“Avery?”
“Sonny’s drunk. We have to go get him.” As the words pour out of my mouth, my worry seems to become more tangible. I’m mad at him, yes. I’m afraid that we might break up, yes. But none of those things are important right now because above all else, I love him; furthermore, I know him—and if he’s drunk, then something is seriously wrong. “We have to go. Please. Come. Now.”
He disappears for a second and then hurries his way out the door, locking it behind him. “I’ll drive.” We run to his vehicle and hop in. I barely have time to fasten my seatbelt before he’s speeding his way out of the parking lot. I appreciate his sense of urgency, even more so knowing that it comes from his own love for Sonny. He understands, without a single explanation, that we’re both needed in this moment. When the text from Claire comes in with the address of our destination, I rattle it off and he simply nods, needing no further directions.
Upon arrival, Hammy parks illegally in front of the fire hydrant that’s located just in front of the frat house. Before I open my door, I can’t help but groan as I assess the two story residence we’re about to walk into. People are everywhere. “How are we going to find him in there?”
“We’ll split up. Whoever finds him first will send a text. They don’t call him Big Red for nothing—we’ll find him.”
“Okay,” I murmur, my gaze still concentrated at our destination across the long stretch of lawn.
“Let’s go, Ave.”
I climb out of the car obediently and we hurry our way inside. It’s even more crowded than I thought possible. Hammy gives my shoulder a squeeze to catch my attention; when he’s got it, he points to the set of stairs that’s immediately to the left of the door. When I look up, I see what appears to be a loft at the top—just like everywhere else, it’s filled with a crowd. I nod at him and then he’s gone. As I make my way further inside, I keep my eyes open for Claire, Jack, and Sonny. I figure if I can find any of them, I’ll be able to leave with who I came for.
Just beyond the stairs there’s a sitting room. It doesn’t take long for me to decide that Sonny’s not in there. I peek inside of the dining room, where there’s a bunch of people playing drinking games, and don’t see him there either. I walk through the kitchen and that’s where I spot Claire. I call for her and she turns to find me.
“Thank god! You need to get him out of here,” she insists, taking hold of my hand as she drags me out of the kitchen.
“What’s he doing? Is he that bad?”
“He’s that depressing. He’s too sad to be drinking. He started while I wasn’t watching. I didn’t think he would, so I wasn’t worried about it.”
“He’s sad?” A small part of me is glad to know that I’m not the only one; but a bigger part of me is surprised. If he’s so sad, why didn’t he just come talk to me? The damaged state of our relationship suddenly feels more real than it did a half an hour ago—and it was bad then!
“Babe, are you kidding?” she asks, stopping dead in her tracks. She shakes her head at me before she continues. “When are you two going to learn that you can’t shut each other out when you’re fighting? When things between you guys are good, you’re shitting rainbows and then something bad happens and you self-destruct! He loves you—of course he’s sad, you haven’t spoken in days.”
All at once it hits me—this is my fault. I should have listened to Addie and I didn’t. He told me to call him and I refused. My stubbornness drove him away and now he’s here… “Take me to him.”
Without another word, she leads me into the den on the other side of the kitchen. When I see him, my stomach drops. He’s sitting on a couch with Jack and another teammate—I can’t remember his name—and he’s sandwiched between a couple girls. Actually, three—if you count the one sitting on his knee. They’re talking—Sonny and his entourage of women—and Jack and the other guy are caught up in their own conversation. He’s not touching the girl who’s practically in his lap, and it appears as though she’s using him more for a chair than anything else, but she’s too close for comfort and my temper flares back up at the sight of them.
I drop Claire’s hand and storm across the room. He doesn’t notice me until I’m standing right in front of him—but when our eyes meet, his face falls.
“Let me guess,” says the pretty brunette on his knee. “Avery?”
My mouth opens to deliver a response, but then my curiosity about how she knows who I am silences me.
“She’s here to break up with me,” slurs Sonny. He’s speaking to the brunette, but he’s looking right at me.
I don’t like the sound of his voice—it’s different when he’s drunk. My already shredded heart aches a little bit more at his words. I know that feeling; after the letter—after three and a half days of nothing—I had that feeling. The man in front of me is hurting. Forget the brunette on his knee, I should be more worried about the cup in his hand. And his eyes. The melancholy look in his eyes kills me.
“Well, if you’re going to do it, then do it! Put me out of my misery,” he mumbles. “There’s plenty of booze to help me forget after you leave…just like Patrick.”
All the air rushes out of me in a sort of reverse gasp. Did I do this? Have I broken him? I thought it was the other way around! I rake my fingers through my hair and try to pull myself together. I discard my confusion as I stare at Sonny. I need to get him out of here. Right now, that’s the only thing that matters.
“I’m here to take you home, Sonny.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Okay—Sonny, just get up. Let me take you home.”
“If it’s over, I want to stay here. Jack can take me home.”
I sigh, extracting my phone from my pocket. I’m too little to drag him out of here, especially if he’s unwilling, so I send Hammy a text informing him of our location. I return the device to my shorts and try again. “Sonny—we’re going home.” I direct my attention to the brunette, who hasn’t budged. “Could you please move? We’re leaving.”
