Page 57 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

The event is happening in the same ballroom where the charity gala had taken place. That then turned into his impromptu engagement.

I’m sitting at the table with the rest of the gang—Snow, Tempest and Ledger, Meadow and Riot, and Callie and Reed.

Their kids are all at Callie’s house: the twins, Halo and Flora, and Riot’s daughter Sophie, being looked after by a couple of sitters.

So basically, it’s like a slumber party with diapers and poop and infants crawling all over the place.

Anyway, since Conrad is the head coach, he’s seated alongside other team management and Wyn is with him.

Shepard’s supposed to be at their table as well, given he’s the captain.

But he’s by the bar, nursing the same beer bottle pretty much ever since he arrived.

I know because he’s in full view of our table and I’ve thrown him stolen glances.

Ever since he arrived at the party an hour later than me, Tempest and Ledger—all dressed up and dashing in his tux, his hair still wet from his shower and falling all over his forehead—he’s been in a prickly mood.

He hasn’t smiled once. He hasn’t really talked to anyone, let alone smiled once.

From what I can see, he’s also snapping at people if they go near him and I know it’s because of what happened in the bathroom.

Because I won’t give him what he wants.

Not to mention, I noticed something. Both Stellan and Isadora are absent, given he’s the second head coach and she’s his girlfriend—well, his fiancée now.

Plus daughter of the team owner. And this isn’t the first time.

As in, they’ve been missing a lot. They haven’t once stopped by the house in the past weeks, not even for get togethers.

They were also absent at that family dinner I crashed to tell them the truth.

And I know it’s because of him, isn’t it? It’s because the situation is bad between them.

I can’t watch this. I can’t watch him stand there all alone any longer.

I don’t know what my intention is when I excuse myself from the table and get up.

Maybe to go get some fresh air or something.

So I can think of a solution. Somehow to give him what he wants and also to protect Snow. And my new family.

I keep my eyes on him though, and I can tell that he’s gone alert.

I walk through the tables and the crowd of people mingling and servers going up and down with their heavy trays.

I have a purpose in my steps, a determination, a destination.

And when I come upon a group of tux-wearing guys huddled together in the middle of my winding path, preventing me from passing through, I know it’s him.

I know I was going to him to tell him that I was his.

Before I can ask them to move, they turn toward me, and I realize they’re all his teammates.

So maybe I should be less impatient with them and more polite.

I’m afraid to say that even though I’ve watched all his games, multiple times, I don’t really remember their names except what position they play.

“Hey,” one of them with dark hair and brown eyes, the goalkeeper, says.

I smile politely. “Hi.”

“You’re Jupiter, right?” the second one with blond hair and a really tall body with a slight European accent, one of the defenders, says.

“Yes,” I confirm, smiling at him too.

“The new sister.” This comes from the third guy in the group. A Black guy who I think is called Isaiah, but I could be wrong.

I flinch even though I know he hasn’t said it in a bad way.

It’s just that too many complicated feelings are tangled up in the word ‘sister.’ On the surface, I manage to keep my cool though and smile, about to say something, but Isiah isn’t done.

“Tell me why our captain always gets so riled up even at the slightest mention of you.”

“What?”

Before Isaiah can explain, the goalkeeper guy speaks. “He gets riled up because you try to rile him up.”

He throws his hands up. “What, that’s bullshit right there. I can’t even ask how his new little sister’s doing?”

“Not when the man is ready to throw punches.”

He points his finger at the goalkeeper. “Hey, this is a family. We treat each other like family. All I’m doing is asking about his own and…”

I tune them out. I know their ribbing is good-natured and friendly.

There’s no malice in it, but my heart clenches.

He obviously never talks about his practice, but I didn’t know he was going through an additional stressor like that.

I look away from them and watch him make his way over to me.

In fact, he’s only a few paces away, and thank God I saw that because he looks like he’s on a mission.

To beat someone up. Quite possibly Isiah, because of the way Shepard’s eyes are glued to him.

