Page 20 of Hold Me Closer

Teo

" Y o, Kirby."

I glance up from the fifty-yard line as I take my position on the field to find Alec Germaine smirking at me. I sigh heavily.

"Great. I guess we're doing this shit again."

Every damn game, they try to piss me off. I'm the weak link, the chink in our defenses, and goddammit, they know it. They count on it. And they come for me like clockwork.

"You and the pop star, huh?" he says, waggling his brows. "When did you start hitting that?"

"Right after I finished with your mom."

His smirk slips, his eyes narrowing.

"Any other questions?" I ask.

"Yeah, just one."

His teammate, Rory Saunderson, elbows him in the ribs, trying to get him to shut up. Like Aldersgate, Germaine doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, though. He lives to talk shit.

"Does she suck as well as she sings? Because I'd love to know if she can hold her breath on my cock as long as she can hold a note."

I clench my fists, taking a step toward him. Tyson catches my gaze, shaking his head.

"Nadia," he mouths.

Fuck. Nadia.

If I lay this prick out now, she'll be the one who pays for it. It won't just be my name all over the news at the end of the game. It'll be hers. And I've already broken one promise to her in my life. I won't break another. Not for this motherfucker. Not ever.

I take a breath, unclenching my hands.

"Jealous, Germaine?" I ask. "I got your mom and the biggest star in the world…and all you've got is half my pay rate, a bum knee, and last I heard, more alimony than you can afford to pay."

He scowls at me.

"Honestly, it's no wonder your wife left your sorry ass left you for your former teammate, and you can't find a replacement willing to take you. I wouldn't want a disgusting prick like you near me, either."

"You fucking assh…" He charges over the line toward me, bellowing like an enraged bull.

I quickly step to the side, holding my hands up to show I didn't do anything, as the ref blows his whistle. Germaine trips, landing on his knees. Rory and another of his teammates jog over, grabbing him.

He fights like hell, cursing up a blue streak as he tries to lunge at me.

I just stand there, not saying a word.

The ref jogs over with Coach and Germaine's coach hot on his heels.

"What the fuck are you doing, Germaine?" their coach growls at him. "The game hasn't even started yet."

"He's running his fucking mouth," Germaine snaps, lunging for me again. "Talking about my wife."

Coach narrows his eyes on me, ready to tear into me.

"Cut the shit, man. You started it," Rory mutters to Germaine, saving my ass. "You know damn well what you said about his girl was fucked up. If you can't take the shit, don't dish it out."

"What'd he say?" Coach asks me.

"Doesn't matter," I mutter, refusing to repeat it.

"Jesus Christ," their coach mutters. "Stop throwing a tantrum and get your ass back in position or get off the field, Germaine. We don't have time for this shit."

Coach jerks his head, pulling me aside, leaving their coach and the ref to deal with Germaine.

"What's up, Coach?"

"You good?" he asks, his eyes locked on my face.

"Yeah, I'm good."

He stares at me for a minute and then nods. "Well, damn." A craggy smile splits his face. "Maybe you can be taught, boy. This is the first time all season you've let it roll off your back. She's good for you."

"That she is." I grin at him.

He chuckles, glancing back at Germaine. "He's going to ride your ass the whole game. Watch it."

I flick my gaze at Germaine, who is slowly trudging back over the line, his coach reaming him the whole way. "Let him try," I mutter, not worried about it. She's back home, watching. There's not a chance in hell I'm letting her down today.

" G ood job holding it together out there, Kirby," Coach says, his gaze locking with mine as he squeezes past me in the locker room at the end of the game.

I jerk my chin in a nod, exhausted all the way to my bones.

Fucking hell. He wasn't kidding when he said Germaine was going to ride my ass the whole game.

Half their fucking team rode me like a goddamn whipped pony, trying to taunt a response out of me.

I didn't give them the satisfaction, but they tried to smash it out of me.

Everything hurts.

We still won, though. Fuck them.