“Hey, Little Red!” I turn at the sound of my nickname just in time to see another player, whose name I don’t remember, approach. I can smell the alcohol seeping through his pores and I wonder when he started drinking and how much he’s had so far. He drapes his arm across my shoulders and I cringe when he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Word on the street is, you’re about to be on the market.”
“What? Get off of me.” I try and shrug him off, but he’s hanging on me like he’s using me to hold himself up and he’s too heavy.
“Oh, come on. Big Red’s been telling anyone who will listen that his sexy little lady is about to leave ‘em. How about a dance?”
“Let her go.” My eyes flicker back to Sonny at the sound of his voice—which is suddenly starting to sound more familiar.
“Don’t be jealous, man, you had your go,” he taunts as he moves his arm from around my shoulders and snakes it around my waist. He smells disgusting and his touch makes my skin crawl. I try and push him away, but his hold is too tight. When Sonny drops his cup, spilling beer all over the floor, and helps the brunette off of his lap so that he might stand, his challenger holds me tighter and I realize he doesn’t want me—he’s using me.
“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Her.” His slur is gone and the look on his face is fierce. My heart is beating wildly inside of my chest, partly because I’m extremely uncomfortable and partly because I’m nervous about what Sonny might do next.
I stomp on my aggressor’s toe, but he only laughs before he squeezes me tighter. “She’s feisty!”
“Harris, stop messing around. Let her go,” says Jack, who has decided to join in on this confrontation. “If you’ve got issues with O’Conner on the field, take it out at practice—not on his girl.”
“Oh, but she’s not his girl anymore, isn’t that right?”
“No! It’s not!” I shout as I try and wiggle my way out of his grasp. “We’re not breaking up! Now let me—”
�
��Get your fucking hands off of my girlfriend,” Sonny growls. Before Harris has a chance to respond, Sonny’s fist connects with his jaw. He stumbles backwards, taking me with him; but he’s just as startled as I am, so his grip loosens. I push him off of me before he rights himself and then charges for Sonny.
“Don’t—!” It’s not even necessary for me to finish my sentence because, before he can close the distance between himself and his intended target, Hammy’s got him around the waist.
“Get him out of here, Ave. Now.”
I reach for Sonny’s hand and head for the door without a single backwards glance. By the time we reach Hammy’s SUV, he’s right behind us. I insist that Sonny sit in the front seat and he obeys with little argument. The entire drive home, no one says a thing. It’s an uncomfortable silence, but I have no intention of breaking it. I can hardly believe how this day is ending—or, rather, how this day is beginning.
I’m not really sure what to do once we get back to the apartment complex, but when we get out of the car and Grayson reaches for me to steady himself, I decide I can at least get him into his bed. Unfortunately, we only make it as far as the couch before he complains that the room is spinning and he needs to lay down. He stretches his long frame across the couch and closes his eyes while I take off his shoes. Beckham goes to fetch him some ibuprofen while I go and fill up a glass of water. We manage to get him to down a couple pills and drink the full glass. I’m just getting ready to head home when he reaches out his hand and wraps it around my leg.
“Don’t leave me. Shorty, please don’t leave me.” I sweep my hair behind my ears and exchange a look with Beckham. He offers me no more than a shrug and a smirk before he makes his way to his room and closes himself inside. Thanks, Hammy. “Don’t leave me,” Sonny begs, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can look up at me.
“Okay.” He guides me down onto the spot where he was previously resting his head and uses me as a pillow, wrapping one arm around my waist and another across my legs, like he usually does.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, tightening his grip around me.
“For what?” I ask, my exhaustion making it too difficult for me to decipher what he’s trying to say.
“For everything.”
My fingers find their way into his wavy mane and I relax for the first time in days. It’s not even his apology that calms me, but the soft texture of his hair and the weight of his head in my lap—the warmth of his breath against the skin of my bare legs. I know that everything is not okay and that one drunken apology isn’t enough to fix the damage we’ve managed to create over the last week, but I can feel that my heart is already on the mend—in this one moment, it’s already starting to heal. He’s my person. No matter what, he will always be my person. Right now, that’s enough.
“Alright,” I finally speak. “Let’s just talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“You won’t leave me?”
“I won’t leave you, love. I promise.”
I think I’m going to throw up. I lift my head and open my eyes and it takes me a minute to figure out where I am. Slowly, I remember that I’m at home, on the couch, with Avery. I don’t have time to relish in the fact that my girl is here because if I don’t get my ass up, I’m going to vomit all over her. I manage to make it to the bathroom just in time and proceed to empty my stomach of all of its contents. I feel better, but I don’t feel good.
I decide to brush my teeth, needing to rid my mouth of the alcohol residue from earlier, and everything else that just came up. Once isn’t enough, so I do it two more times and then head to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The cool drink is refreshing, but I still feel like I reek of beer, so I decide to take a shower. Before I do, I check on Avery. She’s sound asleep, propped against the arm of the couch. I scoop her into my arms and lay her in my bed before I return to the bathroom.
