Chapter 16
Security
Aleks
Tsarina told me everything, well, everything except what her father’s health issue was, and I didn’t push; I listened.
When she fell asleep, the game was just ending.
I didn’t pay attention, no notes taken physically or mentally, but I did catch their win.
As she dozed off, on my chest, I sent a text to Costello, securing the room for the week, asking that anyone, no matter the number of zeroes behind their name, steps in here and heads to that room, they are either thrown through the glass from ten stories up, or escorted out.
Costello:
Done.
Me:
Security you trust with your family?
He sent a contact immediately, and I asked the contact to call me tomorrow after eleven AM. I got a thumbs-up response.
I then got a text from his wife.
Drew:
Tell me she’s a keeper.
When I don’t respond, I get another from Costello.
Costello:
Answer my girl so I can get her to bed. We have three kids that will be bouncing off the walls at five AM, and she gave the staff two fucking weeks off.
I send Drew a message.
Me:
She keeps herself very well.
Costello:
Do you love her yes or no? That’s all I require.
Me:
It’s new, but I like her on a level I’ve never reached.
Drew:
Yay!!!!
I don’t wake her when I need to leave because I’ve convinced her it’s okay to take a day to regroup mentally.
I did let my lips brush against hers before I left, a stolen moment I will not feel guilty over, even though I was the one who told her that in a situation like this, there was no other speed than slow.
Don’t get me wrong, I love to fuck, and I’m pretty sure I want inside her more than I want to win the cup, but her trusting me?
Wanting to be held by me? Feeling safe with me?
There is nothing that beats trusting those you care about, and feeling safe, and I know this from experience, and right now, she’s getting hit hard and possibly for the first time, feeling unsafe by those who shouldn’t ever allow her to feel that, sick or not.
I’d take a thousand nights like last night over a million nights of mindless sex any day. I’ll endure it, and I will steal kisses, or almost kisses, whenever I can.
I leave knowing I’ll be back and hoping she will still be here.
When the elevator stops, and Deacon steps in, I brace for an ass chewing. He doesn’t react, and neither do I. I step to the side to give him more room, and the doors close. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he replies, then he finally looks at me. “You wanna tell me she’s crashing at The Bridgeview or?”
I turn and look at him, “You want me to tell you things about her, knowing I should not?”
“I can always assume.”
“Then assume, Moretti, don’t put me in that position.”
“Hard no to when.” He stops.
“When what?”
“She told us last night she had a panic attack.” He turns to face me. “Yet she’s putting more pressure on herself by —”
“Did you watch her at the market yesterday? See her light up? This isn’t added pressure. That’s love for a family and not just the three of you, but all of them. Nalani, Koa, Dash, and Noelle. And you and Claudia are inviting Faulker, Marshell, and sometimes me into it. That’s her happy place.”
“If it’s too much, I need to know.”
“If it were too much, she would step aside just to make sure Savannah and Claudia were safe, and loved the right way, and that’s with you.”
“What can we do to support her?” he asks.
“If she decides I’m not enough, don’t take my side. Have her back.”
“Huh?” he says and turns to walk out of the elevator as the doors open.
“What does huh mean?” I ask following him.
“Don’t put me in that position.”
I shake my head, “Gonna be a bitch of a few days.”
“That a threat?” he asks.
“No, it’s me telling you something, and you being pissed at me for giving you a heads up.”
He plays the conversation over in his head. I see him doing it.
“We’re out of town tomorrow,” he says.
“They get together and watch out-of-town games at Koa and Nalani’s place, yeah?” I ask. He nods. “Tsarina is beating herself up about missing the parade, not seeing Noelle’s new place.”
“They should watch it there?” He asks, tapping something on his phone.
“Might be nice to have a girls’ night. Sleep over.”
“Dash’s mom and sisters are there, right?” he asks.
“I don’t think so, not until the little ones on break.”
“Does she need this for mental health reasons?” He presses.
“She needs her team around her.” I see my vehicle being brought around by the valet, “Just like we do. Need a ride?”
“Got my vehicle, but could always leave it.” He shrugs.
“Let’s roll.”
The drive in is quiet. Deacon’s riding shotgun, scrolling through something on his phone, letting me have the silence.
The song comes on halfway down the West Side Highway. Daylight by David Kushner.
