I hoped it was bullshit.
So, I did something I never did. Looked it up on the net. Sure enough, there was the story. Pictures taken on a cell phone, and a retold stab in the dark on what they might mean.
Angel looked phenomenal in a red dress. The grainy pictures weren’t that clear, but the poor imagery took nothing away from how beautiful she was. The scene appeared innocent. Beau Kessler leaning into her, the tilting smile on Angel’s face and the glassy shine in her eyes all signs she was probably drunk.
There was no hiding from the fact I most likely drove her into that bar and into Beau’s company. But him sitting so close to her, paying her so much obvious attention, transmitted an unpleasant prickling sensation down my spine and straight to my gut. She shouldn’t be with him. Not when I couldn’t be with her.
And I couldn’t be with her. Not yet.
Since she told me about the pregnancy, I’d missed out on a full night’s sleep. Could barely focus on anything, including football. The decision was too big for her to have made on her own, and it wasn’t all hers to make. But what I seriously couldn’t wrap my head around were the reasons behind the termination.
She’d done it for me. Believed I wouldn’t want it or her, and that my career came first—above what only she could offer. And now my evil mind wanted its share of revenge. A cruel way for her to suffer, so I could ask her if she liked how it damn well felt.
And that was why I couldn’t be with her. I’d ruin us with the first selfish words out of my mouth.
I tucked my phone in my jacket pocket as I walked with Dog down the street and pictured a false future. Angel’s belly round with my baby. Small at first, gradually growing bigger over time. Another person we’d made together out of love.
Or a mistake.
Angel didn’t knock-up herself. I’d so cleverly seen to that. Pill or no pill, this wasn’t all her fault. It was just as much mine, and she’d fixed it by herself. Couldn’t come to me—
I clenched my fist around the leash’s handle, Dog’s head dropping in a whimper at the restriction on him pissing up an information post. “Sorry, boy.” I crouched down to scratch his back, and then let him carry on his public business.
I’d have to go home at some point. Even more so now I knew Rebecca was raised without boundaries. But I just walked for now, to clear my head. Maybe I’d call Angel tonight. Or maybe I wouldn’t. A conversation about Beau Kessler, on top of already stale problems, didn’t sound like a situation I’d be able to handle that well.
Prying brown eyes beamed like lasers from my kitchen. Rebecca grilled steak and tossed salad and veggies without looking down. It was a talent, really, growing eyes in your chin.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
From the couch, in front of the flat screen, I called back, “I told you not to cook.”
“Oh, and I was just so cut up about it. Cried for a solid ten minutes.”
Through a blunt sigh, I stretched out my legs and stood up, flicking off the television with the remote. A plate stacked with leafy greens, sautéed vegetables and a thick cut of steak waited for me on the kitchen bar. Rebecca set down a knife and fork either side of the plate, eyes stuck on my face.
I pulled out the stool and picked up the cutlery. “Don’t ever go through my things again. I couldn’t give a shit what you were doing. You see something that belongs to me, you leave it alone. Can you manage that?”
“I wanted to see you practice.” Rebecca sat down with her own pate. No meat, just a complicated-looking salad. “I won’t touch your tighty-whiteys again. Sheesh, hormonal much?”
We ate without speaking. Rebecca washed the plates and pans and I stacked the dishwasher. The microwave started and I slumped down onto the sofa, switching on ESPN.
Replica cheerleader outfit replaced with white cutoff sweatpants and a slouchy sweater, Rebecca squeezed into a nonexistent space between my head and the arm of the couch. My stomach tensed as I sat up. “There are other seats,” I pointed out.
She held up a stuffed, steaming cloth. A strong herbal odor danced invasively up my nostrils and straight to the back of my throat. “Saw you rubbing your neck earlier, and yesterday.” Without asking, she leaned in, draping the hot pack around my shoulders. “It’s lavender.”
“It stinks.”
“But it works. I could rub your shoulders for you?”
I looked at her from under a rising frown. “Why?”
