“I never expected any of this.” Each syllable that falls from his mouth sounds like a struggle. As if he’s thinking about every single one before allowing it to escape into the atmosphere.
Since I’m uncertain as to exactly what he’s referring to, I press my lips together until they feel bloodless and wait for him to continue. My heartbeat feels like the crash of the ocean filling my ears.
His gaze lifts, impaling mine with his dark depths. There’s so much turbulent emotion swirling through them that it’s almost enough to bring me to my knees.
“I never expected to fall in love with you, Sydney.”
Air gets wedged in my throat, making it impossible to breathe.
“If I’m being brutally honest, I’ve liked you for a while. We didn’t really know each other but there was always something about you that caught my interest. It was more than your looks. It was just,” he jerks his shoulders as if unsure how to explain himself, “you. Your personality. Your drive and determination. Your confidence and athleticism.” The corners of his lips lift marginally. By no means is it a full-blown Brayden Kendricks smile. “You can be a real wildcard, and I like that. You’re not afraid of anything or anyone.”
His words catch me off guard as everything inside lifts, cautiously filling with hope.
“The more I got to know you, the more time I wanted to spend with you. You have this irrepressible energy that I find addictive. After you took me home to meet your family, I saw a different side of you. It gave me more insight to your personality and what shaped you into the woman you are today. I understand why you stick up for your friends and don’t take shit from anyone. That afternoon only made me fall harder.” His voice drops away for an agonizing handful of moments. “I honestly didn’t think there was anything that could change the way I felt about you.”
All of the hope that had been cautiously rising within me crashes to the ground before bursting into flames. It’s so painful and unexpected that it nearly steals my breath away.
Brayden’s gaze skitters from mine before landing on a framed photograph on my nightstand. His body stills as he sucks in a sharp breath before reaching for it.
I take a cautious step toward him. “Brayden, don’t,” I whisper brokenly as he stares at the picture. The last thing I want to do is cause any more despair. He’s been through more than enough at our hands. We need to end this now before more damage can be wreaked.
“Is this him?” His attention remains fixated on the photo.
I nod before forcing myself to respond. “Yes.”
It’s one that was snapped of us five years before he died. He’s dressed in his high school soccer uniform and I’m wearing a travel team jersey. His arm is slung around my shoulders and we’re both beaming at the camera as if we don’t have a care in the world. I suppose, at that particular moment in time, we didn’t. It’s crazy how life can change in the blink of an eye, never to be the same again.
Our brightly shining happiness is a painful reminder of that reality.
“You look like him,” he murmurs, gaze pinned to the picture in his hands.
My heart feels like it’s going to thump right out of my chest. This moment feels especially raw and painful. And there’s nothing that can be done to soften it.
Peter and I were both tall with blond hair and vivid, green-colored eyes. Our personalities were similar, and we were both athletic. Always moving. We liked to laugh and have a good time and were equally protective of Lucus. At the beginning of each new school year, he would remind me that it was my responsibility to watch out for our brother. It never felt like a burden. I was happy to do it.
Brayden and I fall into another suffocating silence as he stares at the photograph. I’m tempted to close the distance between us and rip the silver frame from his hands. But I don’t. My legs are paralyzed, refusing to obey the orders of my brain. The only thing I’m capable of doing is watching the pain as it flickers across his face.
“I’m sorry that Peter took your father away,” I force myself to say. Hot tears sting my eyes, clouding my vision. “I loved my brother more than anything, but I hate him for what he did.”
When Brayden wrenches his head up, I see the wetness shining in his own eyes. Carefully, he sets the photograph where he found it before quickly rising to his feet. It only takes three long-legged strides for him to swallow up the space that separates us. My breath catches as he wraps his fingers around my arms and tugs me to him. The moment my cheek makes contact with his chest, the floodgates open, and my heartache pours out in a burst of pent-up emotion. His arms tighten around me as if he’s holding on for dear life.
I have no idea how long we stand there, clinging to each other in the middle of my bedroom. It could be minutes or hours. All I know is that when the tears finally subside, I’m drained of all the emotion bottled up inside me. Even with the daunting history that stands between us, nothing has ever felt as right as being in Brayden’s arms. I’ve missed it so much more than I allowed myself to realize. I want to stay in their comforting strength forever.
That’s not something I was ever able to imagine before Brayden came into my life. Not even with Ethan. As much as I liked him, our relationship was filled with too much drama to last for the long haul. But the dark-haired football player was different. More than that, I felt different when I was with him.
I keep my face pressed against his chest, realizing that if I risk a glance in his direction, this fragile interlude we’ve managed to discover will shatter into nothingness. All of the heartache that triggered this gulf will rush in and leave us on opposite sides.
I don’t think I could bear that.
Not now.
Not when his arms are wrapped protectively around me.
His hands loosen from my body before settling on my cheeks as he attempts to lift my face. Instead of allowing him to do it, I fight him, refusing to glance up.
“Sydney,” he whispers, “look at me.”
