities had to deal with, but they were also big Blackcastle fans and assigned an obligatory detective to my case.
I had little faith they would find the intruder, but at least it was on record.
However, the most pressing problem was the fact that I was now living with my sister and her boyfriend. It was a big house, but when we were forced to live under one roof with construction and copious amounts of PDA, even Buckingham Palace wouldn’t be big enough.
I could deal with the noise and piles of sawdust everywhere. I could even look past Asher and Scarlett’s kisses and cuddle time on the couch, but I drew the line at anything that made me want to upchuck.
That line was crossed on day seven. Asher and I usually went home from practice together, but I had to run some errands first.
When I returned to the house, the contractors were gone, but the faint strains of classical music filled the air. It appeared to be coming from the ballet studio.
“Hello?” I called out. “Lettie? You home?”
I walked toward the studio, my senses on high alert.
My heartbeat thundered through my entire body as every worst-case scenario ran through my mind.
Last week’s incident had heightened my paranoia, and while I didn’t think a burglar would stop for a Beethoven intermission before they robbed the place, I couldn’t fathom why Asher or Scarlett would be playing music in a half-finished studio either.
I stopped at the door. It was closed, but the music was definitely coming from inside.
You know that saying, curiosity killed the cat? Well, I understood firsthand how that cat felt because instead of minding my own damn business the way I should’ve, I opened the door.
“Jesus!”
“Fuck!”
“Vincent!”
“Have you heard of knocking first?!”
“Why would I knock when this is supposed to be a construction site?” Bile splashed up my throat as Scarlett and Asher jerked away from each other, their faces bright red.
Neither of them was naked, thank God, but they didn’t have to be for me to figure out what they’d been doing. Mussed hair, rumpled clothing, guilty expressions—the implications were clear.
Scarlett was sitting on the barre with her legs wrapped around Asher’s waist, and I needed to find the nearest bottle of bleach to drown myself in.
“No. Nope. Abso-fucking-lutely not.” I turned right around and marched to my room. I didn’t give them a chance to say anything else.
I was an open-minded person. I’d come to terms with my sister dating my teammate and I understood, theoretically, that they engaged in normal couple activities.
But there was no way I could continue to live here after almost walking in on them having sex. I lucked out this time, but the longer I stayed, the greater the chances of me clawing my eyes out.
I needed to find a new place to crash. ASAP.
Three days later
“I’m so freaking excited we’re flatmates now!
” Adil flopped onto the couch next to me with the zeal of a hyperactive golden retriever.
“The captain and the midfielder, living under one roof. It’s going to be a blast. We can read Wilma Pebbles late into the night.
Watch Love Island together. Go for a morning jog at sunrise.
” His face lit up. “We could even have our own reality show! We’ll call it Blackcastle Behind the Scenes: The Lives of Footballers On and Off the Pitch.
” He waved his hand through the air, as if he were presenting an imaginary marquee.
“Love Island isn’t on air right now, and that’s a little long for a show title,” I said dryly, keeping my eyes trained on the TV screen before us.
“Greatness requires more words.” He settled deeper into the couch. “Whatcha watching?”
“New Nate Reynolds.” I was a big fan of Reynolds’s action thrillers. “I think they’re getting to an important part of the plot, so if—”
“Awesome. Is this the one where he tries to stop the cyberterrorists from taking down the US electrical grid?”
I held back a sigh. So much for a quiet evening.
I’d moved into Adil’s house two nights ago, and I was already reaching my limit.
Don’t get me wrong. He was a great guy, and I really appreciated him letting me crash here. He was also the only guy on the team who didn’t live with a partner or have disgusting hygiene habits, which was why I’d turned to him after I bolted out of Scarlett and Asher’s place.
Ideally, I’d suck it up and move back home, but every time I thought about it, my muscles tensed like I was bracing for a punch I couldn’t see coming.
The intruder had done a number on me, and although I hated being ruled by fear, I needed to keep my shit together for the team’s sake.
I couldn’t risk distraction before or during a match, so home was still a no-go.
