Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6

by Steiner, Kandi

  Me: Who still cries at the thought of losing the guy she thought she was going to marry one day? But knows he’ll never come back and she still has to go through that grieving process?

  Me: Who isn’t in love with him, but knows she’ll always care for him because she respected him that much, respected the relationship she thought she would have with him? Because he was actually a really great guy before the fucking disease TOOK HIM AWAY FROM HER?!

  Me: She never got a say. He didn’t.

  Me: They were happy one day, then poof, he couldn’t remember her the next for a few minutes. How’s that right? How’s that something we’re supposed to just take? Move on with life?

  Me: Well. It doesn’t happen. There are feelings and thoughts and dreams and lives that are plucked away from us and we HAVE NO FUCKING SAY IN THE MATTER!

  Me: Sorry. Calmer now.

  Me: Still glad we became friends?

  Me: Still glad we had sex?

  Me: Still glad you put up with me enough so we were more than friends, more than fuck friends?

  Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who was so filled with shame that it took her an entire year to start living again? To hope to live again? To want to live again?

  Reese: Where.

  Me: Or about a girl who realized because she hadn’t dealt with her baggage, she might’ve royally fucked up her chances at being with another guy who could make her happy? Who could make her live again?

  Me: Or…

  My hands were shaking. My stomach was going to empty out, and I was about to be sitting here texting with him and crapping my pants all at the same time. But I took a deep inhale and typed it to him.

  Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who sends you random questions because she’s too scared to tell you the one simple truth?

  Me: That she fell in love with you.

  Me: And she’s now pissing herself, knowing she’ll have new baggage over losing out on someone she doesn’t deserve, but she’s hoping he’ll give her one more chance?

  Me: Because she’s a lot more sane. Promise.

  Me: Because she really is working on herself now and she’s just really hurting and sad, but she has love in her to give and she knows if you can just put up with the void inside of her that may never go away, she’s hoping you’ll deem her worthy enough for a second chance?

  Me: I’m talking about me, by the way. Just making that clear, because talking in third person probably doesn’t help sell the whole ‘I’m more sane here’ premise.

  Damn!

  I sent another flurry of texts because I couldn’t stop myself.

  Me: And beware with your rejection. I’m a reformed stalker, but the reform could be temporary.

  Reese: Are.

  Me: What would happen if a camel was born with three humps? Deformity or evolution?

  I was faintly aware of Trent’s phone buzzing beside me. I kept on. I was committed now. Good luck on knowing when I’d stop.

  Me: Thoughts on ending poaching worldwide?

  Me: Rugby or football?

  Me: American football or the real football?

  Me: Favorite book? Besides your playbook.

  Me: Why are manatees so cute?

  Reese: You?!

  Me: Who’d win in an ocean selfie contest? Dolphin or manatee?

  Me: Seahorses don’t look anything like real horses. Discuss.

  Me: Who really puts together the DSM? Do we actually need all those volumes?

  Me: What do you think—

  A hand rested over mine, stopping my text in mid-type.

  “What?”

  I was almost desperate to get these questions out, but Trent wasn’t looking at me. He nodded toward the front of our box. “Look.”

  I did, my insides a hurricane, tsunami, and let’s throw in a few tornadoes. All were happening. All at once, and they were inflicting horrific damage, but there he was. Standing just at our entrance, his glasses still on and a firm scowl fixed on those so-kissable lips.

  I held the phone up once more.

  Me: Can you even see with those sunglasses?

  He read the text, shaking his head, and I saw a crack. His top lip curved up, but it was flat the next second. He shoved his phone into his pocket, took mine, and grabbed my hand.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Trent tossed him a set of keys. Reese caught them, giving him a nod.

  Then we were leaving.

  Chapter 49

  He walked me down the hallway.

  Hand in hand.

  His face forward.

  He wasn’t looking at me, and I couldn’t help myself. The texting had unleashed something in me.

  “You had a girl on your lap.”

  I didn’t mean it to come out accusing—no, no, I totally did. Let’s be honest here. I was seeing green and red at the same time. It was Christmas in the nightclub.

  Reese’s hand tightened over mine. He spared me a brief glance, and then his phone was out and he was using his other hand to type on it.

  “She grabbed me when we came in. I let her stay because I thought the guys would leave me alone then. Chicks on laps usually do that, unless they’re hoping for a share.”

  Oh. God. What I could do with that one from him.

  I gulped, only asking with a bite, “Do you usually share?”

  He stopped. I almost slammed into him from the abruptness, and he rotated around.

  “No,” he clipped out, taking the sunglasses off and shoving them into his pocket. “Do you?”

  I reared my head back. “Are you kidding me? I would never not be texting then. Everyone would be getting the texts.”

  He grinned, just slightly, and it made my heart flip over.

  He shook his head, starting forward again as his phone flashed. “You are truly insane.”

  I snorted. “That’s been established. Long ago. Keep up.”

  We were at the front of the club. He paused before stepping out. A few people had gone past us in the hallway, and only a couple had stopped to look back at him, but it was different now. He was going out into an open area, and beyond that, there were more people. If the press knew almost the entire Seattle Thunder team was at Whisper, they’d for sure be camped outside.

