by Kat Kenyon
He’s in his normal uniform, and when he sees me, he smiles. I’m surprised to see him since he works on the other unit. “You look better,” he says.
“I feel better,” I answer honestly. Tyler’s gift is ridiculous and fabulous, and it makes me feel like everything will be okay.
“I noticed your man earlier.” He puts my dinner tray on the small table by my bed, then makes sure to step back and not loom over me. He’s the only one here who does that, and I appreciate it.
“He always comes,” I whisper, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to my chest.
Nick leans against the wall and bites down on his lip. His forehead wrinkles before he asks, “Do you think you’ll sleep now?”
“No.” It’s not like I can hide it. “I can’t sleep without him, but I feel better.” I bury my face in the pillow and take a deep breath. “And I know no matter what Fuckwit wants, I won’t be here long.”
Nick straightens up from the wall and clicks his tongue, drawing my eyes up. “Fuckwit.” He laughs a bit, shaking his head, then gets serious again. “No doubt your man will move heaven and earth to get you out of here, but make it easier on both of you. Don’t threaten people. You don’t have to roll over, but don’t throw fireballs.” He heads for the door and taps the wall right before he turns to look at me. “I looked you up, you both have a lot to lose, so don’t throw it away just to be difficult.”
The door closes and I’m left with his advice and the reality he dropped.
Chapter Fourteen
Tyler Blackman
She said to do things, so I got myself up and got to campus. Specifically, to Dixon with the rest of my teammates to work out. The season may be over, but the work isn’t. We have an entire wave of talent working out for the Combine, and while those men work toward the brass ring, those of us who remain, face the reality of next year. We’re losing both captains and our quarterback. But we still want to kill it next season. Even the walk-ons are busting their asses, wanting to meet the standards set by last season and hoping for a miracle like mine. That they’ll be able to play.
Which means Rayne was right, my ass needs to be here too, no matter how much it guts me. To highlight the issue, Bay and Mike are on either side of me, riding my ass. Each time it looks like I’m distracted, my teammates make sure I know it.
“Cyborg, man. You gonna get caught by a tricycle with square wheels, you so rusty.”
“Boy, you’ve been eatin’ too many pizzas, cause your asscrack be peekin’ out of your shorts. Since when are you a stuffed sausage?” Bay laughs when I wipe my forehead with the bottom of my tank.
“Shut it.” I’ve gained like three pounds, so I want to toss my water at his face, but settle for flipping him off.
Randy laughs from behind me. “All this time off has made you soft.”
Ripping off my shirt, I chuck it to the side and raise double deuces to the crowd. “Bitches, my soft is still twice as hard as you’ve ever been.”
Chortles and challenges rise around me a moment before I get sprayed with cold water in the back. In the mirror, Randy’s laughing with a water bottle. “You need to cool your tits.”
Grabbing my pecs, I give ’em a good squeeze and pucker my lips at him in the mirror, not missing a beat with my run. “You missed.” And just for good measure, I give my nipples a pinch.
After rolling his eyes, he gets back to his run. He’s here with the rest of the Combine hopefuls pushing each other to be stronger, do better. The same men I spent a season with forging myself into a biological weapon of destruction.
I fight through tight muscles to stretch out my legs, lengthening each stride. My rhythm’s off, but I know it’s my mind more than my body. Letting myself disappear in the mechanics of movement, I try to find the machine inside, the blood and bone. When ninety minutes are over, I jump off and wipe down the machine and head for the locker room, but I’m immediately surrounded by a group asking about Rayne. My instinct is to lash out. To defend her from them, but I stop myself. Most of these guys are her friends and my teammates. They like her. It’s normal for them to ask.
Be nice.
For the first time, all that media training from the beginning of the season comes in handy as they ask how they can help, and I tell them to give me time to figure it out. One by one, they all tell me they will, then let me go shower. The reprieve helps me calm down, and when I come out, Mike and Bay are waiting. As we pass through Dixon’s doors, bullshitting with each other, the Shadows fall in around me. I don’t have much to say, but they stick with me as I cross campus for class, warding off the screaming in my head.
When we get to my building, we knock knuckles and they take off, leaving me to the first of the three core classes I have today.
Walking through the door and thumping down into one of the tiny seats is an exercise in discipline when all I want to do is head to the hospital. Seats in most classes are too small, not to mention the distance between them and the salad plates they call desks. My body was not built for hobbit furniture. It’s uncomfortable on a good day, and on a day like today, it feels like I’ve gotten all eyes and phones recording every struggle and error. I can’t focus in this class or the next, each lecture sounding like nails on a chalkboard, growing worse with each tortured credit hour.
Once I survive the morning, I grab lunch then head for Coach Mills’ office for a meeting I’m dreading. Coach has been good to me, and I virtually disappeared. It should go badly. I’ve ignored his calls, and I need to take responsibility for my behavior. But I can’t say I’m sorry. I’m not.
Knocking, I wait for a gruff “enter,” and quietly open the door.
“How you doing, Ty?” he asks, dropping a paper on his desk and waving me in. He doesn’t look mad. Rather, his brows are drawn down in concern as he motions toward a seat in front of him.
