Rough Ride

by Breezie Bennett

  “He what?”

  I’ll take that as a no.

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Kendall. He couldn’t have sold it. He was totally stoked about the whole thing. It was the most excited about anything besides football I can ever remember him being.”

  That comment just makes me want to sob even harder. “Yeah, I thought so, too. But it turns out you were right. All that stuff you said to me at the bar…I should have listened more. He obviously cannot handle even the slightest idea of permanence.”

  “Shit, Ken. I didn’t want to be right.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “And when he told me how he actually felt about you, I really thought you guys were…different. I’ve definitely never heard him talk about any girl that way before.” He releases a deep sigh. He seems more disappointed than anything. That’s how I feel, too. Disappointed.

  “Well…it must have meant a lot less than he made you believe. Than he made both of us believe.” I switch my phone to the other ear and take a slow, shaky breath.

  “I’m gonna call him and see what the fuck is going on.” Anger rises in Wyatt’s voice now. “He can’t just do this to you. It’s fucked up.”

  “No, no,” I say quickly. “Don’t call him. I don’t want him to know how upset I am.”

  “Well, he needs to! That’s bullshit, Kendall. And you know it.”

  “I know, I know. But this is between Andre and me. And I know that you’re his best friend, and I get that, but the house and the relationship…or whatever it was…” My eyes burn. “It was between us. So I’d really rather handle it on my own.”

  Wyatt groans and takes a deep breath. “You know this is killing me, right? Knowing you’re so hurt by someone who freaking swore to me he wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Just give me some time.”

  “All right, Kendall.” His voice crackles on the other end of the call. “But you have to promise me you’ll actually talk to him. He needs to know how hurt you are.”

  “I’m going to talk to him.” Even though the thought of even hearing his voice makes me want to melt into a puddle.

  “And hey, who knows? Maybe there’s a totally legit explanation.”

  I wish that statement brought me more hope than it does. Houses don’t randomly just decide to put themselves on the market. “Maybe,” I say quietly.

  “Okay, sis. Keep me in the loop, and I’m here if you want me to talk to him. Or anything. Just let me know.”

  Something that remotely resembles a smile pulls a little at my cheeks. “Thanks, Wyatt. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I drop my phone into my purse and tighten my ponytail. I’m not ready to talk to him. Besides, he’s at the gym or practice or something.

  I need to get away from this house. Suddenly, the chorus of happy memories that surrounds it has become a painful dark cloud. The home I considered my pride and joy now just looks like heartbreak.

  Twenty-six

  Andre

  “We’re looking right at one hell of a season, guys.” Coach Watson crosses his arms as his voice booms through the locker room after practice. “I don’t want to hear anyone bitching and moaning that our ‘star’ quarterback is out for the remainder of the season.”

  I glance back at Chase, watching his eyes flash with darkness. He straightens his back. “There’s no such thing as a star,” he says steadily. “There’s just hard work. And every single one of you better work your asses off while I ride the bench the rest of the year.”

  Some guys shove him and give him high fives, and Matt McKenzie swallows and clenches his jaw.

  I shake out my sweaty hair and try to focus on practice and the team and the game we have coming up this weekend. Shit, who are we playing again? I don’t care. We’ll whup them. I feel completely unstoppable right now, and I know exactly why.

  The same reason I’m not-so-patiently waiting for this pep talk to end so I can finally check my phone and get home and see her tonight.

  My mind is totally and completely consumed by sandy-blond hair and sparkling blue eyes and that goddamn magical fucking laugh she does. I don’t give a shit if we’ve spent every night this week together. I want to spend every night this month together. Fuck, this year.

  All I know is I’m playing at the top of my game, and I feel like I’m on cloud freaking nine. Whatever is going on between us, it’s working. And I really don’t want it to end.

  “All right.” Coach clasps his hands together. “Carbs. Protein. Sleep,” he barks. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  Thank God.

  I open my locker and dig through my duffel bag for my phone, hoping Kendall’s done with work and can meet me at my house as soon as I get home. I’m so damn eager to see her all the time. I’m like a fucking teenager, and I don’t even care.

  I click the phone screen on, and it lights up with five missed-call notifications—but they’re not from Kendall.

  They’re from…my agent? Accompanied with a text that says:

  CALL ME ASAP, SMOKE.

  I raise my brows and suck in a breath. My agent wouldn’t call me five times unless something was majorly urgent.

  Well, whatever this is, I better deal with it before I can chill with Kendall. Honestly, I’m kinda worried.

  As I take off my practice jersey and pack up all my shit, my brain starts sifting through possibilities of what could have happened. Some kind of scandal or media issue?

  I glance over at Leo Sterling, remembering how a night at a strip club almost destroyed his entire career. I haven’t been to any strip clubs recently, so that’s good, I guess.

  “Yo, man. What’s the big rush?” Dylan stops me as I’m swinging my locker shut and heading down the hall.

  “No rush, just got some shit to do at home.” I lift my shoulder.

  He raises his brows and smirks. “Ah. It’s Kendall, isn’t it? You don’t have shit you need to do. You have a chick in your bed you need to do.”