  He cursed.

  I tsked him, grinning from the side of my mouth, because—another truth bomb here—I was feeling a little maniacal. “Where’s the hood? It’s like you don’t know how to do this whole celebrity thing.”

  He laughed shortly, but mostly ignored me, staring out. He checked his phone again.

  “What are you doing?”

  He showed me. “I called a driver.”

  The dot was getting close. We were going to make a mad dash.

  I was thrilled.

  I pushed the phone back at his chest. “I know I joke about being crazy, and there’s a little truth in there, but I can turn on the Crazy if you need it. People stay away from Crazy, unless they are too, and no one’s going to out themselves as that level of Crazy here. I can raise the bar if you need me to.”

  He stared down at me, and it finally happened.

  He’d been all hard and ice and monotone, a wall over his face, but at my suggestion, some of it melted away. A small grin tugged at his mouth, and he placed a hand on the small of my back.

  He pulled me against him, just for a second, and murmured into my ear, “Keep the maniacal crazy till later, because you’re right. I want to fuck. you. tonight.” His mouth closed over my ear, and I swooned, my knees buckling.

  Flames burst inside of me, and I sagged against him.

  He continued his kissing, moving down my neck to my shoulder, and his hand joined the exploration. It fit right under my shirt, and then tunneled under my jeans. He grabbed a good portion of my ass before going even farther, and I squeaked, feeling his fingers go somewhere I was not ready for.

  “Holy shit!” I jumped, dancing away.

  My breath was shallow, and I knew I was flushed. All sorts of flus
hing here.

  He was on me. Literally.

  His eyes smoldered, and he dipped his head to stare at me eye-to-eye. He backed me up against the wall, guiding me until I had nowhere to go and the club melted away, the world with it.

  When it was only the two of us, he said, so softly, “I do not scare. Stop using the crazy card on me, because it’s not working. I’ve seen crazy. Remember? You are hurting. You are sad. You are broken, but you are not crazy. You may feel that way at times, but you’re not. Trust me. So stop saying it.”

  Oh—whoa.

  He took my breath away.

  I reached for him, my hands running up his arms, over his shoulders, curving around his neck, and just as we both felt his phone buzz, his eyes trained on my lips and he groaned.

  Moving quickly, his mouth was on mine, and he sealed everything with that kiss.

  I would do anything he wanted.

  Everything. Anything. Nothing.

  Whatever he wanted, because I just wanted him. I wanted to feel him, be in his arms, be able to speak the words to him that so far I only had enough courage to text.

  But more than anything, I just wanted to be with him in whatever way he was going to allow that.

  Fireworks continued exploding in me as he groaned and his lips nipped at mine. “Our car is here. Ready?” He took my hand again.

  He turned, his shoulders rolling back. He was preparing too, slipping his glasses back on.

  I—yeah… Where was I? That was about my mindset right now.

  But then he tugged on me, and we were going.

  I followed him.

  We walked out through the club’s main entrance, and I was aware of flashes of light all around us. A few people gasped Reese’s name, and then we were outside on the street and more camera flashes were going off.

  Someone had definitely called the press. It wasn’t a barrage, but enough to disorient me.

  Reese ignored everyone and herded us both into the car.

  When he gave the directions to Trent’s apartment, I looked at him.

  “It’s not a great idea to bring girls to the hotel. Trent offered his place. Said he’d stay at his girlfriend’s.”

  Well. Okay, then. It was all settled.

  We were about to have it out. The driver didn’t seem to care who was in his back seat, but I still didn’t want to talk about anything until we got to Trent’s.

  The drive wasn’t long—a little over twenty minutes. Reese kept a hand on the small of my back as I got out, and then stepped out beside me.

  “You were here earlier?” he asked.

  I nodded. “We came for a bit, ate, changed, and went back out.” I led the way inside.

  Trent didn’t have a doorman, so I held my hands out for the keys. Reese handed them over, and for being in Chicago, I was surprised not to see anyone else out in the lobby on a Thursday night.

  We stepped into the elevator, and I asked, “Are you going to get in trouble for not sleeping there?”

  Reese shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He looked tired, softening lines around his mouth and bags under his eyes. Taking off his hat, he ran his hand briskly through his hair before shoving it back on, squashing it. He leaned back against the elevator wall.

  “Coach knows about Aiden’s party. We’re fine. I mean, we’re all adults. We gotta meet at eleven for meetings, but I’m fine till then.”

  The elevator dinged, and we stepped out onto Trent’s floor.

  Reese stayed right behind me, his hand on my hip. “I thought your buddy lived in Minneapolis?”

  “No. He moved down here for college and just stayed, but he travels a lot for his job.” Speaking of, I opened the door and asked, “How’d you know where we were?”

  He grunted, shutting the door, flipping the locks, and stepping around me.

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  Dropping his hat and sunglasses on the counter, he went to the fridge. He grabbed a water, and tossed one to me. “Drink that.”

  I caught it, holding it a second. “Excuse me?”

  He motioned to my phone and me. “I don’t want to talk to drunk Charlie tonight. You’re acting fine, but I don’t care about how you’re acting. I want you sober. I want to get shit dealt with, because I’m sick of this absence crap.”

