Chapter 9
Nine
Sawyer
“Yo, Cupcake!”
I jerk, nearly brain myself on the steering wheel and look out the window…
And realize I’m fucked.
By the looks of it, half my team—and their women—are standing outside my car, peering in through the glass…where I was sleeping outside Lainey’s house.
Shit.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Get your ass out here!” Smitty booms.
Mistakes were made last night after I took care of my mom. When I Ubered home after dropping off Lainey’s car here, I should have stayed home.
Instead, I kept thinking about the fear in Lainey’s eyes as I reached for the door handle…and the mania in the man’s from the parking lot.
And somehow, instead of going home, I drove back here.
And stayed here.
Instead of doing the sensible thing like letting Gray and Faye know what happened and—
“Cupcake!”
I set the contract I was reviewing before I passed out aside, ignoring the fact that it’s wrinkled and smeared with ink from my notes.
Could I do this digitally?
Yup.
Does it help my brain to do it physically?
Also yup.
Am I going to get out of this embarrassing as fuck moment?
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
Groaning, I unlock the doors and shove my stiff ass body out of my car.
I’m getting too damned old to do shit like this, give me my foam-core mattress any day of the week.
Gritting my teeth, I shut the door and face my teammates and their women.
Silence greets me.
And judgmental eyes.
Ignoring them—or maybe it’s that my gaze is drawn by its own volition up and over their scowling faces…to the front door of Lainey’s house.
No.
To Lainey standing in the open front door.
Christ, she probably thinks I’m a freak, worse than the man who attacked her, worse than the husband of hers who brings so many complicated, taut feelings into her expression when she speaks of him—
“Explain yourself,” Smitty demands and I jerk my gaze back.
They’re all still glaring.
Maybe even more so now.
My insides twist and it fucking burns to see the accusations in their eyes, to realize they think so little of me.
Gray’s words from yesterday. The judgment right in this moment. All the things I’m trying to do right and keep afloat and they still think that I’m just some asshole looking for pussy—
I clench my hands into fists, blurt out, “Lainey was attacked last night.”
Smitty was already opening his mouth, probably to yell at me for not explaining myself but my words have him freezing, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he asks icily, “Excuse me?”
“Outside the bookstore after Faye’s signing—“
Faye gasps.
Gray draws her close with an arm around her waist. “It’s okay, Red.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not,” she whispers and pulls away, hurrying over to Lainey, who’s making her way down the front walk to greet Ollie and Alex, freshly returned from the sleepover at Veronica’s house.
“I need to see if she’s okay,” Harper says softly.
Leo nods, watches her make her way over to the group of women, Bri trailing her, then turns back to me, his expression murderous.
But it’s Ryan who asks, “What the fuck happened?”
Aiden’s expression is furious as he steps closer, Rip at his side.
I recount what happened. “She was freaked out last night,” I finish, “but told me to go, so I did. I just…decided to keep watch from my car.”
Gray shoots me a look that sees far too much, but I ignore it.
Ignore him as he opens his mouth.
“Saw-yur!”
Saved by the bell.
I turn and see Ollie, his hair adorably rumpled and still in his pajamas, running over.
I probably look the same, down to the dried drool on my cheek.
I swipe at it as Ollie’s little legs carry him to me. “I had a sleepover with Alex!” he announces as he skids to a halt.
“I heard,” I tell him, ruffling his hair. “Did you have fun?”
A solemn nod. “Alex has really cool toys.”
I stifle a laugh then sense movement, glancing up and—
Any laughter stoppers up in the back of my throat.
Because Lainey is standing just a few feet away.
And she looks pissed.
Fuck.
I open my mouth to explain—
“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asks frostily.
Ollie’s and my eyes connect, and I know he picks up on her tone too because his expression tells me I’m fucked.
“Sure,” I say easily even though my stomach clenches.
Ollie runs over to Leo, starts talking my teammate’s ear off. I straighten and follow Lainey back toward the house…and then inside it.
“Pages—” I begin.
She whips around and I clamp my mouth closed.
Right. No talking then.
A glare before she turns away, her curls bouncing as she marches down the hall and into a room.
No. Into her office.
I follow her in and she shuts the door and then…
I’m in a space that’s wholly Lainey. Normally, I have a hard time taking my gaze from the woman standing in front of me. But the chance to be in here, the opportunity to know her this way…it’s so completely different from what I might have expected.
A bulletin board takes up most of one wall, dotted with playbills of musicals and scraps of different sizes and colors of paper, all pinned in what appears to be haphazard order—some are scrawled with notes, some are just pictures, some appear to be maps.
Built-in bookshelves take up the other two walls, their colorful spines an eclectic artwork.
A comfy armchair is tucked into a corner, offering a place to curl up and read a good book.
Lainey marches in front of me, cutting off my gaze of her desk, equally messy and scattered with papers, stacked with books, with receipts and water bottles and a bag of half-eaten cheddar and sour cream chips.
She glares at me, her chest rising and falling on a breath. Then another.
Then one more.
Finally, she opens her mouth. “What the hell do you think you were doing?”
“Your office is messy.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens again. “Excuse me?”
“Your office”—I sweep my hand out at the room—“it’s messy. The rest of your house is so clean, I just thought…”
She shakes her head. “What?” Another shake. “No, that doesn’t matter.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You told everyone about what happened yesterday?”
“Were you going to try to keep it a secret?”
She scowls. “That’s not the point. Faye’s upset and blaming herself, and it’s not her fault.”
“You’re right. It’s the asshole who assaulted you’s fault.”
Her eyes were flashing, her mouth open, ready to retort, but my words have her freezing. “Wh-what?”
“What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Something flashes across her deep brown eyes. “Yes, of course I do.”
“So…”
“It wasn’t your story to share.”
I want to remind her I was there, I was part of it, that it was my fist plowing into the fucker’s face, but I stop before the words come out, stop because I catch something in those gorgeous eyes of hers.
“I’m sorry.”
She blinks, her arms falling to her sides. “What?”
“You’re right. I should have let you tell everyone.”
Another blink.
Another blip of befuddlement.
And maybe now that she no longer looks like she wants to stab me with a pen, I should slip out, should go home, get some real sleep.
But…
I can’t make my feet take me to the door, can’t make myself turn and leave.
Instead, I shift closer and inhale the scent of her shampoo.
“Tell me about your book?”
Her lips part, eyes widening, and fuck me, but I need to kiss her.