Chapter 32
thirty-two
I stretch my calves and ready myself for the next pass. Focused, I sprint down the sideline and trap the ball clean off my foot. Our forward breaks ahead, and I send it up to her. She bobbles, then recovers before the defense can close in. My heart stutters as she takes the shot.
The keeper launches for the top corner—and misses.
“Score!”
My team rushes to the center in victory, all smiles and shining eyes.
“That was clean, Scoutie!” A few of the women slap me on the back with kudos for a job well done.
I scan for Apollo on the opposite sideline. He looks just as thrilled as I feel inside, and I scamper over to him, letting my hips wag dramatically in a victory dance.
His thick arm hooks around my neck, hauling me into his chest. Pressing a kiss to my head, he then scrubs the same spot with his knuckles.
I laugh as I squirm out of his grasp and shove him back. “Hey!”
“Look at you, Maverick!” He brushes some of my loose hair from my ponytail off my forehead.
Grinning, I grab my water bottle from the bench and squirt a big drink. “Did you see me?”
He chuckles like what I said is ridiculous. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.” His gaze drags down my body, then back up. My thighs quiver.
“No?”
“No. Other than clocking your weak right side? I was thinking about taking you home…helping you stretch it out.”
I smack his arm. “My right side is not weak.”
He smirks. “Hmm. I don’t know. I think if I put your ankles by your ears, you’d improve real fast.”
I mock a gasp. “Are you flirting with me, Apollo Griffin?”
Leaning over, his voice tingles against my ear. “No. If I were flirting, I’d tell you I can’t wait to get my lips on yours the second my game ends.”
My breath gets caught in my chest. “You can kiss me here,” I whisper.
He straightens up and slides his tongue over his teeth. Shaking his head, he murmurs, “I didn’t mean those lips.”
Now, I feel the heat so strongly, my insides shake. I swat my towel against his chest. “Get to your game, stallion. I’ll be waiting at home for you.”
He bites his lip, preventing a large smile from taking over his face. “Stallion?”
I blush insanely hot. It slipped out, and I know it’s too late to take it back.
With a hitch in his step, he jogs backward toward his field. After snapping his fingers, he points at me. “I love that.”
I’m smiling like I can’t stop as I head to the locker rooms. But feel so intensely out of my zone. Flirting? Like I’m in eighth grade?
He’s my husband. Not some guy I’m supposed to be nervous around.
Even as I cringe at myself, my mind drifts to everything we could do when he gets home. It’s such a shame the boys don’t play until late, though.
Maybe I could try to cook him dinner for once.
Other than frozen pizza, and perhaps now a quiche, I don’t know how to make much. I could make spaghetti. That’s easy enough.
Bag over my shoulder, I wander toward the south of campus. My phone blares a ring, and I answer the call.
“Hi!” I tell Evie.
“Hello, my beautiful tulip flower. Can I call you that even if your husband does? I think it’s so perfect for you. Only blooms for a second. Otherwise, it’s too cold to show its colors. But I get to see that day. I can see it.”
I snort a laugh. “Are you high?”
“A little, why?”
“No reason. What’s up?” I step over a crack in the sidewalk and make sure to scan my surroundings, but there’s no one out of place nearby.
“Just checking how you are. And how the protection duty is going. If you need me for anything. Basically, what I am saying, Scoutie, is that you’re my close friend, and I want to make sure you’re okay. Are you okay?”
I think about the car situation on Monday night. Apollo’s brothers had it towed to their garage today, which makes me feel only slightly better. Having Apollo near is the biggest comfort, however. The gun in our bedroom still freaks me out.
“Apollo’s going to take me to the gun range this weekend.”
“I’m liking this guy more and more.”
“I assume you know how to use weapons, then? It wasn’t just for show, right?
” I ask, needing that reassurance. But I don’t want to know too much detail about Evie Lynx’s life.
I’ve heard rumors. That her family has been in hiding for years.
That perhaps her birth father was a sex trafficker.
She and her mother and brother had to live in utter privacy.
It seems like a mess to get into, and I’ve got too many of my own to deal with.
“My darling? I was born with a bullet in my hand and a blade at my throat.”
Something about that, about having her loyalty for no reason, makes me feel relieved. “You’re something else, Evie.”