  Absence crap.

  My heart soared.

  I opened my water and took a drink. “You really do care, don’t you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Spare me.”

  I laughed and capped the water again.

  “Really? All that texting was you sober?”

  I touched my chest. “It’s like you don’t actually know me.”

  “Oh…” He let out a myriad of curses, his head tipping back. “Not with this bullshit. Come on, Charlie. I want to deal with you, not just another chick playing fucking mind games.” He tossed his phone on the counter, his water next to it. Stepping back, he folded his arms and fixed me with a glare. “You said a lot of heavy stuff in those texts. Say it again to me—face to face, not behind your little phone keyboard. Give me a chance to actually respond this time.”

  Man.

  Goodness.

  He wanted to go there.

  I looked away, holding on to the counter behind me. I kept my head down, but I started. I had to. For him—and fuck my chest that felt like I was taking a cigarette to it from the inside.

  “Everything in those texts, I meant.”

  “Really?”

  Ooh… I was trying not to, but… ”Yeah. I mean, I often wonder who’d win a selfie contest? A manatee or a dolphi—”

  “Stop joking! This is serious.” His chest heaved. “At least it is to me.”

  I quieted.

  Then, staring at me, he raked a hand through his hair. “You know—shit. Yeah. Okay. You laid out your heart. I read those texts. I can’t imagine what you’re going through with Damian. But what I can say is that you shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to keep living. Never be ashamed of that. I doubt he would want you to feel that either. You shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting to keep living. I mean, my God, there are no words. There’s nothing I can say to make that okay, or even try to what—hold your hand through it? I have no clue. All I know is that when you left, I hated it. I watched you walk away from me at the airport, and I wanted to fucking go nuts. You joke, but that’s what I was feeling. I had you…”

  His eyes blazed. His nostrils flared. He jerked forward, coming to me and stopping a few feet away. There was no one else, just him and me.

  I couldn’t look away. I was captive to what he was saying, the way he was looking. My fingertips curled around the countertop behind me.

  “I know the hell it is going through life with two alcoholics in the family and a mother who gave up long ago. I can understand that suffering, but I don’t have the words to help you with Damian. I wish I did. I wish I could shovel a bunch of money at his doctors and they’d make it go away, but not with this disease. I can’t do anything except care for you and hurt with you, that’s all.”

  Yep. Tears. Again.

  Shocker.

  I was steadfastly ignoring them.

  He’d stopped—maybe for air or maybe because it was my turn—so with a tight chest, I started. My head was firmly directed to the floor. I’d really lose it if I had to see him when I said these things.

  “I fell in love with you, and not the stalker way. The real way.” I laughed. “I think it might’ve started when you called me a camp groupie. I’m weird like that, or maybe when you answered the first round of questions I asked you. Then a bit more when I stepped out of the bathroom and you were there, waiting for me. You told me you didn’t like ‘it,’ and that meant something to me.”

  I risked a look. He was rolling his eyes, but I spoke again, drawing his attention back to me. “You saw me. Most don’t. You were right. I use the crazy as a shtick, and it’s not right. I mean, I’m being really unfair because I know no one’s really crazy. There is no crazy. Pe
ople have struggles, or imbalances, but they’re not really nuts like I use it. But it kept people away for the longest time. Until you. You saw through it, and you started to like me anyway.”

  His arms fell to his side, and his eyes became softer.

  “We were friends, and I really loved being friends with you, but I was still trying not to feel anything or let anyone in. I couldn’t. I thought I would shatter, because if you let people in, they can hurt you. I was raw—still am, to be honest. But you got in there, and I started not only wanting to be around you all the time, but looking forward to seeing you, to texting you, to just hearing your voice. The calls. The texts. That’s all just because I’m desperate for some attention from you.”

  My voice broke off.

  In one sense, this was embarrassing. In another sense, I was exposing myself again and bracing for what he’d say in return. But most of all, I was saying what I meant, and deep down I knew I would handle whatever came back from it.

  That was freeing.

  It was needed.

  This. This was a part of moving on. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it. I knew it.

  I looked up again, unshed tears pooling in my eyes. “I fell in love with you, but I am still really messed up, and I am still really exposed, and I am… I am like a toothless saw that had all its jagged edges fall out, and you have to put them back in. Glue them. I don’t know how you do it—buy a new saw? Though since I’m the broken one, I hope you don’t do that. Anyway, a toothless saw, that’s me.”

  I smiled, my lips curled over to blanket my teeth. “Like this. I’m like a shark with no teeth.”

  “Shut up.” He moaned, his head swaying from side to side. “You are unbelievable. You sent me all these really deep texts, and now you’re joking about being a toothless shark while you’re professing your love? Really?”

  I said it simply. “I love you, and I’m telling you, and I don’t have much more to expose, because what I have, I’ve already shown. The rest is self-preservation, in case you decide to walk out of here. I’ll crumble, but I’m really hoping that doesn’t happen.”

  More because I really love basketball, and if you leave me, I’ll have to stop watching ball, and that’ll hurt too.