by Lexi Ryan
I drain the glass against the protests of my stomach, and I swear I’m in that horrible drunken limbo where I’m still not sober but the hangover has already started, that half-conscious land of nausea and sleep as Coach leads me up the stairs, down a hall, and to a bed. The world goes black.
Five a.m.
I wake with a start. I’m gonna hurl.
I roll over, trying to bury the pain in my head into the pillow, and realize I’m sharing a bed with Coach’s daughter. Trish. She must have come in here and climbed in beside me after I passed out.
She’s asleep and huddled under the covers. She draws up a knee, and her toes skim my calf.
More memories from last night flash through my mind—Trish laughing with me. Dancing. Licking tequila off her cleavage. The images are bright and loud against my headache, and I just want them to go away.
“Dad’s here.” Her whisper, hot and suggestive against my ear. “I promised him I’d be home for the ball drop, but I’ll be in my bed after that. I’d rather not be alone.”
I hear something and realize it was my phone that woke me. I pull it from my jeans and blink at the screen.
Mia Mendez.
Beside me, Trish mumbles something in her sleep. Mia’s calling me, and Trish is curled against my side.
I decline the call with a swipe of my finger and silence the phone before closing my eyes and letting sleep pull me under again.
Six a.m.
Trish clings to me in her sleep, her hand wrapped around my arm.
I hear people talking downstairs, then the sound of footsteps up the stairs and coming down the hall.
The bedroom door opens slowly, and Chris walks through, wincing when his eyes land on me. “I thought you might be here.” His eyes flick to Trish and back to me, and he shakes his head.
“How’d you know?”
“Pictures on Facebook of you two all over each other.”
Facebook. Which means everyone’s going to know I spent my night with Trish. Mia’s going to know.
I expect a lecture, or at the very least that look of disappointment Chris has mastered so well. He finds my shoes on the floor and tosses them onto my chest.
“Come on. We’ve gotta go.”
I sit up and wince when the movement sends pain jackhammering through my head. “Where?”
“To the hospital.” His eyes scan my face, and even hungover and miserable, I recognize the grief in his eyes. “There was an accident.”
My gut lurches. “Mia?”
“Brogan.” He swallows and shifts his eyes to the wall. “It’s not good.”
I hop out of bed and slide on my shoes. This doesn’t feel real and I’m not sure it is, but I follow Chris wordlessly to the door.
Trish rolls over in bed. “Arrow? Where are you going?”
“He’ll call you,” Chris says. “Come on.”
My feet aren’t steady under me. My brain is a bunch of floating pieces in my skull. With every step down the stairs, I almost anticipate the floor falling out from under me. I’ll fall and then I’ll wake up.
Brogan. It’s not good.
We hit the base of the stairs, and I turn instinctively toward the TV. Coach is on the couch, staring at the screen, transfixed.
“One man dead and another critically injured this morning after a hit-and-run accident on Deadman’s Curve.”
I turn to Chris, and he nods. “Dead?” I ask.
“Mia’s brother didn’t make it,” he whispers. “Brogan . . . we don’t know about Brogan yet.”
Coach turns away from the TV and his eyes lock on mine like he’s trying to tell me something.
“Sorry about showing up at your door at this hour, sir,” Chris says, his Texas accent thicker this morning. It does that when he’s tired.
Coach inclines his chin. “Arrow will meet you outside, son. I need to talk to him for a minute.”
Chris cuts his eyes to me.
“I’ll only be a sec,” I promise.
He nods and closes the door behind him as he leaves.
“Police are investigating, trying to find the owner of the dark SUV responsible for the accident,” the woman on the TV says. “If you know anyone, please call the anonymous tip line listed on the bottom of your screen.”
Coach stands in front of me, and I get that out-of-body feeling again. Like nothing is happening as it should and everything is fragmented. “You got here before midnight, and you snuck into Trish’s room.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“If anyone asks. You got here before midnight and snuck into Trish’s room to be with her.”
