Page 36 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

I sprint up the rest of the stairs. Fumbling with the keys in my pocket as I reach the door. I manage to get them in the lock despite my shaky fingers.

What the hell is going on?

I burst inside, my eyes darting frantically around. Keaton’s hand strikes Ebba’s cheek and I’m moving in a heartbeat. Wrapping my arm around his neck, I drag him back as Ebba sobs and Whimsy scurries from the corner she was cowering in to comfort my sister.

“Get off me.” Keaton tries to buck me off, his breath reeking of alcohol. I’m cursing myself for hanging around the courts longer than necessary and wallowing in my own pathetic self-pity.

“Not a fucking chance, dude.” I drag him out of the apartment and I’m not sure how, but he manages to get out of my hold, and tries to run back toward the girls.

I grab his arm and he swings around with a fist. It grazes my cheek as I try to lean out of the way. In the next second I’m sinking my fist into his ribs. He gasps as the breath is pulled from his lungs.

“What the fuck, Keaton?” I curse. “What’s wrong with you?”

He’s coming at me again but I’m ready. I tackle him to the ground and my fist connects with his face. He’s out cold.

I straddle him on the floor just in case. Behind me, the girls hold each other crying.

“Call the cops.”

“I-I don’t know what to call,” Whimsy says, holding my inconsolable sister.

I pat my pockets but can’t locate my phone. It must’ve come out of my pocket during the fight. “I don’t have my phone. Do you have yours?”

She tosses me her phone, and I catch it one handed. After a quick Google search, I find the number for the police and dial.

While I remain on the line until the cops arrive, I eye my sister and then my girl. Whimsy, though upset, seems to be holding it together better than Ebba which is understandable given she was presumably the one receiving the brunt of Keaton’s anger.

I hold Whimsy’s gaze. “Is she okay?” I ask in the calmest tone I can muster.

Ebba’s sobs fill the small space of the apartment.

Whimsy shakes her head.

“What happened?” I’m trying to figure out what transpired before I walked in so I can better explain to the cops when they arrive.

I can tell Whimsy is having trouble finding her voice.

“I don’t know,” she finally says in nearly a whisper I struggle to hear over my sister’s cries.

“He said he had some friends visiting Paris and he was going to meet them for drinks. He came back in a rage and claimed Ebba was cheating on him and when I tried to intervene, he pushed me, and I fell and?—”

“He pushed you?” I bite out, somehow angrier than I was even seconds before.

She nods woodenly.

“Are you hurt?”

I can tell she doesn’t want to answer by the way she bites her lip and curls further into my sister.

“Whimsy?” Her name comes out sterner than I mean it too. “Did he hurt you? Please don’t make me ask you again.”

“My elbow is bleeding from where it hit the table as I went down.”

It takes everything in me not to punch the unconscious man beneath me. How fucking dare he hurt not just one, but two of the women I care about the most?

“I’m okay, really,” Whimsy says, and I know she’s just trying to calm me down.

“Don’t lie to me, Whim. Not right now.”

It feels like it takes an hour when it’s only about fifteen minutes for the police to arrive. I’m thankful for their speedy arrival since Keaton begins to stir and I hate to admit I’m a little scared of what I might be capable of depending on what shit he decides to spew.

The police gather up Keaton and take him out of the apartment. I assume so he can be questioned and seen by a medic. I explain to the cop in charge what happened. My French isn’t as good as normal since I’m flustered, but I manage to get through it before they have to question the girls.

A medic comes to check on us and I learn that before he slapped Ebba, he also twisted her wrist and it’s twinging with pain.

I wish I had hit him harder.

Whimsy gets her elbow bandaged up as I finish giving my statement. My adrenaline is starting to wear off and in its place my brain is in a constant loop of what the fuck?

It’s a while before the apartment is cleared of everyone except the three of us.

Bracing my hands on a kitchen chair, I blurt out, “Please tell me this means things are over between you and this idiot?”

Ebba bursts into tears again when she’d only just stopped.

“Fuck. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you cry again.” I go over to my sister and hesitate before hugging her. I know I’m her brother, but I’m also a man and she might not want me to touch her right now. But the second I open my arms she dives against me, wrapping her arms firmly around my chest.

I reach out with one hand and brush my fingers gently along Whimsy’s arm, wanting to offer her as much comfort as I can.

Against my chest, Ebba says, “I don’t want to stay in this place anymore. I just can’t.”

Looking over her head, I read the expression on Whimsy’s face and know she feels the same.