“I am. And I’ll tell you what, Scout. I’m also there for you, if you need me. But not right at this moment because I’m busy. Bye—”
The end of the conversation is cut short as she hangs up with a hushed breath.
By the time I’m home, the winter light fades from purple to black. I shiver and hurry inside, then check all the locks.
Carefully, I search every room. Even the closet in our bedroom, holding a candlestick like it could protect me from Ayan if he decided to break in.
But I’m safe. I’m okay.
And I feel good that I was able to come to my own home, scope it out, and be comforted here.
I undress and smile, looking forward to a steamy shower. Midway through washing my hair, I pause.
Was that a noise?
I wait. Listening. Imagining sounds that aren’t there until I force myself to move.
Firm grip on the white curtain, I rip back and stick my head out, listening for another bump. Nothing.
Maybe it was the upstairs neighbor.
Shrugging, I continue rinsing and shaving. But it happens again.
A soft shift.
Not upstairs.
Inside.
“Apollo?”
The only answer is silence.
Hurriedly, I get out and dry off, then press my ear to the bathroom door. My breathing is ragged. Too loud. So is my heartbeat.
But there’s no other sound.
I lather on my body oil and get dressed in our bedroom, sliding my feet into my cozy orange slippers. The fabric is too soft for how hard my pulse is hitting.
With a sweaty palm, I nudge open the door to the living room. It’s still. Glancing at every corner, I hold my blinks, scanning for movement. There’s no shadow. No scary boogie man lurking for me.
I need to calm down.
As I pull out the pasta, a thud vibrates the ceiling. Loud voices chat in muffled waves above me. “So very neighborly,” I grit out. But it’s almost comforting to know that’s probably what I was hearing earlier.
I flip on the TV, so I don’t hear them, and boil a pot of water.
From the pantry, I pull out some homemade marinara.
Apparently, the store-bought stuff is “fake and disgusting.” So Apollo brought over jars of his mother’s sauce.
When I pop the lid and get a whiff of the oregano, thyme, and other spices, I silently treasure my husband’s good taste.
Across from the kitchen, the bedroom door ever so slowly creaks open. The sound is slight. Too normal. I freeze. Spoon in hand. My eyes flick to my phone on the counter. Three feet away.
No. I don’t need to call Apollo right now. He’ll just worry. And I’m freaking myself out. Perhaps it was the heater kicking on that made it move…
My eyes flash to the guest bedroom down the hall. The one that’s empty. And I didn’t check when I got home.
As if someone may hear me, I creep toward it, utensil raised like a sword. At the door, I pause and listen. It’s ajar, but I don’t know if we left it that way. I thought it was open. Or maybe closed. It being cracked only adds to my discomfort.
I stand there for too long.
Long enough to picture someone breathing on the other side.
With a feral yell, I kick the door in and ready my muscles to fight. I flick on the light in a hurry, but there’s no one there.
Across the room, the closet door stands shut. Solid. And final. But I have to check.
Fear transforms into fury that someone thinks they could mess with me this much and get away with it. I march to the door and fling it open, but it’s empty.
Frustrated, I flip around and head back down the hall. I’m utterly overreacting. I’m not used to these sounds around here.
Though…maybe I should text Apollo and see if his game is already over.
Back in the kitchen, I turn the corner, hand reaching for my phone.
But stop.
The scream rips out of me before I can register what I’m seeing.
My phone is gone.
In its place?
Something pink.
And shiny.
A lollipop.
Taunting me with its childish gentleness.
It’s plastic wrapper. It’s innocence.
I hate it.
Whipping toward the counter, I grab a chef’s knife and slash around in a circle through the air. Hitting nothing. Proving nothing.
Tears spill over my cheeks that I quickly blink away.
“Why are you doing this?” I scream.
I need to make it to the gun. I don’t know if it’s loaded, or if I know what to do. But I can pull a trigger.
Like something could grab my feet, I sprint across the little hall into our room and pause at my side of the bed.
The nightstand drawer is open. I don’t remember leaving it open.
The gun is gone.
But my phone lies on top. And it’s ringing.
“Apollo?” I grab it and hold it up, knife still in front of my chest.
“Hey, tulip! I’m almost done here, but do you want me to grab—”
“Get home. Now.” I drag in a breath, choking on the next words.
“What’s—”
“There’s someone in the apartment.”