Page 4 of Hold Me Tight

The first time I caught sight of Callie Westbrook was years ago, when Zane started bringing her around like she was a shiny new toy he couldn’t wait to show off. What I didn’t expect was to fall for my teammate’s pretty blonde girlfriend.

I wanted her from the second she smiled politely and looked me in the eye like she had no clue how beautiful she was. And I wanted her even more with the passing of each day.

Each month.

Each year.

And don’t even get me started on when she was pregnant with another man’s child, her stomach rounded, glowing in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with Zane and everything to do with the kind of mother she’d be.

And I hated every fucking second of it.

I hated watching her in the stands during games, wearing Zane’s jersey. I hated knowing the guy couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, even when she was carrying their daughter. I hated knowing she deserved the fucking world and got so little in return from him.

And now?

Now I hate that she watches me warily, like I’m no better than her ex.

She doesn’t know I saw everything, and even though I detested the thought of them together, I still tried to make Zane see what he was risking. I hated knowing he was screwing around behind her back. What I hated most was seeing how much he hurt her.

The past fades away as I watch her gracefully move behind the counter, tying a box of cookies with a pink ribbon, smiling at a kid with chocolate smeared across his cheek.

That smile is like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

I shift closer, waiting for her to glance up and look in my direction, but she studiously avoids my gaze.

And there’s only so long I can hang around before it becomes awkward.

Hell, I’m already way past that point.

Especially when she doesn’t want me in her shop to begin with.

I take a reluctant step in retreat. Just as I’m about to leave, I spot a folded piece of paper on the floor near the end of the counter, half-tucked beneath it. I bend down and snag it from the tile. It never occurs to me not to scan the contents.

My gut twists as I glance at the first few lines.

Then I read them for a second time to make sure I haven’t jumped to the wrong conclusion.

When I look up again, Callie is helping a new customer, completely unaware I’ve been given a glimpse into her financial situation.

Without thinking, I fold up the paper and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans. My brain whirls with possible ways to help her. The tricky part is that if I offer my assistance, she’ll shut me down without so much as a second thought.

Callie has a lot of pride.

And then there’s the fact that she hates my guts and doesn’t trust me.

I need time to think.

Plan.

By the time she turns around, I’ve got my scone in one hand and coffee in the other. “Thanks.”

Her gaze cautiously flicks to mine as the sunshine in her expression fades. “No problem.”

And just like that, she slams the door shut again, locking me out.

How sad is it that I live for the rare moments when she looks at me?

It’s the only time I feel like I can breathe.