“I’m here.” I drop my bag and sit, resting my elbows on my knees.
“I’m surprised you came, honestly.” He pulls off his cap and runs his hand through his hair before putting it back on. There’s no accusation in his comment and I’m reminded why I like this man. He truly cares about his team and treats us like real people, not commodities to be bought and sold like pieces on a gameboard.
“It wasn’t easy.”
“I don’t imagine it was. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d skipped again. I don’t know everything that’s happening, but I know it’s more than either of you deserve.” His brows knit together. “That girl’s been through enough. If there is anything you need from me or this department, you let me know. We’ll stand by you both in any capacity, whether it’s to keep things quiet or organize press conferences.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Leaning forward, he nods again. “Seriously, son. You have the support of not just the football department, but the whole athletic department. Director Marshall is still livid, and we know where our priorities are. We’re with you and with her. Don’t hesitate to do whatever you have to do and please, let us help.”
“I appreciate that and I know she will too. I think I’m doing everything I can for both of us. We have a team of lawyers, security, and investigators in the field, so…” Trying to roll the tension out of my neck, I grit my teeth before answering, “Rayne wants me here and in class, and if that’s what she wants, that’s what she gets.”
“That girl was always good for all my men. Tell her we’re pulling for her. But, if you’re going to be here, I’ll do exactly what she wants and what we need, which is get this team ready for next year.” Handing me the paper he’d dropped, he gives me a wry grin. “I said I’d have a scholarship for you for next year, and I’m delivering. That’s your full-ride for next year, and you’ll have it till you get drafted.”
Glancing at the document in shock, I find my head nodding, a lump rising up my throat. “Thank you, sir.”
Meeting his eyes, he coughs and gives a sniff before rocking back. “You don’t need to thank me, Ty. You more than earned that.
It’s the very least I could do.”
Inhaling words and emotions that want to force their way out, I ask him, almost garbling unsaid words, “What do you want me to do today? I did cardio earlier, but I know you have things going for practice.”
“Brian’s out there,” he says, nodding. “He’s trying to find his place. With a new quarterback comes a new rhythm, so I need you to get out there and run routes with him until he’s comfortable. He may have been on the team longer than you, but you know how it works in real life, so get out there and find your connection.” His brows come down. “And be careful of that cast. I know it’s tempting to fight through the pain, but I need it in working condition ASAP. So, you can catch balls unless it causes pain. Got it?”
Flexing my good hand, I nod. One hand catches are good to practice anyway.
“Seriously, Ty, be careful. You don’t have a ton of self-preservation in you, but I do.”
We both chuckle as I stand. “I’ll go catch bombs gently, Coach.”
“Smart-ass.”
I’m heading out the door, when I hear him behind me. “Ty, I’m proud of you.”
Nodding again, I try to swallow down the lump that re-emerges. Pulling the door closed behind me, I’m reminded of him asking me last semester if I was going to grow up. He’d asked, challenged me, to be better, do better. And I tried. I did everything they said, and I got her back. I settled into my skin, but neither Rayne nor I got to enjoy it for long.
Now, I’m not sure what doing better really looks like, because what everyone wanted from me was to control my anger. I did and look where it got us.
If I hadn’t listened to everyone’s advice, I’d have found a way to protect her before she got hurt, legal or not. I’m not interested in what they have to say anymore. The only standard I’m judging myself by now, is if I take care of her. The only standard that matters is if she’s okay. I think Coach gets it, and he’s still proud; that’ll make things easier.
Practice is just underway when I get out of the locker room. For those of us not working with private specialists for the Combine, there are zones set up on the field to work on the skill sets necessary for next season. The defensive guys are off to the side with motorized dummies and I move to the far end where the offensive is set up to work on routes.
As I join, our offensive coordinator welcomes me and slaps my helmet as I get it on. Jerry’s always been a bit rough around the edges but cool to work for, and it’s good to not get a lecture from the man who can make my life a living hell. When Jerry tells me to jump in and take the pass, most of my teammates give me nods or vocal welcomes, except Brian.
During our first effort, he’s a half a second off when he takes the hard snap from Jay, putting him off balance as he steps back to throw. He doesn’t seem to know where to be and struggles to find which leg he should be balanced on as Jerry yells at him. When he launches the ball three seconds late, it’s two yards behind me.
This happens over and over. After two hours, route after route, Brian never finds his rhythm. His blank stare when I joined the huddle makes more sense each time we miss the pass and he falters.
McVey spoiled me by always being on target with little to no stuttering on my part, and it’s frustrating to always find the ball a couple feet behind or in front of me. A mindless workout was the only part of practice I was looking forward to, the moments where muscle memory allows my mind a moment to shut down. I get none of that. I needed my brain to be able to blank out for a while, but instead, I have to be on the entire time. It’s an exercise in patience when I have none. The only thing keeping me from smacking down my new QB is that each time Brian looks at me after a missed pass, I can practically see him crack down the center.
I don’t know how he’s going to handle the pressure of lights and a crowd while three-hundred-pound monsters come for him. And that’s just on the field. That’s the easy part. The millions of piranhas off the field magnified by the media are worse.