Coach sails past, leaving me in peace. I reach for my phone instead of peeling off my pads, checking for messages from Nadia. I grin when I see she's sent several over the last few hours. There are several from Emelia too, but I ignore those for the moment, eager to see what my girl has to say.

Butterfly: Daaaaamn, Number 96!

Butterfly: Seriously. Damn. You look good out there.

I chuckle, shaking my head.

Butterfly: What happened out there? He does not seem thrilled with you.

Butterfly: Okay, seriously. What the heck happened? He's been on you all night!

Butterfly: Do I need to fly out there and kick his ass?

Butterfly: Jesus. The things I'm thinking about doing to you right now…

"Fuck," I growl, my goddamn cup damn near cutting off circulation to my cock as he immediately turns to steel.

Butterfly: Congratulations, Teo. You did so great out there. I'll reward you when you get home.

I drop my head back against the locker, groaning. She's killing me here. The little minx probably knows it, too.

Me: You better be naked in bed, waiting for me when I get home tomorrow, butterfly. You can't tease a man in a cup and not expect to pay for it.

Butterfly: OMG. I forgot about the cup!

Me: It's all good. I miss you.

Butterfly: I miss you too. Are you okay? That was a brutal game.

Me: I'm perfect, baby. Hitting the showers and then heading to the hotel. I'll call you when I get there.

Butterfly: Okay. I love you.

I run my thumb over those three little words, my heart in my throat. Every time she says them, my chest gets tight. I want to fall to my damn knees and thank God.

If this is forgiveness, it's more beauty than a motherfucker like me deserves. But hell, I'm going to work to deserve it anyway. I'm going to work to believe I deserve it.

Knowing she doesn't blame me for the accident helps. But I feel like there are pieces I'm missing. Important pieces. It's the look in her eyes when we talk about the past, sometimes, like she's holding something back. She was never a very good liar. Hell, she was always terrible at it.

There's still something she hasn't said.

I'm trying to wait her out. She'll come to me with it when she's ready to tell me her truths.

But I feel like I'm in limbo until then, stuck between guilt and the desperate desire to move forward.

I want to move forward, to let the past go, and heal together.

But I fucking can't let it go when I know she's keeping pieces back, things she's trying to protect me from.

How do you forgive yourself when you don't even know the depths of what you caused?

I know she struggled. But whatever she doesn't want to say—I have a feeling it's a lot more than that.

And I'm fucking worried that whatever it is might just break us.

That, yet again, I'll break us. She's been through enough.

I've put her through enough. If I fuck it up again now…

how the fuck do I ever come back from that?

" T eo Kirby."

I spin around halfway to the bus to find a reporter leaning against the wall, his brown eyes locked on my face, a press badge clipped to the lapel of his coat.

"Sorry, man, I don't have time for an interview," I mutter, inching toward the bus.

"This will only take a minute," he says, stepping toward me.

"I said I don't have time."

"You're going to want to make time for this."

I stop walking, narrowing my eyes on him. "What the fuck does that mean?" I growl, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"I have a story," he says quietly. "A damn good story."

"What story?" I grit out.

"One about a young couple torn apart by a horrific car accident." He holds my gaze, unblinking. "He goes on to play college football. She ends up admitted to rehab for PTSD."

I freeze, not even breathing as the world shakes beneath my feet.

Is he saying…? Fuck. Nadia was in rehab for PTSD?

"And two weeks after he's drafted to the league, she ends up back in treatment," he says.

"She gets out, runs off to California, and becomes a pop star.

Six years later, with his career on the line, they get back together.

" He meets my gaze. "Or at least that's what they want everyone to think.

You wouldn't happen to know anything about this story, would you? "

I shake my head, unable to find words. My mind is spinning. Nadia was in rehab. That's what she's been keeping from me. She fucking…

Jesus. I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.

I knew she struggled after the accident. But I didn't fucking know… Ah, Christ. I should have known. I should have fucking known.