“How did I get here?”
“You drove.”
“The police will arrive any minute. I hit a deer at the end of the drive this morning.” He shakes his head. “Stupid, really, but I was distracted because I saw your Mustang in the driveway and I knew you were with my daughter. Just went out for a drive to clear my head, and the stupid deer ran in front of me.”
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I have to find someone who can drive the Cherokee back to your dad’s.”
Trish grinning against my mouth. “And then you know where to find me.”
Trish pressing her lips to my cheek, lifting her phone, and snapping another picture.
The ground shifts under me. “Coach?”
“Tell me you understand.”
I shake my head. “What happened?”
“You’re a good kid.” His eyes fill with tears, and I’ve never seen him like this. Not when I took our team to the state championships. Not when his wife died. Never. This is a man who doesn’t cry. “Everyone makes mistakes, and I won’t let this one destroy your life. Let me fix it.”
Out front, I hear the pop of gravel spitting out from under tires.
“If I—” I try to swallow, but I can’t. There’s too much fear in my throat. Too much confusion and horror.
“No, Arrow. It’s done. It’s taken care of.”
Footfalls sound on the front porch, and then three sharp knocks at the door.
Coach swipes at his eyes. “It’s done. Go to the hospital. Brogan needs you.” He crosses to the door and pulls it open. “Thanks for coming out,” he tells the officer. “Just saw on the news what happened last night.”
The officer waves a hand. “Not much we can do about that.”
“You know what Mendez was like,” Coach says. “Makes you wonder if it wasn’t just a matter of time before one of his rivals took him out.”
“Just too bad Barrett had to be collateral damage.” The officer shakes his head somberly. “Where’s the deer?”
“Put her in the garage. Hope you don’t mind. She’s a beaut. Hate for her to go to waste.” With one final look at me over his shoulder, Coach leaves, taking the officer to the garage.
When I find my way to Chris’s car, my insides are trembling and I can’t make them stop. I’m so afraid the truth is written all over my face and Chris will know, but he’s in his own world.
I pull my phone from my pocket and see a dozen missed calls and texts. I punch the number for my voicemail and hold the phone to my ear.
She’s crying. “Arrow, it’s Mia. Something terrible happened. Brogan. My br-br-br— We’re at the hospital. So sorry. So, so sorry.”
“Oh, shit. Pull over.”
Chris yanks his car to the shoulder, and I barely get the door open before I heave the contents of my stomach onto the ice-glazed grass.
When we get to the hospital, half the team and dozens of our friends fill the waiting room, but my eyes instantly pick Mia out of the crowd of faces. Her white dress is stained with blood and her face is pale.
“How did I get here?”
“You drove.”
Her eyes lock on mine, and I want to cut myself open right there. Spill my guts onto the floor so I don’t have to live with this pain and horror and ache inside me. Her brother is dead. Brogan might die.
“Everyone makes mistakes, an
d I won’t let this one destroy your life.”
I look away, find a seat, drop my head, and try to pray that this nightmare will end.
May, four months after the accident, the day after Brogan’s funeral
My first thought when I wake up to a gun in my face is that the police have come and they’re here to finally arrest me for what I did.
My second thought is that I never locked the door or activated the alarm last night. I was on my way down to do it when I came into Mia’s room.
“Get the fuck away from my daughter.”
The gun shakes. It’s no more than an inch, maybe two, from my face, but I can’t bring myself to confirm that it’s Mia’s father on the other end. I can’t get my eyes off the barrel of the gun that is way too fucking close to Mia’s head.
Slowly, I release her, sit up in bed, and raise my hands, never taking my eyes from the barrel of the gun.
“Daddy?” Mia sits up beside me. “Daddy, put that down!”
“They told me—down at the bar—they told me my daughter was living with the Woodisons. They told me, and I told them they were fucking liars.”
“Daddy, put the gun down.”
