Page 3 of Hold Me Closer

Teo

N ow

"They still haven't thrown your pathetic ass out of the league?" Greg Aldersgate asks, sneering through his helmet as he crouches in front of me on the twenty-yard line.

There's less than a minute left on the clock, and we've been demolishing the Colonials all day. They don't have a chance in hell of catching up now. Aldersgate is being a little bitch about it, naturally.

"Fuck off, Aldersgate," I snap, trying to focus on the last bit of the game and not this prick.

I swear to Christ, every time we cross paths, he starts his bullshit.

All because he can't take a beating like a man.

If he knew how to keep his hands off women, he wouldn't have to worry about it. But he never learned that lesson.

We were roommates in college—hell, we were the best of friends—until we were both drafted to the league our junior year. Then he decided to smack his girlfriend around.

The best thing I ever did was smack him around when I saw the bruises he left on her.

He was almost booted from the league when I reported what happened.

And he's never forgiven me for it. Like I care.

I may be an asshole, but at least I'm an asshole with integrity and a moral compass. He lacks both.

"Aww, did I hurt your feelings?" he asks like this is a playground instead of a televised football game we're being paid millions to play. Then again, mentally, he never left the playground. Bullies rarely do. "Or are you still moping about your little girlfriend?"

My jaw clenches, and I take a deep breath, trying not to react. But it's already too late for that. As soon as he mentions her , my heart twinges like it always does, pain radiating through my entire system.

Christ, Nadia.

She's a phantom ache, one that never heals no matter how long she's been missing from my life. And this prick knows it, damn him. I never should have told him about her. But I was weak and in pain, and he acted like he really gave a damn. So I spilled my fucking heart out to him.

Big mistake.

He makes sure to twist that knife as deep as he can at every available opportunity.

As if that wound hasn't already been bleeding since I was eighteen years old.

I lost my best friend and the only girl I've ever loved in one fell swoop.

All because I thought I knew what she needed better than she did.

Christ, I was an idiot.

I've spent six years trying to figure out how to live without her. She's spent the last six proving she never needed me. Half the goddamn country has front-row seats to her life. But her best friend? The boy she used to love? Well, he has to watch it from afar.

It still hurts a helluva lot more than it should.

"You ever going to give me her number, Kirby?" Aldersgate asks. "I mean, it's not like she's moping around about some loser she knew in high school. She's probably fucking her way through every man in Hollywood right now. Might as well offer my dick for her to climb on, right?"

Oh, this stupid son of a…

"Hut!" Ripley Jackson, our QB, shouts.

I plow into Aldersgate, knocking him to the ground on his back.

He goes down laughing like a hyena. He stops laughing when I land on top of him with my knee planted in his stomach and my hands on his helmet. I smack his head against the ground, hard enough to hear the satisfying crack of the hard plastic meeting the turf.

"Get anywhere near her, and I'll fucking kill you," I snarl in his face.

The ref blows the whistle as Tyson Magara hauls me off Aldersgate.

"Chill, man," Tyson shouts in my ear. "The whole world is watching this shit right now. That's the last thing you need."

He's right, dammit. I don't need this. But when it comes to her, I stopped being rational a long time ago. Right about the time I drove her away. Because of me, she nearly lost everything. I can't forgive myself for that. It fucking haunts me.

Aldersgate wheezes out a laugh, sitting upright. "You never change, Kirby. You're still an easy mark. All I gotta do is bring up pussy that forgot about you years ago, and you turn into a goddamn psycho."

"And you're still a woman-beating piece of shit," I snap at him, shaking Tyson off.

"At least my woman wants me." He smirks as one of his teammates helps him to his feet. "You're still hung up on a chick who forgot you existed before she left high school."

This motherfucker…

I take a step toward him, but Tyson grabs me again.

"Easy," Tyson shouts when I jerk against his hold. "Cool it with that shit before you end up riding the bench for the rest of the season!"

"I'm cool," I lie.

"Kirby! Bench!" Coach roars from somewhere behind me. "Now!"

The ref and Aldersgate's coach jog over, separating the two of us.

"Off the field, Kirby," the ref says. "Now."