“Pack your stuff. I’ll call Jackson and he’ll make sure to secure a room at the hotel most of the players are at.”

“Thank you,” Ebba mutters, pulling away. She uses the back of her hands to wipe her eyes. If she thinks I don’t notice her wince at the soreness in her wrist she’s wrong.

While the girls go to pack up, I put in the call to Jackson. This isn’t exactly part of his job description, but he doesn’t protest when I explain the situation.

Hanging up from him, I head into the bedroom I share with Whimsy.

She moves calmly and methodically around the space, her things somehow already packed despite the short phone call and she’s moved on to gathering my stuff up.

“Let me do that. You don’t need to pack my shit.”

She shakes her head and won’t look at me. “No, please let me do this. I need the distraction.”

“If you’re sure.” She nods in response. “Jackson’s taking care of the room.”

“Thank you.” I hate how small and fragile her voice sounds—like she’s two seconds from falling apart and desperately trying to keep herself together.

“Of course.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying not to think about what might’ve happened to my girl and my sister if I had gotten back even a minute later. I don’t want to even contemplate what lows Keaton might’ve gone to.

When everything is packed up, I go to call for a car but find a text from Jackson that he’s already sent one and it’s waiting downstairs for us.

The guy might be a giant pain in my ass most days, but he has his moments.

We’re silent on the drive to the hotel. Still silent as we enter the hotel. Jackson waits in the lobby and hands me a key. “I could only get the penthouse since everything else is booked up. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Not one bit,” I reply, taking the keys from him. “Thank you.”

He nods, sliding his hands in his pockets. “No problem. I hope you guys are okay.”

“We’re better now,” I reply.

“Well, have a goodnight.” He gives a wave and heads toward the hotel bar.

We turn toward the elevator bay and I spot Fisher at the same moment he notices us.

His eyes narrow on my sister. “What’s wrong?” It’s clear he’s asking her, not us. Ebba’s eyes drop to the floor. “What’s wrong?” he asks her again with a hint of desperation.

“I’ll text you,” I interrupt him, before he scares my already traumatized sister further.

I’m not oblivious—I know something went on with Fisher and Ebba. Whether they dated in secret, or just hooked up, I don’t know—but he cares about her, that much is clear.

He nods and steps back.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

I can tell it pains him to stay in the lobby as we head up, but he does.

I let out a breath as the elevator makes its way up, but for some reason it still feels like I’m holding my breath instead. Like I can’t breathe properly since I walked into the apartment earlier.

The penthouse isn’t huge—only one bedroom and a pullout couch, but I don’t care and neither do the girls.

Despite my insistence that they share the bed and I’ll take the couch tonight Ebba refuses and says she needs to be by herself tonight so after we all shower and change into pajamas I end up in bed with Whimsy.

She clutches that silly dinosaur stuffy I couldn’t resist getting her, like it’s a lifeline. Her blond hair hangs in wet, ropey strands like she didn’t even bother to properly brush it.

I rifle through her makeup bag until I find a comb.

“Can I brush your hair for you?” I ask.

She looks up at me with eyes that are still dilated from fear and adrenaline. “Huh?”

“Your hair.” I gesture with the comb. “Can I brush it out for you?”

“Oh.” She fingers a strand. “I forgot. Yeah, you can.”

She moves so I have room to sit behind her. I work as gently and carefully as I can to comb out the long strands. Every time I hit a snag I visibly wince, but it doesn’t seem to bother Whimsy.

When her hair is finally smooth, I set the comb on the table beside the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I want to touch her—to hug her and comfort her, but I’m worried my touch isn’t what she needs right now.

“No.”

“If you change your mind, you can.” I slip out of the bed behind her. “And if you don’t want me to sleep in the bed, I swear it’s okay. I can beg Noah to crash on his couch, or I can bunk with Fisher.”

A panic look crosses her face. “No. Stay here. Please. Don’t go. I want you to stay.”

The frantic way she spews the words has worry stirring in my gut. “I won’t go,” I vow.

Her eyes stay glued to my movements as I make my way around the bed and settle beneath the covers.

“I hate to ask this of you.” She bites her lip. “But will you hold me? Please?”

Fuck.

There’s no chance in the world I can turn her down. “Come here, love.” She settles down beside me and I spoon her against me. Soon, I realize she’s shaking with silent tears. “It’s okay. Let it all out. I’ve got you.”

And I do.

I hold her until her tears dry and her hiccupping sobs cease.

And then I keep holding her, all through the night.