“I know. Just not tonight.”
I wanted to pry open her mind and steal the answers. I wanted to cajole or even force her to tell me. But I couldn’t take anything from Teagan that she wasn’t willing to give. I never would.
“Okay. Guest room is yours for however long you want it. I’m heading to bed.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead and breathed in the scent of strawberries and whatever that intoxicating perfume was that she loved.
She nodded, and we parted at the top of the stairs, me toward the master bedroom, and her toward the guest room down the hall.
Walt curled up on his ginormous dog bed at the foot of my king-sized monstrosity, and after I cleaned up, I killed the light and climbed into bed, only to stare up at the vaulted ceiling for another hour.
How long had this been going on?
Why the fuck hadn’t she told me?
Why hadn’t I seen it?
What else had I missed?
My thoughts were so loud that I barely heard when Teagan opened my door.
I didn’t pause, think, or hesitate. I simply pulled back the covers as she climbed into bed next to me. Her skin was soft and warm as she tucked in under my arm and rested her head on my chest like we’d done this a million times before—because we had.
I slid my fingers into the thick blonde waves of her hair and gently massaged her head.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her hand splaying over my heart.
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it. I should have seen it.” I covered her hand with mine and kept making lazy circles with the other.
“Do you still like me?” she asked like we were seven again, getting over our first big fight, which had been caused by her mistakenly thinking that her role as my best friend had been usurped by Tommy Kimball. It hadn’t.
“I still like you,” I promised. “Do you still like me?”
“I always like you,” she whispered.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she drifted off to sleep, but my mind didn’t quiet—not with the moonlight streaming in through the windows, illuminating the harsh fingerprints that marred the smooth, creamy skin of her arm.
If Teagan chose not to press charges, then I’d be face-to-face with that asshole in a matter of weeks. The first full day of training camp was in less than a month.
One punch hadn’t been enough.
2
Teagan
I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my chest so hard I laid my palm over it like that might slow it down. My mind raced, a sense of disorientation tilting my inner axis.
Warm, Egyptian cotton touched my skin instead of immaculate silk.
A fresh, woodsy scent with warm chocolate undertones swirled around me instead of the sharp, tangy lemon scent I was so accustomed to.
The betrayal and rage in Rick’s eyes as he flung the pillbox toward me.
The way his face had shifted from fiery anger to a cold, calculating fury.
The way my spine had barked against the wall.
Memories flashed on repeat behind my eyes, my mind catching up with my body.
I blew out a breath, sinking back against the bed and tossing the blanket over my head.
Roman.
I was at Roman’s—that was his scent drenching the sheets.
Some of the tension uncoiled from my muscles, followed quickly by a wave of shame that curled my insides.
I’d done a damn good job the last year not letting my best friend see how close I was to drowning. Not an easy feat, seeing as I’d known Roman since we were four. We’d grown up together with nothing but a thin wall separating us between our joined houses. He’d always been able to read me with a simple look, but luckily, he’d never seen the silent struggle I’d had since Rick had…changed.
I clenched my eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, the slew of red flags waving in my face, calling me an idiot.
I’d felt trapped, though.
Part of me still felt trapped as if Rick would bust through the door any minute and drag me kicking and screaming back to his home.
A chill raced down my spine at the thought.
“T?” Roman’s voice called after a soft knock on the door. I heard it open and close, my breath tight in my lungs. I could feel Roman there, standing on the side of the bed I’d slept on, likely having a debate on whether he should pull the covers down and wake my ass up—
“I know you’re not asleep,” he said, stopping my train of thought.
I tossed off the blanket. “How did you know?”
He furrowed his brow. “I’ve slept with you enough to know what you sound like, T,” he said, and for some reason, the words made heat rush to my cheeks.
Why though? We had slept in the same bed millions of times since we were kids.
“You snore,” he said, a light tease in his dark eyes.
“I do not snore!” I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him.
He caught it without even blinking. Damn those Raptor reflexes. His biceps strained against the simple black T-shirt he wore, his dark skin smooth over the corded muscle. A pair of athletic shorts clung to his hips, his feet bare, and his black hair was still ruffled from sleep.
The warmth of his body next to mine, his steady breathing, his smell—each had offered me all the comforts of home, of safety, when I’d needed it most.
I had the urge to reach for the locket underneath my pillow, despite knowing it wasn’t there. Knowing I hadn’t been able to sleep with it in over three years. Instead, I’d had to hide it in a shoebox…
How the hell would I get that box back—
“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the opened door behind him. “I made you breakfast.”
I perked up at that, and my brows raised as the smell filtered in from the kitchen. “You didn’t!” I swung my legs over the side of the bed, only then realizing I wore nothing but one of his Raptors T-shirts and a pair of his boxers that weren’t visible beneath the shirt’s hem.
Because you left that house with nothing.
I’d been terrified. There hadn’t been time to grab anything beyond my purse.
My stomach twisted as I glanced down at the attire.