Aldersgate throws his head back, laughing.

I mutter a curse, stalking off the field. No use even trying to explain what just happened. I played right into Aldersgate's hands. Just like fucking usual.

" K irby! What the fuck was that out there?" Coach growls, stomping across the locker room toward me as soon as the game ends, his blue eyes narrowed. With his square jaw set and his face red, the man looks like a bulldog in a suit. One ready to bite.

Fuck. This is just what I need.

"I tripped," I mutter, shoving a hand through my sweaty hair.

"Over that dick's fucking mouth," Tyson whispers beside me.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting at his assessment. He's right, though. I did trip on Aldergate's mouth, right into his ugly ass face.

I'm not stupid enough to tell Coach that.

I'm already on thin ice around here. It's my permanent state of existence since I was traded to the LA Sabres at the beginning of the season. Actually, it's been my permanent state of existence since I was drafted into the league.

Whatever it takes to forget, right?

As if that'll ever happen. Aldersgate wasn't exactly wrong out there. I've been hung up on Nadia Mikhail since I was…shit. I've been hung up on that girl for so long I don't remember a time when I wasn't, truth be told. And Nadia doesn't want a fucking thing to do with me.

I broke her heart.

It feels like I ripped mine out of my chest in the process.

Six fucking years and it hasn't healed over or scarred. It just continues to fester and bleed. I tried like hell to convince her to forgive me. She didn't want to hear it. I tried to convince her that I'd wait for her. She didn't want to hear that, either.

As far as she's concerned, I meant it the day I told her that I'd rather not have her in my life than have her wait around for me. She's been hellbent on giving me exactly that every day since. I thought she'd cool down eventually, and let me explain.

I called her every damn day for two months. Half the time, she ignored my calls. The rest, she answered only long enough to tell me to stop calling.

I figured by Thanksgiving break, she'd be calmer.

Oh, fuck no.

When I got home, it was to news that she was applying to colleges on the East Coast. She wasn't even applying to UT.

I asked her why. Turns out, my little butterfly wanted to be as far away from me as possible.

She told me that she didn't want to spend the next few years of her life running into me on campus, remembering that the day I finally gave her what she'd wanted more than anything was the same day I broke her heart.

I ruined her first kiss, her first I love you , and her first prom.

She couldn't be friends with me because she couldn't forgive me.

I fucking begged her to give me a chance to fix it. She told me to go to hell. So I grabbed her and kissed her. I told her I loved her and didn't mean what I said. She slapped me and ran out.

An hour later, she stopped breathing in my arms after wrapping her car around a light pole. She spent weeks in the hospital, fighting for her life after I pulled her from the wreckage, and she didn't want me anywhere near her. She blames me for the accident…and I haven't seen her since.

Oh, I see her all over the fucking TV. She's on the radio every damn time I turn it on. But I haven't been in the same room with her since the night she tore my heart out completely.

Or hell, maybe I'm the one who tore it out.

I don't fucking know. All I know is that I sat in that hospital room with her until she started waking up.

And then I slipped out. I sat outside the hospital the entire time she was admitted, refusing to leave, but she didn't want to see me, and I didn't want to risk making her worse.

I needed to be close, but I wanted to give her space, too.

Back then, I was convinced I was doing the right thing.

Six years later, I'm no longer sure. She won't even come home if she knows I'm going to be there. No one is allowed to speak my name to her. She fucking hates me. Nothing about that seems right.

But hell, she could hate me every day for the rest of her life.

It won't even compare to the guilt I carry.

She was on that road because of me. She almost died because of me.

I'll never fucking forgive myself for that shit.

I can't. She shouldn't have been out there that night, not when she was as upset as she was.

"My office, Kirby," Coach growls. "Now."

"Fuck," I mutter, bouncing my head against the locker.

Everyone turns to look at me, matching sympathetic looks on their faces. I pretend not to see them as I haul myself to my feet, following after him. He doesn't say a word until I close the door to his office behind me.

"That little stunt out there is already hitting the press," he says, tossing his shit down on his cluttered desk before wheeling to face me. "It's the third time this season that you've made yourself look like a hotheaded aggressive jackass out there. Is this going to be the status quo with you?"