Unfortunately, while Adil was welcoming, he was also a little too friendly. Not in a creepy way, but in a “we must hang out twenty-four-seven and I’ll talk your ear off every minute” type of way. So far, the only alone time I’d had when I wasn’t sleeping was in the shower.
“That was the previous installment,” I said in response to his question. “Listen, I’m happy to chat later, but I prefer to watch—”
“You know which movie of his is criminally underrated?” Adil bulldozed over my attempt to end the conversation.
It wasn’t malicious, just oblivious. “The Grey Dogs. It’s an indie film, not a big action blockbuster, but I thought it was very heartfelt.
Honestly, he has the range to play different characters—”
“Adil.” I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your enthusiasm regarding Reynolds’s acting career, but let’s pause those thoughts until the movie is over, okay?”
He bobbed his head. “Okay.”
I was blessed with two minutes of peace and quiet (unless you counted the explosions onscreen) before Adil spoke again.
“Dude, how much do you think they spend on special effects for these movies? And do you think Reynolds does his own stunts? I heard he does, which is crazy because what do you mean he really jumped from all those cliffs? I wanted to be an actor for a minute when I was little, but there’s no way…”
I groaned as Adil rambled on about every stunt from Nate Reynolds’s filmography. Thank God the captions were on because I couldn’t hear a word the actors were saying.
I was an extrovert, but I wasn’t extroverted enough to live with Adil.
I needed to find a new place to stay. Again.
Another three days later
The only other teammate I would’ve considered rooming with was Noah Wilson, our goalkeeper. He was clean and quiet, but he also had a preteen daughter. Living with them would’ve been weird, and I doubted he would’ve agreed anyway.
So Noah’s place was out, which left me with no other option but a hotel again. The police didn’t have any leads on the intruder, but the more days that passed, the more tempted I was to move home.
“No way,” Scarlett said firmly when I brought it up over weekend brunch.
“That’s how stalkers and weirdos get you.
They wait until you think the danger has passed, and then bam!
They Tyler Conley you. Next thing you know, you’re bleeding out on the kitchen floor with knife wounds all over your body. ”
Asher and I winced in unison. We were seated in the back of the restaurant with Brooklyn and Scarlett’s other best friend, Carina Vu, who’d been caught up on my intruder situation. Thankfully, no one bothered us beyond a few double takes.
“Someone’s been listening to too much true crime.” I took a sip of coffee. Even though half my family was British, I’d never gotten on the tea train. I was more of an espresso person.
“It’s called true crime for a reason,” Carina said. “Don’t underestimate how fucked up the average person can be.”
“I’m surprised someone’s stalking you to begin with.” Brooklyn gazed at me with innocent doe eyes. “There are so many more interesting celebrities in this restaurant alone.”
Asher coughed out a laugh while I cocked one eyebrow and set my cup down. I leaned in slightly, just enough to make her shift in her seat. “You talk so much shit, yet you’re obsessed with my life. Projecting much?”
“Please. I couldn’t care less about your life.” Her voice was airy, but her gaze dipped to my mouth for a fraction too long before it darted away.
Too late. I caught it. Every damn time, I caught it.
My pulse kicked up a notch. “You care enough to follow my every move during a match.”
“I told you that was for work.” A flush crept up her neck. “Is this what it’s like to have a narcissistic personality? It must be exhausting to make everything about yourself at all times.”
I smirked, knowing exactly how she’d react to the challenge in my voice. Her gaze dropped again to my mouth—right where I wanted it—before she caught herself and glared at me. “Keep deflecting, buttercup,” I drawled. “One day, you’ll admit the truth, and I’ll be right here to accept your apology.”
“Sure,” she said, sweet as pie. “Or maybe the intruder will do us all a favor and take you out before then.”
Surprise flared, and for the second time since the break-in, Brooklyn pulled an unexpected laugh out of me.
Some people might’ve found her statement morbid, but I appreciated her light-hearted roast. I wasn’t good at coping with serious issues in a serious way. It was a character flaw that I should probably work on in therapy, but the world was shitty enough without me adding my woes to it.
The mental spiral I suffered every October third was the most wallowing I allowed myself.