“Because I’m a masseuse in training, and you’ve got a football game to win in forty-eight hours. I want to help you relax. I want to do something useful while I’m here. Sit on the floor.”
“I don’t want you to rub my shoulders. They feel fine.” They didn’t, and I was tense.
“Now I know that’s a crock. Go on, sit on the floor.” Nimble fingers dug into my arm, driving me off the sectional. A bogus smile curled Rebecca’s lips as I propped up my knees in front of me and my back hit the couch.
Leather squelched as Rebecca stood, one of her hands cupping my shoulder for leverage. “Take off your shirt, I’ll just be a minute.”
Yanking my t-shirt over my head by the collar, I dropped my head back onto the seat cushion and closed my eyes. I would text Angel and ask her about the picture. Saying nothing would quietly eat away at me. And if I said nothing, I’d expect the pictures to mean something.
I was retyping a deleted text message when Rebecca sat behind me on the sectional, packing my broad torso between her legs. Cold oil splattered across my traps, a chill spiraling down my arms. “Thought you were a training masseuse. Aren’t you supposed to heat that first?”
“I won’t insult you by lying. I pretty much thought you deserved it.”
I loosened my bunched shoulders with the first muscle lifted, stretched and rolled in Rebecca’s pressurized clutches. Before long, I’d forgotten I’d even texted Angel. Only reminded when my message tone chirped.
Angel: Is that like a mean joke?
I’d asked her if there was anything she’d wanted to tell me. This message read like she thought I was having a dig at her. Surely she knew was making headlines? Then again, she always was a bit oblivious. It was one of the things about her I’d hated the most. Before it became one of the things about her I loved the most. How she never judged or assumed the worst, oblivious or not. She was good people.
You’re date with Beau Kessler’s all over the internet
I’d worded that with blatant acrimony, but not even this massage was capable of relieving the tension from seeing those two together. I felt the strain in my muscles tightening all over again.
Rebecca tucked her fingers into fists, knuckles working the top of my trapezius. “So, that’s what’s climbed up your ass and died.”
“What?”
“Your girlfriend’s been out with another guy.”
“Could you not read my private messages?”
A sarcastic snort. “Hardly private, Julian. You’re holding your phone right where I can see it. You can tell me what’s going on. I’m great at keeping secrets. I also don’t judge.”
“You missed out nosey and invasive. And you’re right, you do seem the type who thrives on drama.”
“Well, let me tell you what I think.”
“Please don’t.” I opened the new message from Angel.
Angel: That’s not a date and you know it isn’t
I did know it. I wasn’t any less annoyed.
“Why would you think your girlfriend was out with another guy, anyway? Of all the things to argue over… that’s a weird one. I don’t know this girl but, would she really do something so distasteful?”
Fingers ran up my neck, gliding back down with the palms of Rebecca’s hands.
“No. A mix-up is all it was.”
“And you’re still pouting and frowning over it. Stop doing that.” Rebecca slapped my shoulder. “I can’t relax you properly if you keep tensing up. Just sit still, calm, and slacken up a bit.”
I freed a ridged brea
th, put down my phone and hung my arms over my knees. I was too big to be sitting like this—and uncomfortable.
“Good. Now close your eyes, breathe evenly and deeply, and tell me what Angel really did. Or probably what you did.”
My head twisted, and Rebecca knocked it back.
“I said breathe and talk. Don’t look at me. And don’t argue with me. That’s not relaxing.”
“You’re not relaxing,” I snapped.
“Tell me what you did. I know you did something. You’re so grouchy and mean all the friggin’ time.”
“It’s none of your business what I did. But for the record, I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, sure,” Rebecca scoffed, her hands on me pinching tighter, palms molding deeper. “I just don’t believe you.”
“Well, guess what? I don’t give a fuck.”
“Can I invite Tabby here for Christmas?”
“Christmas?” My fingers seized my shirt next to me and I stood up, tenser than when I sat down. “You won’t be here at Christmas. That reminds me, I already kicked you out.”
Dog loped over to where I stood, settling and lying down at my feet with a wide yawn curling his long, pink tongue.