I give my head a little shake. “I can’t.”
“Please, baby?”
The endearment has my heart shattering into a million jagged pieces. It takes everything I have inside to force myself to meet his gaze.
“I love you, Syd.”
I didn’t think it was possible for more tears to flood my eyes, but I was wrong.
When I remain silent, unable to give voice to all the thoughts circling through my head, he says, “Did you hear me? I love you.”
“Why would you tell me that?” I whisper brokenly. Doesn’t Brayden understand that he’s only shoving the knife in deeper and inflicting more damage? Is that his intention? To bring me to my knees? To cause as much heartache as possible?
His thumb gently swipes at one cheek as wetness continues to trek down it. “Because it’s the truth. No matter how much I’ve tried to fight it, there’s no changing how I feel about you.”
His palms fall away from my face before he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the bed. As he settles on the mattress, I can’t resist burrowing against the solid strength of his chest.
Even though I’m terrified to give voice to the question, the words are out of my mouth before I can rein them back in again. “How can you love me now that you know the truth?”
“I didn’t have a choice in losing my father. The circumstances were beyond my control. Beyond yours. I refuse to lose anyone else that I love,” he says simply. “I won’t allow that accident to steal any more of my happiness. Or yours.”
My heart feels like it’s caught in a vise. “How can you forgive me so easily?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong, Sydney. And neither did your family. What happened...” his voice trails off. “It was a tragic accident. I’m not going to hold that against you or them. I can’t even hold it against Peter. He was a kid who made a terrible error in judgment.”
A hot rush of tears stings my eyes. “I should have told you the truth right away instead of keeping it a secr
et. I’m sorry for that.”
“Now that I’ve had time to process everything, I understand why you handled it the way you did. I’m sorry for how I reacted when I found out. I felt terrible about walking out of the ice cream shop the way I did. I texted Lucus the next day to make sure he was all right.”
“Really?” I blink, unable to believe that he would put my family above his own.
“Yeah. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. We talked about it and had a good conversation.”
If I hadn’t already realized that I was in love with Brayden, this would have pushed me over the edge.
My expression remains somber. As much as I don’t want to hold back, I can’t help it. “Are you sure that we can move forward so easily?”
Brayden lowers his forehead to mine as our gazes stay locked. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I love you, Sydney. More than I thought possible. Maybe this shook us a bit, but that’s all it was. A tremor. One we can move past.”
Everything inside me melts into a gooey pile. “I love you, too.”
As I release what’s been in my heart, the heaviness weighing me down finally dissipates, leaving me feeling lighter. There’s no way for us to change what happened in the past, but we can do our best to rewrite the future and make it what we want.
What we need it to be.
Epilogue
Brayden
Two years later...
I stroll into the exhibition hall and glance around the wide, open space. It’s three stories high with a glass ceiling that allows the sun to pour in, bathing the artwork in incandescent light. It’s almost enough to take my breath away.
Almost.
The sight that does leave me feeling slightly knocked off kilter is the woman curled up on a metal bench with a sketch pad in one hand and a charcoal pencil in the other. Her long blond hair flows in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back. The strands glow under the light. The red tank she’s wearing clings to her curves and the tiny, white shorts make her sun-kissed legs look like they go on for miles. Sydney has the most amazing legs. There’s nothing like the feel of them wrapped around my waist as I bury myself in her slick heat. Every time I catch sight of her is like a punch to the gut. There are times when I can’t believe this woman is actually mine.
After she walked out of the bathroom this morning dressed for the day, the urge to rip off every shred of clothing and fuck her senseless pounded through me. Actually, that’s precisely what I did. No matter how many times we make love, it’s never enough. I’m always left wanting more. It’s been that way since the very beginning, and I don’t see it changing anytime soon.
At least, I hope it doesn’t.
For a handful of moments, I hover near the threshold and watch her work. I could do this all day long. Especially when she’s immersed in her art. There’s an intensity that overtakes her features as her pencil flies across the paper. I’m always blown away by what she’s able to create. She’s so damn talented, which is exactly why I couldn’t allow her to waste it, sitting behind a desk for forty hours a week. Not when accounting wasn’t her passion.
After about five minutes, she glances up and searches the area before her gaze collides with mine across the room. I raise my hand in silent greeting as a smile flits across her face. My heart speeds up. There’s nothing better than when her attention fastens onto mine and her expression softens with love.
It makes me feel like the luckiest bastard in the world. And to think that we came so close to allowing the past to tear us apart. I almost shake my head at the memory before eating up the distance that separates us. It’s impossible to imagine my life without Sydney filling every single part of it. We’ve only been together for two years, but she has quickly become my everything. She fills all the emptiness I didn’t realize was lurking deep inside.
My goal is to do the same for her.