“He took my daughter. He took my daughter from me and made her into a liar. You said you were living with Bailey.”
I stand, keeping my hands raised by my head, palms out. I have the distant thought that I’m glad we put on clothes before we fell asleep, minimal as they are. Mia’s in a T-shirt, and I’m in my boxer briefs. “Mr. Mendez, this is between you and me. Let’s go downstairs. We’ll make some coffee.”
His hand shakes harder, and the scent of whiskey is so potent it rolls off him. “I don’t want your fucking coffee. You can’t talk your way out of this.”
“Daddy!” Mia says.
He sniffs and clears his throat. “They told me my daughter was living with the Woodisons, and I told them they were liars.” He swings on her, the gun going with him.
She gasps to find it pointed at her head. “Go ahead,” she says, her voice hard now. “I know I’m no use to you anyway. But killing me won’t bring Nic back.”
“Don’t you dare speak my son’s name to me. You’re here, whoring yourself like your mother did.”
“Daddy—”
“They think they can take whatever they want just ’cause they have all the money, but you let them.”
Footsteps sound down the hall. Boom. Boom. Boom. “What the fuck are you doing in my house, Mendez?”
My dad’s home.
“You think you can come into my house wielding a gun like some kind of maniac?”
I hold my breath. Dad steps forward and pulls the gun from the man’s hand as if it were nothing more than a toy.
“Get out,” Dad says. “Before I call the cops.”
“I hate you.” Mia’s father shakes and spits the words. His face blooms red. “I hate you so much.”
“I know you do,” Dad says. “But it doesn’t give you the right to bring a gun into my house. If you’d like, we can have the authorities weigh in on that. But I think you’d rather they not know you were here this morning. I think, given your track record of drunk and disorderlies, you’d rather they not know you broke into my house and put a gun in my son’s face.”
“You seduced my wife and stole my daughter.”
Uriah clicks the safety on the gun and folds his arms. “You tell yourself whatever you need to, old man. But maybe your daughter’s just trying to keep your lights on, keep you fed. Maybe she’s here because somebody has to make money so that you—piece of shit—don’t wither away and die. Maybe she’s just trying to pay her way through school so she has a fighting chance at a life better than the one you’d have her lead.”
I didn’t give Dad enough credit. I figured he had no idea what her reality was, but he’s known all along. He’s never as clueless as he lets on.
“And I’m not speaking to you about Isabella,” Dad says, referring to Mia’s mother. “Get out of here, Mendez.”
“Gimme my gun back.”
My father laughs. “You think I’m an idiot? Now go.”
With one last look at Mia, and betrayal all over his face, her father turns and walks out the door, and we all hold our breath. We listen to his slow, heavy tread as he makes his way down the stairs.
Mia stares at my father. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She grabs a pair of jeans off the floor. “I’ll take him home. I’m so sorry,” she says as she rushes out the door.
I start to follow, and Dad grabs my arm. “House arrest, remember, son?”
“Mia!” I call, and I hate how trapped I feel. I should be with her while she talks to her father. I should talk to him myself. But what would I say? I’m in love with your daughter, and by the way, I killed your son.
She stops in the doorway. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
All I can do is watch her leave. I listen to her steps down the stairs and then the click of the front door.
“I thought you were in Louisville,” I say, without turning to my father.
“I came home for a quick meeting this morning,” he says. “Why wasn’t the alarm system on? Did you even lock the fucking door? How did that man get in here?”
I straighten. Dad and I don’t talk. Not to each other. We talk around each other, about each other, but I feel like he hasn’t looked at me since he joined us at the hospital on New Year’s Day. But he’s looking at me now, and there’s disgust all over his face. I’m in nothing but my boxer briefs, and I feel exposed.
“It’s my fault,” I say.