Your body isn’t meant for shorts. Or skirts. Anything above the knee. No one wants to see those thick thighs but me and I only want to see them when you’re riding my dick.
Rick’s voice echoed in my head, and the urge to cover my body hit me like a blow to the chest.
“Teagan.” Roman used my full name, snapping my attention back to him. “Food. Now.”
My feet moved on their own at the desperation in his tone, and I followed him into his kitchen. I settled in one of his leather barstools at his granite kitchen island, my mouth watering as the smell of fried tortillas and tomatoes filled the air.
Roman slid a wide, shallow bowl before me, and I stared down at the gorgeous contents.
“You made Chilaquiles,” I said, my throat clogging with emotion.
“They’re your favorite.” He shrugged as he sat across from me, digging into a bowl of his own.
Walter padded across the kitchen, plopping his big head right in my lap. I smoothed my hand over his head a few times before returning focus to my breakfast.
I scooped up my fork and slid the tines into the perfectly fried egg perched atop the crisp tortilla strips garnished with avocado, tomato, and red sauce. I slid the bite into my mouth and moaned as the flavors of my childhood hit my tongue.
“Omigod,” I said after swallowing. “These are just like your Abuela’s.” I shook my head. “I haven’t had them since…” my voice trailed off, my mind trying to recall the last time I’d seen her.
“The Padilla family reunion,” Roman answered for me. “Three years ago. The last time you were allowed—” he cleared his throat, stabbing the contents in his bowl a bit harder than necessary. “The last time you were able to make it.”
My heart sank to the bottom o
f my stomach.
Allowed.
The word seemed foreign when I applied it to my past, yet there wasn’t a better way to describe it.
How had I never seen it before? How had Rick managed to make me believe that his requests were actual requests? That his ideas were mine? That his needs were the most important—
“You need to talk to me now,” Roman said, his voice soft, kind.
I took a few more bites, savoring the flavors that wrapped around my soul like a warm blanket. God, what would I have done if I didn’t have him? Where would I have gone?
The staggering emptiness on my list of available allies was so small it threatened to crack my already shattered heart. Maybe Savannah’s or Liberty’s, but the first would’ve likely been out partying with her college friends, and the later had a four-month old baby at home. I wouldn’t have wanted to bother them. And in all reality? The only instinct I had last night was to find somewhere safe.
Roman had always been my safe space. Ever since he’d rescued six-year-old me from a water moccasin during our school field trip to the lake—he’d been that safe haven for me.
“Please, T,” he said when I hadn’t answered. “Just tell me what happened. What led to all of that?”
My mind whirled, presenting me with an overwhelming amount of evidence—thousands of tiny moments that I’d overlooked or blatantly ignored for fear of making things worse. I couldn’t process the information quickly enough. Couldn’t resolve those memories with what I’d felt in the moment. It was like a thick film had coated my eyes, and just now, today, I could see clearly.
Every backhanded comment. Every demand, every rough touch I’d blamed on alcohol or stress or the natural athletic instincts he couldn’t bury.
How could I lay that bare? To the one person in the world whose opinion mattered to me above all others?
“Rick always pushed me to have kids,” I admitted. “And I’ve always wanted a big family. You know that,” I said, wringing my hands. “But I didn’t want them with him. That should’ve been my first clue, you know? I want babies. I didn’t want his.” I shook my head. “I mean, who thinks that? Wouldn’t you have left if you didn’t want—” I cut myself off, my eyes flaring wide. “I’m sorry, Roman, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he said, waving me off. “I came to peace with that a long time ago.”
I swallowed hard, hating how frayed my mind was that I didn’t think how insensitive my words were to my best friend who couldn’t have children.
“Go on,” he urged.
“I told him I wasn’t taking anything to prevent it,” I said. “Yes, it was a lie. But I knew in my heart I wasn’t ready for a baby. I told myself that’s why I didn’t want his babies because I couldn’t handle it right now. I mean, I only just recently started to sell my work with any real results. And I’m twenty-six. I don’t have to have my entire life figured out right now.” I sighed. “He found my pills. And I thought I’d hidden them so well.” I’d kept them in my purse at all times, buried beneath tampons and PMS meds. I never thought he’d make it past those, if he ever felt the need to look in my purse anyway. “He lost it,” I continued. “And then…well, you know the rest.”
Roman fisted his hands on the island. “This isn’t the first time he’s acted like this, is it?” He finally asked.
“There are some things I can’t tell you,” I said, swirling the red sauce at the bottom of my now-empty bowl.
“You can tell me anything,” he said. “You’ve always been able to tell me anything.”
That stinging shame curled my insides again. God, I’d never felt less intelligent in my entire life. How could I have been so blind?
“You can trust me.”