Once I’ve reached the bench, I lower my face until we meet somewhere in the middle. The moment I capture her mouth, I stroke my tongue against the seam of her lips. Almost immediately, she opens. I don’t give a damn if we’re in the middle of the art museum and people are milling around. The need I have for her is like a living, breathing entity. One that will never be fully quenched.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. Her eyes have turned heavy-lidded, and I know that once we return to the apartment, we’ll be tearing at each other’s clothes until I can sink deep inside her heat where I belong.
Where I was always meant to be.
“How were your classes this morning?” I ask, willing down the growing erection in my shorts.
“They were great.” She beams a smile at me. “I’m really loving this program.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Her lips are already swollen from my kisses, and I’m unable to resist swooping in for another.
After graduation, Sydney returned home to work for her father. Since I ended up getting drafted by Dallas and moving halfway across the country, there was no other choice but to make a long-distance relationship work. After everything we’d overcome senior year, living without her wasn’t an option.
It took about four months for my girl to realize that accounting wasn’t going to make her happy. So, we talked about it and she explored a few different options before eventually deciding to return to school for graphic design.
In Dallas.
We rented a kickass apartment downtown that has amazing views of the city and we’ve made this our home.
And you know what?
I couldn’t be happier.
I’ve got the woman I love and the career I’ve always wanted. Once the season is over and Sydney wraps up the semester, we’ll return home to spend a couple of weeks at the cabin. One of these days, when we’re both ready for that next step, I’ll propose and make this relationship legit. We’ve talked about the future, and we both want a couple of kids. When I imagine what our life together and a family would look like, I think about taking our children to the cabin and teaching them all the things about life my father taught me. It’ll be through them that Jake Winchester lives on.
“Are you ready to go home?” Sydney asks, her fingers drifting across my cheek.
“Yup.” I press one last kiss to her mouth before pulling her to her sandaled feet.
The truth of the matter is that this girl is my home, and no matter where she is, that’s where you’ll find me.
The End
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Campus Player
Demi
“Morning, Demi!” Gary, one of the stadium custodians, calls out with an easy smile and wave as he saunters toward me. “Up and at ’em bright and early this morning, I see.”
My heart jackhammers beneath my ribcage from the twenty-minute run as I flash him a grin. “Always!”
“You have a good one! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Since I’ve already moved past him, I holler over my shoulder, “Same place, same time!”
Even with The Killers pumping through my earbuds, I almost hear the deep chuckle that slides from his lips. Our morning greetings are a ritual three years in the making. I’ve been running through the wide corridor that leads to the stadium football field since I stepped foot on campus freshman year. This will be something I miss when I graduate in the spring. Five days a week, I’m up at six, logging in a four-mile run before returning home, jumping in the shower, and heading off to class.
At this time of the day, the stadium is still relatively quiet, with only a few people wandering the hallways. There’s something both serene and eerie about it. I’ve been here on game days when there are thirty thousand fans packed shoulder to shoulder, rooting on the Western Wildcats football team. Three-fourths of the
stadium filled with black and orange is an amazing sight to behold. Football is a religion at Western. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the women’s soccer team. We’re lucky if there are a couple of hundred spectators in the stands.
I’ve come to terms with it.
Sort of.
I keep my gaze trained on the light at the end of the tunnel and push myself faster. As soon as I burst out of the darkness, bright sunlight pours down on me, stroking over the bare skin of my arms and shoulders. It’s late August, and summer is still in full swing. A whistle cuts through the silence of the stadium, and my gaze slices to the field. Nick Richards has been head coach of the Wildcats for the last decade. He also happens to be my father.
Two days a week, the guys are up at six in the morning for yoga. Dad is a big believer in flexibility. Even though I’m winded, a smirk lifts the corners of my lips. Watching two-hundred-and-eighty-pound linebackers contort their bodies into Downward-Facing Dog, the Warrior II Pose, and the Cobra is enough to bring a chuckle to my lips. Some of the guys actually like it, but most grumble when they think Dad isn’t paying attention. Little do they know that he sees and hears everything.
My father catches sight of me and flashes a quick smile along with a wave in my direction. He has a black ball cap pulled low and aviators covering his eyes. There’s a clipboard in one hand as he paces behind the instructor.
When I point to the field, he shakes his head. He might make the guys do yoga, but he refuses to participate. Something about old dogs and new tricks. Every once in a while, I’ll tell him that he needs to get out there and set a good example for the team. He usually shoots me a glare in return.
Every Wednesday night, Dad and I get together. Our weekly dinners became a thing when I moved out of the house and into the dorms freshman year. He’s busy coaching football, and my schedule is packed tight with school and soccer. Getting together once a week is the best way for us to stay connected. It doesn’t matter if we’re in the middle of our seasons; we always make time for each other. Especially since Mom lives in sunny California. After eighteen years of marriage, she got fed up with being a distant second to the Western University football program. She packed up her bags and walked out. I hate to say it, but Dad didn’t notice her absence for a couple of days. Which only proved her point. Now she’s remarried, learning to surf, and is a vegan. I visit for a couple of weeks during the summer before soccer training camp starts up at the end of June.
Campus Heartthrob (The Campus Series Book 2) Page 28