“And you being in Mia’s bed this morning? Is that your fault, too?” When I open my mouth to answer, he holds up a hand. “And her sleeping in your bed before? Is that your fault, too?” He drags a hand through his hair and exhales heavily. “Jesus, it’s a good thing Gwen isn’t here. She’d lose her mind.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t lock the door. Please don’t blame this on Mia.” Don’t fire her. Don’t take her from me. God, I want to beg it. But it’s selfish, and when I tell Mia the truth, she’s not going to want to be here anyway.
He sighs. “She does her job and she’s good at it, so I haven’t said anything, but he was your best friend. Did you forget that?”
I back up a step. “Don’t pretend you know what we’re going through.”
He narrows his eyes and points a finger at me. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost someone they loved?”
“I think Mom was dying in your bed and you were fucking around with Mia’s mom.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted that I know, but he doesn’t look surprised, only resigned.
“It’s not the same,” he says, his jaw hard.
“How? Mom wasn’t even dead, and you were screwing someone else.”
Now he’s the one to take a step back, and his face softens. “It’s lonely to watch the woman you love die. It makes you feel helpless. Powerless. But Isabella Mendez made me feel like a man again when that was what I needed most. She comforted me. But I’m guessing you know all about a beautiful Mendez woman giving you just what you need.”
“It’s not like that with Mia.”
“You’ve been sleeping with her.”
“But it’s not just sex.” I swallow hard. “I love her. I’ve loved her . . .” I drop my head and stare at my bare feet. “Always.”
“And you think I didn’t care about Isabella? That I’m just an old asshole who fucks around on his dying wife? Sometimes we love the people we shouldn’t exactly when we shouldn’t.” He tilts his face to the ceiling and draws in a long breath. I’ve never seen him like this. Vulnerable. Human.
“Then how is your story so much more forgivable than mine?” I ask, and when the question slips from my lips I realize just how much his reaction to the last few months hurt me, just how much I needed him to swoop in like a worried father and not judge like a disappointed employer.
He steps forward and places a big hand on my shoulder. “Because you’re better th
an me. Don’t you get that? I was lonely and grieving for a woman who was still breathing. I’m not proud of what I did, but you’re better than me. You’re not the one who does drugs or gets in trouble and needs his dad to call in favors to keep him out of prison. You’ve always earned what you had. Proven yourself. I didn’t know what to do with a son who couldn’t handle grief when I could never handle it either.”
I close my eyes and focus on the weight of my dad’s hand on my shoulder. The day of my mother’s funeral, I stood by his side as people walked by to pay their respects, and he kept his hand on my shoulder. It grounded me. Reminded me I hadn’t lost my whole family. His quiet sign of strength helped me find mine, and it does the same now.
When I open my eyes and meet his steady gaze, I say, “I was driving the car that hit Brogan and Nicholas Mendez.”
The blood drains from my father’s face. “Don’t say that.”
“I was driving the car. I don’t remember it. Not at all. But Coach found me in the front seat of his SUV after midnight. There was damage to the front. He’d seen the news so he put two and two together.” Dad stumbles back, and I take a breath. “He covered it up. He was trying to protect me, but I couldn’t live with myself.”
Dad shakes his head. “Don’t say that out loud again. You understand? Never say it again. Don’t speak of it.”
I can’t make that promise now. I never should have made it the first time. “I’m so sorry.”
“Who knows?” he asks, and I feel like I’m watching him age before my eyes. He seems to shrink into himself, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes suddenly more prominent.
“Trish was in the car. She remembers it. And then Coach knows. He was trying to protect me, but I hate that he did.” I take a breath. It feels so damn good to have said it aloud. “I wish he hadn’t.”
“Mia?” he asks.
I shake my head, and guilt knifes through my gut. I made love to her before she knew the truth. I need to tell her. I have to find a way.
Dad’s phone buzzes, and he curses when he looks at it. “I’m late for my meeting, and then Gwen will cut off my balls if I don’t get back to our suite.” He slides his phone back into his pocket and his shoulders sag. “But I can stay if you want me to. I’ll get out of the meeting, make up some excuse for Gwen.”