  Kendall in my bed when I get home. That’d be a fucking treat.

  “Ha-ha.” I wave him off. “Nah, I just gotta run. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”

  I say a few quick “peace outs” and walk out of the locker room and into the parking garage, still staring at my phone. Concern is rising in my chest by the second, so I take a deep breath and remind myself that my career is completely safe. They sent me here to be the Riders’ saving grace. No one’s gonna mess with me.

  I click on my agent’s number and feel my heart rate spike as it starts to ring.

  “Smoke, thank fuck. Where have you been?”

  I roll my eyes. “Uh, practice? Being a pro athlete requires a little of that.”

  “Whatever.” He sounds short and nervous and pissed off. Great.

  “What’s going on? Did I screw up? Because I really don’t recall screwing up…”

  “No, you didn’t. Your reputation and record are as clean as a damn whistle.”

  I puff out a sigh of relief and feel a relaxed smile come over my face. “Then what’s with the heart attack, man?”

  “All right,” he says slowly. “You know how you told me you didn’t give a shit about your house, like, at all?”

  “My house?” I frown and draw back in surprise, still sitting in my car in the garage. That was pretty much the last thing I expected this phone call to be about. “I mean, yeah. I told you to just pick one with a water view. It ended up being dope, though, with the whole upgrade project. I told you about all that, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. You did. The thing is, you said whatever house you ended up buying would have no actual, real significance to you, and you handed the reins of that whole ordeal to me.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering why every sports agent is such a fan of beating around the bush. “Yeah, John. I remember.”

  “Well, when you got your house all renovated and redesigned and filmed to potentially be featured on a major TV network, it got some attention…” His voice trails off.
/>
  I cock my head, still as confused as I was when we started this frustrating conversation. “That’s great. Can you get to the point?”

  I have an incredible woman I need to see and bang and hang out with all night.

  “After word got out about your house, and footage of the finished product got around, I received an offer for it. A fat one. Since the house was purchased by your LLC, not you as a person, all the negotiating came to me.”

  I feel the world practically shift under me. “An…offer? What negotiating? What the fuck are you telling me right now?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Smoke.” He’s getting defensive. I hate it when he gets defensive. “You made it insanely crystal clear that you did not give a single shit what happened with this house, and I saw an opportunity to make over four million dollars! I run the LLC, and so I—”

  I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. “You what, John?”

  “I sold it for ten-point-two million. But it doesn’t matter! I can find you another great house and get it purchased in a heartbeat. The resale on this was too good to pass up. It was a private buyer. You can’t tell me now that you actually care about the house. You didn’t even want it in the first place!”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  Before I fell in love with that house and the woman who made it a home.

  Words get caught in my tightening throat. “You didn’t think…” I pause and take a deep breath, trying to calm the mix of shock and anger. “Of possibly running this by me? The dude who lives in the house?”

  “Yes. Obviously, I wanted to. But the buyers wanted to move at warp speed, and I figured you wouldn’t give a shit as long as I find you another house. Which, obviously, I can. I signed all the papers as a manager of AS, LLC. So what’s the problem? You’ve been living there for just over a month. Don’t get all Wizard of Oz ‘there’s no place like home’ on me.”

  I run my hand through my hair and pull hard, knowing full well that he’s kinda right. A month ago, I couldn’t have cared less if he sold my house. Money wise, it makes sense. How would he have known how important it’s become to me?

  “Hey.” My agent’s voice breaks the silence. “Think of it this way. You wanted to help out that designer chick. I mean, that’s why you gave her the house to work on in the first place. Well, she must be stoked right now. I’m pretty sure she gets some kind of cut of it. Plus, that looks good for her. See? Everybody wins.”

  “Wait a second…” My brain starts to process what the fuck he just said as I look straight ahead at the concrete wall of the garage and realize I haven’t heard a word from Kendall all day. “She already knows?”

  “Oh, I mean, I’m sure she does,” he says, so nonchalant I want to deck him. “It’s her project. I bet she got notified or something. Besides, I think the owner was headed over there today after we got everything signed. So, if she was at the house, they probably met.”

  “Shit,” I say through gritted teeth, throwing the gearshift into reverse and speeding out of the garage.

  “See? It’s all good.” My painfully and obnoxiously unaware agent’s voice is grinding on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

  “I have to go.” I hang up without another word and instantly call Kendall.

  Straight to voicemail.

  Disappointment and worry rip through me as I speed down the highway to get home, my mind racing with thoughts and questions.

  Maybe she hasn’t found out. Maybe she didn’t end up going to the house today to do something with sticky notes, like she said she would. Maybe I can tell her myself and explain to her that it wasn’t at all my doing, and I didn’t casually and carelessly sell the house she poured her heart and fucking soul into making absolutely perfect for me.

  I click the call button one more time…

  Voicemail again.

  I curse under my breath and shake my head. That house means everything to Kendall. Nothing could ever replace it.

  I set my phone on the passenger’s seat as an icy disappointment curls down my spine. Something tells me she already knows, and it’s already over.