“I know I can, Roman,” I said, sighing as I ran my fingers through my long blonde hair. I needed a shower to work out the tangles. “It’s not about trust. I promise. And I literally can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done. What you did…” My voice trailed off as tears bit the backs of my eyes. He could get in so much trouble for that punch. A teammate, nonetheless. “Last night, all I could think of was getting somewhere safe. You were that place. I was an idiot. I should’ve thought. I didn’t think about how I could get you in trouble—”
“Fuck that,” he said, shoving off his barstool and rounding the island to stand before me. Walt quickly backed up and padded over to his bed in the living room to lay down.
Roman tilted my chin up so I would meet his dark eyes. “You always come to me, you hear me? For anything. I’m here. I don’t give a shit about the consequences. And that asshole deserved what he got.”
I blew out a breath, my forehead falling to rest against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, his hands smoothing circles on my back.
“I just need some time,” I admitted. “I’ve barely been able to sort it out in my own mind.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice low as he released me. “I understand.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For last night. For breakfast. All of it.”
“Always.”
“Please don’t tell our mothers, either,” I begged as I chewed on my bottom lip, the call of his bed and a two-week-long nap so strong I felt I might pass out right there.
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Some tight pieces of my chest uncoiled. I didn’t need my mother or his knowing what went down last night. Or the past few years. Any of it. Not until I’d had time to sort it out myself. “Can I ask one more thing?”
“Anything.”
“Can I borrow your shower?”
Roman laughed, a quick, warm sound. “You know where it is.”
I pushed off the barstool, heading toward his bedroom. I stopped short of his door, a cold panic clawing up my throat. I spun back around, rushing into the kitchen. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped.
I grabbed both our empty bowls off the kitchen-island and hurried toward the sink. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I flipped his faucet toward hot, quickly rinsing the bowls beneath the water as I reached for the scrub brush he kept to the sink’s left. My chest tightened at the idea of what could’ve happened if I’d left those dirty dishes on the counter—
“T,” Roman said from right beside me, and I jumped at his nearness. But I didn’t stop scrubbing. “Teagan.” He reached for my hands, soaking his underneath the water but not seeming to care. “Look at me.”
I tore my gaze away from the dishes, my muscles coiled from instinct, that habitual fear tingling in my blood.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said as he shut off the water.
“But if I don’t…” I said before I could think.
Roman tilted his head, concern churning in his eyes.
Oh, God.
My muscles trembled, the world tilted beneath my feet as I looked from him to the dishes and back again.
Roman is not Rick.
I silently repeated that three times before I set down the dish I’d been cleaning. The urge to clean it was still there—to finish the dishes, dry them, and put them in their proper place like an itch I couldn’t reach.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to be,” Roman said as he reached for something behind me.
I flinched, the instinct overpowering every other thought in my head.
Roman lifted his hands and took a step back, a hand-towel dangling from his right.
Mortification colored my cheeks, and I shifted on my feet. “Shower.” That’s the only word I could squeeze out before I spun on my heels and practically sprinted to his bedroom.
Once inside his ensuite bathroom, my fingers hovered, hesitating over the lock.
“Teagan!” Rick shouted from behind the door.
“Hey, babe, I’m in the bath—"
“Why’d you lock the door?” He gave the handle a forceful jerk causing the metal to shriek.
I sat up in the tub, bubbles sloshing everywhere. “I didn’t know I did. I’m almost do
ne—”
“Open the door, Teagan.” His voice left no room for questioning.
I hurried out of the tub and into a towel, water sliding down my legs as I rushed to unlock the door.
Rick stormed in, his eyes darting every which way before landing on mine.
“You know better than to lock me out.”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize I did it,” I said, my voice cracking as I hugged the towel closer around me. “I thought you were out for the night and I must’ve just—”
His fingers gripped my chin, stopping my words. “This is my house,” he said. “Just like everything inside it is mine. Including you.”
Normally, his laying claim to me gave me a rush of primal warmth. Right now? Nothing but icy fear clung to my blood.
“Babe,” I said, the word coming out a little jumbled due to his grip. “It was an accident.”
His gaze narrowed for a few seconds before he released me. He glanced down, reaching for the towel.
I swallowed hard, my body not in the mood, but my mind shouting at me to keep quiet. Rejecting him would only make things worse.
His fingers flicked, and the towel fell to my ankles. He motioned toward the tub, still filled with water and bubbles. “Don’t let me stop you.”
I titled my head for a second but quickly got back in the tub. After a few moments, I finally asked, “Aren’t you getting in?”
Rick shook his head as he leaned against the counter on the other side of the bathroom. “Nope,” he said. “I’m just going to watch you.”
I blinked out of the memory and twisted the damn lock. Not out of any fear of Roman coming inside while I was showering—hell, the boy and I used to take baths together. But more out of a sense of power. Of control. Any form of it.
I climbed into Roman’s shower a few minutes later, sighing as the hot water hit my skin. My biceps stung as the beads hit them, and I glanced down. Fingerprint bruises encircled each arm—he’d grabbed me that hard.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I tried to empty my mind.
Every harsh word.
Every held breath as I felt his anger shift.
Every time I’d recoiled from his massive presence.
Roman (Raleigh Raptors Book 2) Page 2