Rubbing the remaining oil over her wrists and arms, Rebecca asked calmly, “What are your plans for Christmas? I could meet Taj—”
“Taj doesn’t want to meet you.” The intercom cut me off.
Rebecca pretended to focus on her glistening arms while I went to see who was downstairs.
“Not now,” I muttered. Angela was here. Two women, both of them in competition to see who could be more annoying. It was a close race.
I buzzed Angela in.
“It’s someone from work. Go pack your stuff.”
“Why? Are you taking me on vacation?” Rebecca stretched out on my sectional, tucking her legs underneath her. “Because I’m not leaving. I want to stay here with you. I’m going to make you into a nicer person.”
That just about made sense.
“I doubt it,” I said, on cue with the knocking at my door. I let Angela in, choosing not to watch how she paused when she saw Rebecca taking up half of my couch like she owned it.
“I came to see if Dog felt like a stroll out?” Angela’s blue gaze strayed to Rebecca, who sent back a full smile and a constricted wave. “Hello,” Angela said. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” said Rebecca. “Do you always take wine with you on your dog walks?” She cringed. “Yikes.”
My eyes dipped to the bottle in Angela’s hand. “Dog’s been out,” I said to her. “But thanks for coming over and asking.”
Angela turned, positioning her back to Rebecca. “Did you want to go for a walk? Dog doesn’t have to come.”
I pocketed my hands. “I’m tired.”
“Did you talk to Angel?”
Was that what the wine was for?
“Not exactly. But she wasn’t on a date. Not that I ever thought she was.”
Angela’s frown slid all the way to her mouth. “Oh but, it looked like—”
“I know what it looked like. And that wasn’t it.”
Her frown lifted and then evaporated, freeing cloudy blue eyes of the excess weight. “All right then.”
“You look nice,” I said, acknowledging her silky orange shirt tucked into the high-waist of her black jeans. “Have you got a date?”
She brushed the fingers on one hand underneath her blonde hair, picking up the wavy length and sifting it through her fingertips. “No, I only came out to make sure you were okay. Friends are a fickle thing in the NFL. I thought you might’ve needed someone to talk to.”
“That’s nice of you. But I’m fine. Me and Angel are fine.” I didn’t even sound like I believed that myself. I’d have to be more convincing next time.
“Good.” Angela nodded, but I’d lost that eye contact, her gaze aimed to the floor. “Guess I’ll go.” She’d opened the door and was breaking down the length of the hallway without a good-bye from either of us. I scratched the side of my nose with my thumb and pushed the door over.
“Who comes over with wine, dressed like she was, and asks to take your dog for a walk?”
“Shut up, Rebecca. I don’t want to hear it.”
She boosted onto her knees, hanging over the back of the couch. “She was here to console you, all right. Who is she? She’s slippery.”
I filled a glass with water and ice from the refrigerator, Rebecca’s ranty voice reducing to background noise as I walked upstairs. Then the background noise got louder.
“Did you see her face? She was disappointed she didn’t find you crying or looking for company. It’s a blessing I’m here to scare those hussies off!”
“And I’m still sending you home.”
“Send me home. It won’t change the fact your girlfriend is choosing other guys over you and not even trying to hide it.”
I paused on the stairs, Dog hiking ahead of me. His ears pricked on my bedroom landing, watching, waiting. Head tilting for why I wasn’t following.
“I know what that feels like. Second-hand information on someone who presumably loves you.”
I tore down the sub-tones in Rebecca’s voice as vividly as if I’d looked her in the face. She’d been hurt, just like every sorry bastard before her. I was all out of sympathy—and energy. I wasn’t in the game of taking on other people’s dramas. “That’s too bad for you.”
In my bathroom, I changed into a pair of athletic mesh shorts and tossed the clothes I’d been wearing in the laundry hamper. Empty, thanks to Rebecca and her wandering fingers. The light flickered on over the glass sink basin and I grabbed my toothbrush, wasted time on brushing my teeth and then snatched the hand towel from the rail.