I excuse myself then. I may have even pushed Isaiah out of the way, but I don’t care.

All I care about is him and intercepting him before he gets here.

So I practically run in my favorite heels and make it to him in time.

I put my hand on his abs and stop him only a few short steps away from the group.

“Shepard, let’s go,” I tell him, looking up at his hard face. His eyes are locked on the group over my shoulders though, not budging. So I try again. “Shepard, come on. Let’s go. We have to go.”

There’s a pulse in his jaw and he’s still staring his teammates down when I hear Isaiah say, “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean no disrespect. To you or to your sister.”

Even though his apology sounds genuine with no snark in his tone, Shepard doesn’t like that. At all. Because he inches forward a step and I can feel the growl vibrating his chest as he says, “She’s not my fucking sister.”

At this, I push at him. I have to, because not only does he need to get away to cool down, but also because people have started to notice the tension.

I can see them turn around in their chairs, looking at the captain of the team, facing off with his teammates.

The only consolation is that there’s no media allowed at the event because of all the relentless and bad publicity for the last few months.

Not only do I push him back but also say, fisting his shirt, “Please, Shepard. For me. Let’s go. Now.”

I said the same words to him the night he showed at the club for revenge and stopped.

This time too, he hears me. His chest jerks with a sharp breath and his fists clench at his sides.

As if he’s putting the brakes on whatever is going on inside of him.

Then with a large breath that swells his chest up and down, he finally looks down at me.

His stare is dark and thick with violence, but again, I don’t care.

I’m not afraid of him. In fact, I push him again and when he gives in easily and backs up a step, I let go of his shirt to grab his hand, and then I’m pulling him away from his teammates.

I’m pulling him away from the crowd and the ballroom.

I’m taking the same hallway, the same path I took that night months and months ago, and I take him to the exit.

We come out into the crisp but starry night, and as soon as we do, I lose all control. Because he’s in charge now. He pulls at my hand and stops me in my tracks. He pulls me back, and as I go crashing into his hard body, he spins me around and puts me up against the wall.

As soon as he situates me though, I grab hold of him.

I grab the lapels of his jacket and even go so far as to widen my thighs so he can settle between them and wrap my leg around his waist. He’s not going anywhere.

I won’t let him make a bad situation even worse. Plus, I have something to say to him.

He frames my face with both his hands and growls, “Were they bothering you?”

I pull at his jacket. “No, they were not bothering me, Shepard.”

His chest moves with his shallow breaths, pushing into mine. “They looked like they were bothering you.”

I squeeze my thigh around his waist, pulling him even closer to me. “No, they were not.”

“I—”

“No, stop,” I tell him, my voice stern, my heart aching and aching for him. “You have to stop. You have to stop losing your shit and acting crazy every time a guy comes near me.”

“Not a guy,” he corrects, his finger pressing my cheeks.

“What?”

“Three fucking guys,” he keeps growling. “Because somehow you don’t attract just one dog, you’re a fucking magnet for the entire pack of them.”

I clench my teeth. “They’re your teammates, Shepard. And as I said they didn’t do anything. They?—”

“They fucking talked to you, didn’t they,” he snaps, his jaw ticking. “They fucking looked at you. No one is supposed to look at you. No one is?—”

I put a hand on his lips then. To make him shut up and listen. Which doesn’t sit very well with him but again, fuck it. He needs to listen to me before he makes everything worse for himself and loses one of the most important things in his life.

“Okay, first,” I begin, and I can feel his jaw pulse under my palm.

“You have to calm down. You have to take a breath for me. Can you do that?” He keeps looking at me, his brows furrowed, his hair grazing the indentation, his body all hard against mine.

But then after a few seconds, he does what I tell him to do.

He takes a breath that warms my palm. Thank God. “Good.”

He narrows his eyes at me when I say that, and I blush.

I know he’s the one who’s always doing that to me, calling me his good girl and telling me to do things.

But it’s my turn now. It’s my turn to calm him down before his jealousy and possessiveness, his sheer dark obsession with me, takes him over.