I turn the water up as hot as I can stand it and position myself right underneath the spout. I know that I’m going to have to deal with a lot of consequences today, but I choose not to dwell on them in this moment. The time will come sooner than I want it to, anyway. When the water starts to get cold, I scrub away most of the decisions I made last night—all but the one that will never go away. When I step out and dry myself off, I feel almost like a new man, but with old scars.
I tug on a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt and then head back to my room. Avery has shifted onto her side and her back is to me. I close us in and then climb in the bed with her. I lay on my side, too, so that we’re facing each other, and I watch her sleep.
She came and got me, I think to myself as I reach out and sweep her hair behind her ear and brush it over her shoulder. She told Harris that we weren’t breaking up and she brought me home. I was so sure that she wouldn’t want me after this week—but maybe I was wrong. Having her here, laying with me, maybe that’s reason enough for me to latch onto hope. Even if it’s not, I can’t help but pray that we can fix what I’ve broken. Lord—I don’t want to be without her. If she still wants me when she wakes up, I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back her trust.
I’m not sure what time it is, but I can tell that the sun is starting to come up. I imagine Beck will be up soon in order to get ready for church. I think about waking Ave, but I start falling asleep before I can bring myself to disturb her. I’m half sleeping when I feel her fingers trace along my hairline down the side of my face. I keep my eyes closed but drape my arm around her waist and pull her against me. She comes willingly and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You smell like you again,” she says softly.
“I got up and showered,” I explain.
“And brought me to your bed?”
My eyes snap open when I’m suddenly reminded of the last time she and I were in this bed. I didn’t stop to consider how she might feel uncomfortable here. With me. God—I’m such an ass! “I’m sorry,” I stammer as I begin to sit up. “I didn’t think—”
“Sonny, it’s okay. Lay down. I’m fine.”
I do as I’m told and for a few seconds, all we do is stare at each other. “I missed your face,” I whisper.
“Whose fault is that?” I take a deep breath and open my mouth to respond, but she beats me to it. “That wasn’t fair. I’m sorry. I take it back.”
“I thought you didn’t want to speak to me.” As I say the words, I know that it’s a lame excuse. Not only is it lame, but it’s only part of the truth.
“I wanted you to say that you were sorry. I thought maybe you weren’t, and that’s why you weren’t speaking to me.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I murmur, leaning forward to prop my forehead against hers. “I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. Not ever—and I want you to know that you can trust me with your body. I’m so sorry that I pushed you. I didn’t mean to, I just—I just—I don’t know.”
“You just what?” she asks, pulling away from me as she sits up. “It felt like you turned into a completely different person. It was like you were on auto pilot or something. You called me baby—it was just weird and it felt wrong.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I assure her as I sit up and take her hands into mine. “I just…”
“Sonny, tell me. I’m not going to run away. We can’t keep running away from each other, or the truth, so just tell me. Please.”
“I felt like I was losing you,” I spit out without a second thought. “Time just seems to be robbing us blind and I hate that I spend so much time away from you—it’s been getting worse as the semester goes on.”
“Okay,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “So you decided that becoming more intimate would prevent that? Sonny, just because we’re busy doesn’t mean we’re in trouble or that I’m going to stop loving you or that we’re going to break up.”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure. Ave, I can’t lose you.”
“Sonny.” She pulls her hands away from mine so that she can run them down her face. I can tell she’s growing
impatient, but I don’t know what to say. “You promised that we could wait,” she reminds me.
“I know.”
“So then, why would you assume that you could change your mind, without telling me, and that following through with your new plan would make me stay?”
“Because—” I feel like I might be sick again; only this time, it’s not because of the stupid decisions I made last night. She wants the truth, but I’m not sure she can handle the truth. It’s my past that I’ve been trying to protect her from—my manipulative indiscretions that make me unworthy of her.
“Because what, Grayson? What is it?”
I shake my head, wishing that I could get away with saying nothing. I don’t want to tell her. Usually, just one look into her eyes and I’m ready and willing to bare all; but this…this—
“Because what?” she pleads.
“Because I need it. Or, I feel like I need it. In that moment it wasn’t just about me wanting you it was about me needing you—because it’s the only thing that has kept girls around in the past.”
“What?” she manages, clearly taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, sex makes women stay. I know you want to wait and I thought that I could do it, but the idea of losing you takes me to this place. I can’t explain it. I’ve just always known or somehow learned that if I could get a girl in bed, she’d stick around.” I can’t look at her anymore. I don’t want to talk about it, but I know she won’t let it go. Not now. I’ve said too much. Lord, I can’t lose her. Please, help me out, here.
“Who told you that? That’s not true! Who taught you that?”
“I don’t know. Do we have to talk about this? I’m not that guy anymore. At least, I don’t want to be. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I really am.”
“My love, it’s important. Can’t you see that? It’s poisoned our relationship and we have to deal with it. Sonny—look at me,” she requests. When I don’t comply, she reaches for my face and turns my head until my eyes are locked with hers. “Who taught you that?”
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 47