All the years she spent angry with me. All the times she said she needed me and I wasn't there… They were never about the accident. Or at least not entirely. They were about this. Because she was in fucking rehab, struggling with PTSD, and she was fighting alone.

"Any comment?" the reporter asks me.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mumble, stumbling away from him. "Stop spreading bullshit."

Except…he knows it isn't bullshit. And so do I.

This is what she's been hiding. What she didn't want to tell me. She fucking needed me, and I wasn't there. I was too fucking busy hating myself to even know she needed me.

Goddammit.

Goddamn me.

I can't forgive this. I fucking can't .

My throat closes up, agony ripping through me as tears well in my eyes. Grief and pain slam into me like a brick wall. Christ, I'm going to break us all over again, just like I feared. Because that's what I do. I fuck things up. I break them.

I've been breaking her for years, over and over again. And I was too fucking busy with my own goddamn self-inflicted misery to even see it. I don't deserve her. I never will. How the fuck can I when all I do—all I've ever done—is let her down?

I stumble away from the reporter, away from the bus, my fucking heart in pieces in my chest.

" I s that Teo Kirby?"

I push through the crowd, ignoring the whispers following me. They burn my fucking ears like a goddamn scarlet letter branded on me. Teo Kirby, the fuckup. Teo Kirby, the asshole. Teo Kirby, the violent prick. And they're all true. But they don't even know the worst one yet.

Teo Kirby, the selfish motherfucker who breaks everything.

That's the one I can't escape.

"Vodka," I growl, falling onto an empty stool at the bar. "Make it a double."

The brunette bartender doesn't say anything for a long moment; she just stares at me as if trying to decide whether or not she wants to deal with me.

"Did I fucking stutter?" I snap.

She sighs heavily, flipping a shot glass up onto the bar in front of me while reaching for the vodka. "If you fuck up my bar, I'm shoving this bottle where the sun doesn't shine," she says, tipping it up to fill the glass.

"Good." I scoop up the glass, eyeing her over the rim. "Because I fully intend to fuck up your bar. Don't intend to leave until they drag me from this motherfucker in cuffs."

"Great. Guess you're going to make your new girl real proud tonight, huh?" She crosses her arms to scowl daggers at me. "I hope she dumps your sorry ass. She deserves better."

"That's precisely the problem, sweetheart. She deserves better."

The bartender rolls her eyes, stomping away from me.

Fuck.

I squeeze my eyes closed, inhaling the pungent scent of the alcohol.

I'm not wrong. She does deserve better. I destroyed her life.

I destroyed us. And while I was pretending my goddamn life was so bad because I didn't have her, hers was literally hell.

She went through it alone. She survived it alone.

I did that to her. She was in that car because of me.

She died because of me. She suffered because of me.

And then she had to pull herself out by herself because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to fight for her the way she deserved.

I fucking broke her. I broke us.

And she's still trying to protect me from the fallout.

"Fuck," I mutter, slamming the full glass back down on the bar.

I can't do this. I made a promise. It still means something. Hell, it means everything. I may not deserve her. But she deserves the world.

I yank my wallet out, tossing several bills on the counter before I turn and storm out, reaching for my phone. By the time I hit the front door, Emelia's already on the line.

"I need help," I rasp, my fucking hands shaking. "Christ, Emelia. You have to help me fix this."

"You heard," she says softly.

I choke out a groan, stumbling down the sidewalk.

"What can I do, Teo? Talk to me."

"Bury that fucking story."

"I'm trying, but I don't know if I can make this one go away."

"You can if you give them something bigger."

"Like what?"

"Me," I say simply, not even hesitating to make my choice.

I've always known what I wanted, and it isn't this.

It isn't breaking her again, breaking us.

It's not six more years of pain and shame, and fucking regret.

It's her . Christ, it'll always be her. Choosing her now, when she needs me just as much as she did back then, isn't a sacrifice. It's a fucking privilege.

They can have my career. They can have my reputation. They can take whatever they want. But they can't take her. This time, I'm making different choices—the right ones.