It’s a mind trip when he looks at me in terror. By the end of running routes, my injured hand never gets the feared workout, and we walk off the field without Brian ever looking me in the eye. He just walks to his position coach while I head to mine, Walter Larami.
Larami slaps my shoulder. “Give him time. He’s a lot more freaked out than you ever were. He’s been sitting on the bench, watching a master for two years. He can’t do better than McVey. There’s nowhere for him to go but down, and you had nowhere to go but up.”
Nodding at him, I go through the rest of practice on autopilot, then rush out the door and head for the hospital. I’ve got a few solid hours to spend with her and I need that time.
• • • •
They wouldn’t let me see her. I missed visiting hours because of traffic and she had therapy. The male nurse standing behind the counter never even looked at me when he said it.
I almost punched him.
Sam has to physically force me to go to the car. Not that he says anything. He just puts me in the car and keeps glancing at me, until he gets a text. “Her brother’s at the apartment.”
“Shit.”
“I’ll let him know we’ll be back soon,” Sam says, tapping away at this phone.
When I get to the apartment, a scruffy Corey is sitting in the hallway with a beat-up duffel bag on the floor beside him. His head’s tipped back against the wall, dark circles underlining both closed eyes. He didn’t make it back a couple days ago, and given how bad he looks, I’m pretty sure he’s got a story.
Holding out a hand, I pull him up when he grabs on. “Hey man, when did you get here?”
“Not too long ago,” he says, grabbing the bag, hiking it over his shoulder.
Giving Sam a nod, I open the door and let Corey in. “Sorry. I didn’t get a message you were coming.”
Tossing the keys onto the table, I drop my own bags at the same time he does and head for the fridge, grabbing coconut milks for us both.
“My phone died and I needed to see you tonight.”
“Power up.” Waving at the wall, I hand him the bottle and flop on the couch.
Nodding his head, he grabs a charger from his bag and returns, plugging in his phone, and sinking into the couch two cushions away.
“You don’t look so good. Everything copacetic at home?”
He takes another gulp, and nods. “My woman and son are okay, but they aren’t why I didn’t come back.”
“Okay,” I drag out, because something obviously happened.
His phone beeps as it gets enough charge to be powered up. “So, I told you I saw my mom, right?”
“Yeah, you were gonna tell me why that’s a big deal.”
His nose wrinkles, just like Rayne’s does when she’s disgusted. “I went by her old stomping grounds,” he says and takes another gulp. “And there she was, buying another fix.”
“Okay,” I say, shrugging. She’s a meth addict. That’s what addicts do; they get their fixes.
He grunts. “No, you don’t understand, she was buying drugs.”
I shake my head as he trades the bottle for his phone.
“No, you’re not seeing it. She had money. How the fuck does my broke-ass mother have money for drugs?” He turns on his phone and gives me a cocked brow. “She was cut off by the Mathews. She’s broke. Like, broke broke and has been for the last couple months.” The phone’s tone goes off as it powers up. “It was part of what was driving her over the edge about Rayne not coming home,” he says. “She was having withdrawals in December because she didn’t have any cash and her credit was nil with her dealers. She doesn’t have money to buy shit, and yet there she was, handing over a wad of cash to some rat trap dealer.”
It hits me. “She wasn’t in withdrawal at the hearing,” I practically whisper.
“I know” he says, each word clipped, his fingers flipping through his phone. “That was suspicious as fuck. She should have been in agony. So, where did she get money?”
“Her boyfriend?” I
t makes me sick to think of the guy who harassed Rayne, but I remember her saying both of them were addicts.
“Jim’s gone. He left last fall when the good times ended.”
Watching as he stares at the glowing screens, the only possible options seem to be obvious. “She has a new one?”
“I thought about that, and while there’s a slim possibility, that’s where I was last night. Again.” His fingers stop as he motions for me to get closer. “No sign of a boyfriend, but she went back to get more, which means more cash.”
A video comes up on his screen and he shoves the phone into my hands. In the dim light, you can clearly see Emily get out of a car, check both ways on the street, then dash across. It’s night, but the streetlights give just enough illumination to see her approach two people on the sidewalk. Before she gets to them, she pulls something out of her thin jacket, causing one of the guys to hold up a hand, barking something I can’t hear on the video. The angry guy grabs what’s in her hand and the other hands her something, which she stuffs in her jacket. She doesn’t stick around long, practically running back to her car and speeding away. When the video ends, I’ve got more questions than answers.
“You’re right. So how?”
When I hand his phone back, he fixes the last image of the video with a hard look. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.” A sneer spreads across his face and I can feel his determination. “That bitch would do anything for a fix and I’m gonna find out what she did if it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rayne Mathews
I missed seeing Tyler yesterday and I could almost kick myself for telling him to go to all his classes before coming to see me. Almost.
I attended a group session first thing this morning to make sure I could see him and Arnowsky today. I ended up surrounded by people I don’t know and said nothing. There’s no way I’m sharing my issues with five people I don’t know, let alone the guy with the tablet who stares at me with a blank look that masks whatever’s going on underneath, while I hemorrhage my nightmares through my pores. Not a chance.