“Fucking hell,” I groused at my reflection.
She wins again.
Tossing the towel into the sink, I sighed through my nose. Picked up my glass to go meet the fate of another shitty decision made.
Rebecca didn’t hear me come down the stairs, sitting on her knees and staring down at her fingernails. She picked at the cuticles, blonde hair freefalling down one side of her face to her elbow.
“Who was he?” I asked. Her head pulled back with her gaze as I shifted onto the seat beside her, the leather cold on my oiled back. Without a flicker of emotion, Rebecca reached over and took the untouched water from my hands. Guzzled the whole glass and gave me it back empty.
Did I want to hear what she had to say? About as much as I wanted to suffer a fatal allergic reaction. But anything she said couldn’t be as bad as what had been tearing up my mind for the last however many weeks.
Distrust turned down Rebecca’s mouth and stiffened her jaw. The narrow underling of her eyes a transient glimpse into what ran through her mind. Her gaze lowered and her shoulders slouched, fingers picking back up where they left off. Tearing at the skin around her nails.
“My ex. We were together since grade seven. On and off later, but it was always temporary.”
Raw pink skin seeped red, and I settled my hand around both of hers to stop the destruction of perfectly fine nails. “Don’t do that. It’s really annoying. And disgusting.”
Her glassy gaze flicked upward, striking me with a long, hard stare. She covered one hand with the other, restraining herself from the temptation of self-mutilation.
“I’m still listening…”
“My younger cousin went to the same high school I did. I’d heard stuff about her even from middle school. People—including her friends—calling her a slut and making up degrading stories. Writing shit about her in the bathroom stalls. And that was my baby cousin, so, I stuck up for her.” Rebecca shrugged a shoulder, throwing me a hasty look. “As you do. So, I’m staying over at Ryan’s house and I go to turn off his phone alarm because he’s in the shower, and there’s messages from her.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yeah. Real graphic sex messages, and it had been going on for weeks. My own family. Do you know how many detentions I s
at through for her?” Rebecca’s smile wove between sadness and bitterness, and I would’ve liked to have met this guy for myself. “Her name and his name had been thrown around a couple times, but I’d just ignored it. People can be so salty, and most of them are fucksticks anyway.”
I pinned her hand to the couch when she moved it to rive at her nails again. “Is that why you’re here?”
My smirk spread like fire over gasoline, Rebecca’s eyes as sharp as pins. Her boyfriend was dicking her cousin and she’d legged it to Miami. Lied her way slickly into my house like a snake shedding skin.
She snatched her hand away and swept back her hair. “Shut up.”
My eyebrows lifted, my smirk broadening into a smile. “Come off it, Rebecca. You barged in here like some modern-day saint, using your little sister as an entry pass.”
“I did not!”
I laughed at the pinched red expression darkening in front of me. “Sure you did.”
“So, my demise funny is to you?”
“Your demise?”
“Yes. You’re laughing.”
“I’m not laughing at that. I’m laughing at you and your sad excuses. Just say why you’re here. Your boyfriend’s been getting it up for your cousin and you ran the other way.”
“Like shit.” Heated anger bloomed in Rebecca’s face, along her neck and across her chest. It only made me want to laugh louder.
“That’s exactly what you did.”
“Fuck off, Julian.”
I sneered, hiding my amusement. “You fuck off. You’re in my house. Shouldn’t you be at college or work?”
“I’m taking a year off from school to find myself!” She sprung from the couch and marched into her bedroom, reemerging with a small box partially concealed in her hand. She crossed to the balcony, sliding open the glass door and stepping outside. It slid back into place with an intentional bang. The clamor lured Dog from his hiding place, a lazy stroll down the stairs as he sniffed for the disturbance with a loosely wagging tail.
I followed Rebecca out, leaning a shoulder against the frame of the sliding door and dropping my weight onto my left leg, hands sinking into my front pockets as I crossed one ankle over the other. Dog squeezed past me and out onto the balcony.
Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2) Page 21