Songs been following me since that night when I noticed her looking at me like women of her social stature do. It’s been slipping into playlists like it knows something I don’t. I turn it up a notch.
The opening notes hum through the car, low and steady, and then the lyrics tell me that I won’t go there…there’s darkness in the distance from the way that I’ve been living.
I swallow, jaw tightening.
The lyrics hit slower, heavier now. About hiding in the dark because it’s easier there. About knowing the light means being seen, really seen, and choosing it anyway. About loving something you don’t know how to keep without ruining.
I think about last night. About her breathing finally evening out as her hair spilled across my chest, how she found me in the middle of the night, and I found her too.
I think about how I didn’t want anything except to stay there with her, how hard it was to leave, the stolen almost kiss, and how this all scares the hell out of me.
The song keeps going.
It talks about guilt. About wanting. About the fear that daylight exposes what the dark lets you pretend isn’t there.
I tighten my grip on the wheel.
This isn’t my kind of preworkout song. I don’t do vulnerable; I do angry because that’s what power and control always felt like, anger. I don’t do hope packaged as melody. I don’t do anything that asks me to look too closely at what I feel and why. It feels like the song is doing that anyway.
Deacon glances over, casual. “You like this one, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
He nods and lets it go. Let’s the silence be what it’s meant to be, reflective.
Me, I let it say the things I’ve not admitted to anyone, and no one has ever pushed to call me out on not being ready to admit any of it out loud. That the dark has always been easier. That the light is where real danger lives.
But something in my chest doesn’t lock back into place the way it’s supposed to.
I know what it feels like to hold someone while they break and not want anything from them except for them to breathe.
I lived that when I was far too young to have played that role.
Might make me a bitch but her leaning into me while Matteo tracked her down, instead of insisting I’m a secret, she defended me?
That was the moment I knew I was fucking cooked.
She wanted me to stay, and when I woke, worried she’d left again, because that’s what I know, and she was there, a part of the damage my mother did, healed, and one day I hope to thank Sofie for that, but not yet.
Not until I know her wanting me is about me and not fear, because when that fear is gone, she could walk, and I would have to let her, because my word is good.
Until then, I hope to heal whatever broke when her mother left her and her father?
I will reserve judgment for now, but sick or not, he will know what it looks like when his daughter is a priority.
Inside the locker room, surrounded by deep red brick walls, I drop my bag, shrug off my coat, and start my routine. Tape. Pads. Gloves lined up the same way they always are. Control what you can. The rest sorts itself out, or it doesn’t, and you deal.
Faulker drops down on the bench next to me and starts his routine. He suspects. He always does. But Faulker doesn’t blow spots. He just files things away for later with smug satisfaction.
Marshall grins like a kid who knows the punchline and is waiting for permission to laugh.
I exhale and decide I’m done with it.
“Okay,” I say, loud enough to cut through the room. “Motherfuckers.”
Heads turn.
“I have a female friend. Not that it’s any of your business. And no, we’re not fucking.”
The room freezes for half a second.
“In case you didn’t notice,” I continue, tugging my jersey over my head, “I still have a shit attitude and don’t like people very much; that has not changed. So, get off my jock.”
Someone whistles. Someone else laughs.
I hone straight in on Leo Stone. He’s already smiling, which is a mistake.
“And you,” I point at him. “Count your blessings, I prefer her company over a cellmate’s, because Fifty Shades is not a good date night movie. I should end you for suggesting it.”
The locker room explodes.
“I’ll die on that cross, Killer, ten out of ten recommend as a movie to watch with your girl.” He says, “Just maybe not on a first date, and definitely not before you’ve sealed the deal.”
Noted.
Dash is bent over laughing. “Did you watch it?”
I shake my head, “She turned on the Detroit game, unprompted, and watched it with me.”
That just makes them louder.
Faulker smirks. “You let her talk, or did you tell her to shut up like you do us?”
I don’t even hesitate. “We talked the whole fucking game. Because she’s got it like that. You fucks don’t.”
That earns a chorus of oooohs, someone banging a stick on the floor, Marshall shaking his head like he just won a bet.
I pull my helmet on, jaw tight, heart steady. I grab my phone one last time and check her location. She’s still there.
“You have her location?” Deacon asks from over my shoulder, startling me.
“Damn right I do.” I sure as hell don’t tell him how I got it.
He nods approvingly, “Okay.”