"No, Coach."

"You sure about that? Because it was your M.O.

back in Tennessee." He crosses his arms, hitting me with a no-bullshit look.

"The last thing this league needs is another hothead.

You're aggressive on the field. You've been in more scrapes than I can count off the field.

Management is beginning to wonder if you're worth the hassle, kid. "

Fuck.

I shove a hand through my hair, blowing out a breath. "That was an accident out there."

"Yeah, Aldersgate said the same thing. It's bullshit," he says bluntly. "I've been at this a long time. I know your history with him. And I'm telling you here and now to stow it. Stow all of your shit and get your head on straight, Kirby. Or this will be your last season."

"You'll trade me?"

"No, son. I'm not talking about your last season with the team. I'm saying this will be your last season in the league, period," he says, his gaze locked on mine. "Either get your shit together, or you're done."

I blink at him, rocking back on my heels.

Fuck. They're talking about cutting me loose? Because of Aldersgate?

No. I don't even have to ask to know that's not why. It's because of me and my shit. Because, like Coach said, I've got a long goddamn history of problems on and off the field. I've had problems for six damn years. And they're entirely of my own making.

I wanted her to chase her dreams instead of putting her life on hold for me. And I drove her away in the process. I broke us before we ever even had a chance. And like Aldersgate said, I'm the only one who never got over it.

" Y ou good, man?" Tyson asks, jogging along beside me as I stomp out of the locker room an hour later.

"Fine," I growl.

He snorts, shooting me a look that says he knows I'm full of shit. But he doesn't ask questions. He just shakes his head. "One of these days, you're going to handle your shit instead of letting motherfuckers like Aldersgate use it to get at you."

"I handle my shit."

"Really? Is that why you've been in the same city as your girl all season and haven't even attempted to see her?"

I snarl a wordless warning at him, not in the mood for this shit. "Fuck off, Tyson."

"Nah, I'm a talkative motherfucker," he says cheerfully. "And I feel like talking, so you're going to listen."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, scowling daggers at him.

"You realize you're the only veteran on this team stressing about me, right?

Everyone else washed their hands of me before the ink dried on my contract.

But here you are, pissing me off every day anyway, thinking you're doing God's work or some shit. "

"Nah, brother," he says, his hazel eyes shining as he chuckles. "I'm not doing God's work. Not even he has the patience for your crabby-ass attitude. I'm just trying to keep you from making the same mistakes half of us have already made. You're too smart to do the same shit we did."

I grunt instead of responding, cutting down a hallway leading toward the lot where we keep our cars. A janitor at the end of the hall glances in our direction, nods, and then drags his mop bucket out of the way, earbuds firmly lodged in his ears.

"Your girl is playing at the Rhinestone tonight. Go see her, man."

Tyson had me pegged about two seconds after I stepped off the plane.

Guess it wasn't hard to do when I've got tattoos of her all over me.

So when he asked who she was to me, I told him the truth—she was everything to me.

It was the only time we've spoken about her since I don't make a habit of discussing her.

In fact, I don't speak about her at all. It's better that way.

But fucking Aldersgate loves to run his mouth. I don't think there's anyone left in the league who doesn't know that I'm hung up on the biggest goddamn pop star in the country.

"She doesn't want to see me," I mutter.

"And you're still listening?" He hits me with a look that tells me to cut the bullshit.

"How many more years are you going to keep making yourself miserable because you fucked up when you were a kid, man?

Either nut up and go get the girl or stop letting people like Aldersgate press you about it.

Because from where I'm standing, those are the only options you've got left if you still want to be standing on that field come next season. "

"You don't know what you're talking about," I growl. She'd be in my arms right now if it were that easy. But I didn't just break her heart. I fucking broke her . She stopped breathing in my arms.

"Maybe I don't," Tyson agrees as we step out into the cool night air. "But maybe you don't, either. You ever think of that?"

"What does that even mean?"

"It means shit isn't always what it looks like, motherfucker," he says. "If anyone should know that, you should. Because you may act like the world's biggest asshole, but we both know you aren't that. Not even close."