  Twenty-seven

  Kendall

  “I’m putting you away,” I whisper to my phone like a mental patient as I drop it into the drawer of my nightstand and slide it shut.

  I turned my phone off as soon as I got home from work, and I’m telling myself it’s because I don’t want to deal with my brother calling or Desta begging me to talk to her, but it’s mostly because I know Andre’s going to call.

  He’s going to call and ask me to come over tonight and act like nothing happened and like he’s not a total freaking liar. And I, of course, would have to confront him about the house and the papers and the terrifying woman in the entryway, and frankly, I just want to curl up and cry tonight.

  I don’t have to hear some bullshit explanation about how “home isn’t real” and “it’s just a building,” or whatever else he thinks about that beautiful house I made for him, to know that he isn’t even remotely who I thought he was. Hearing it from his mouth would just be salt in the wound, and I’m not ready.

  I take a slow, deep, somewhat steadying breath as I sit on the edge of my bed and pick a rogue thread from a throw pillow.

  “No,” I say to myself. “I am not going to sit here and wallow.”

  I stand up abruptly and smooth out the quilt where I was sitting. I need to distract myself and feel better and be in charge of something I can fully control.

  I know. I’ll clean.

  The phone stays off and put away as I roll out my vacuum, convincing myself that cleanliness just has to bring happiness, that’s a simple truth.

  First, I’ll vacuum, then I’ll do the kitchen and bathrooms, and maybe I’ll even clean out that linen closet. I’m sure there are things I can get rid of.

  I force myself to focus, resenting the pesky stinging in my eyes as I unroll the vacuum cord.

  Suddenly, a harsh sound startles me, and I realize someone just knocked on my door.

  My heart practically does a front flip as I slowly twirl the cord up around the vacuum handle and walk to the front door.

  It can’t be him…can it?

  My body and brain can’t decide if they’re feeling anger, excitement, or flat-out anxiety. Why is he here? What is he going to say? What am I going to say?

  I fix my hair quickly and grab the door handle, swinging it open and preparing to channel my strongest self, even though I’ve never felt weaker.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t let you be alone after I saw your text.” Desta’s giant brown eyes twinkle with empathy.

  Oh yeah. I forgot I texted her a paragraph about what happened in a flurry of panic and hurt and emotion.

  A wave crashes over my body, somewhere between relief and disappointment. “Hi.” I hold my arms out and sink into my best friend. “Don’t apologize. Come in.”

  I shut the door behind her as she walks in, and I find that I’m really, really happy she’s here.

  “Oh no, Ken.” She turns to me and glares. “Not the vacuum.”

  I hold my hands up defensively. “What? The floors needed a cleaning.”

  She gazes across my living room and kitchen, where the floors are, admittedly, spotless, and looks back at me, crossing her arms slowly. “Yeah. They’re filthy.”

  I purse my lips and walk over to the couch, slumping into a fuzzy throw blanket.

  “Have you talked to him?” She sits next to me, curling her legs underneath her and hugging a pillow to her belly.

  I keep my gaze fixed on the floor. “No. Not yet. I turned my phone off.”

  “You what?” She elbows me lightly. “Kendall! He’s probably calling you as we speak. Are you crazy? Don’t you want to hear his explanation?”

  I shrug and puff out a breath. “He sold the house, Des. His explanation doesn’t matter. Everything Wyatt said about Andre being flighty and noncommittal and te
mporary was true. With the house and with me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. My brother knows him better than anybody. I just should have listened when he warned me.”

  “No, no, no!” She shakes my shoulders. “You and Smoke have something real. Call him, Kendall.”

  I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them, letting a tear fall down my cheek. “His initials were on the contract. Him. He signed it, Desta.”

  Everything in me wants this not to be real.

  But it is real. And wow, it hurts.

  Twenty-eight

  Andre

  Here I am, running on the damn beach again. And this time, it’s not because I’m all jittery and hyped up about Kendall. It’s because I need to figure out how to fix this.

  It’s barely sunrise, and I didn’t sleep for a second all night. My calls are still going straight to voicemail. I have no idea where she lives, but I could have gotten her address from Wyatt.

  But something stopped me last night. She ghosted me, without a chance to explain and that pissed me off. But now, I know I need to do something. I need to step up and figure this out, because she’s worth it. She’s worth everything.

  I’m in love with her, and I have to get her back. I just wish she’d answer her freaking phone. But I get it. After all that shit I said about not caring about houses and not wanting to put down roots and whatever defensive garbage I told her, she has every right to ghost me.

  I dig my feet into the soft sand and listen to the waves crash over and over, thinking about the first night we were here together when we walked down to the beach. Letting down walls I didn’t even know I had in that secret room. Watching her open up and let go of control and trust me.

  When my lungs are burning so bad I can’t physically run anymore, I sit down on the sand, leaning back on my palms and trying to catch my breath. I pull out my phone for the thousandth time in the past twelve hours only to find an empty lock screen.

  I think for a second about calling Wyatt, but quickly toss that idea out to the ocean when I realize that she probably already told him, and he’s probably just as pissed at me as she is.