Page 10

DAMON

I f my fucking phone rings one more time . . .

As if on cue, the familiar trill of my ringtone slices through the air.

With a growl, I pump out a dozen more push-ups, then roll onto my back and start in on sit-ups.

As if practice and conditioning weren’t enough, I decided to punish my body a little more.

Mostly because the burning in my muscles helps to distract me from things I don’t want to think about.

The call goes to voicemail, then quickly starts up again.

With a sigh, I pause and swipe it off the floor to see Chris’s name flash across the screen. Again.

What the hell does he want?

He’s been bugging me for the last hour. First, he asked me to come over for pizza, but when I said no to that, he asked if I’d help him with a lit paper.

At my answering hell no , he said he needed girl advice.

When I told him to go fuck himself, he retorted with, “Been there, done that; Charlotte’s working on a paper.

” After that, I stopped answering his texts.

Apparently, he’s resorted to phone calls now.

With a groan, I answer, knowing he won’t stop until I do, and press the phone to my ear, slightly out of breath. “What do you want?”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“Because I’m working out, asshole, and you’re interrupting. Now, what do you want?”

“You’re working out?” Chris scoffs. “We just got done with practice an hour ago.”

“So?”

“So, if you’re working out after Coach already kicked your ass, that means something must be wrong.”

“And why would it mean that?” I ask with a sigh.

“Because obviously you’re upset and trying to repress your emotions. It’s a classic avoidance tactic. Guys have been using it for centuries.”

I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Save me the psychoanalysis, Collins. Now if you’re done?” I pull the phone away from my ear with a roll of the eyes.

“Wait!” he screams. “I know you’re about to hang up, but you can’t because I need your help.”

I knead the crease in my brow. He’s wearing me down; I can feel it. “What could you possibly need my help with?” I ask, lifting the phone back to my ear.

“Uh, I slipped getting out of the shower and fucked my leg up.”

I jolt to attention as a wave of panic washes over me, immediately thinking of our game on Sunday. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”

“No joke. I’m serious, man.” As if to punctuate his words, he grunts in pain. “I can’t put any weight on it.”

I narrow my eyes even though he can’t see me, convinced he’s making shit up. “Well, why the hell are you calling me? Call an ambulance or something.”

“What? No, I can’t do that,” he says, voice laced with panic.

I roll my eyes. “And why not?”

“Because . . . it’s my other leg.”

I frown. “What?”

“My other leg. You know. My third leg.”

“Your dick?”

“Yeah. I slipped and fell and hurt my dick.”

“Well, why the fuck are you calling me? How am I supposed to help?” Then I remember what he said and scowl. “Wait. You said you can’t put weight on it.”

“So?”

I scrub a hand down my face, too tired for this shit. “So, do you walk on your penis? Is this some kind of weird sex trick or something? No one needs to put weight on their dick, so either you’re lying or?”

“Aaargh!” he screams into the phone. “It hurts so fucking bad, man. I need help. Now !”

“Even if this were real, which I suspect it’s not, I’m not helping you with your dick,” I say, unable to believe I’m even having this conversation. “Call Charlotte.”

“I can’t,” he says between pants, “she’s working on a paper.”

“Where the hell is Jace? He’s your roommate. Call him.”

“He’s out with Brynn,” Chris whines. “I’m all alone!” he half yells, half moans down the line.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me with this,” I mutter more to myself than him.

I bite the inside of my cheek in a bid to restrain my annoyance when he says, “Please, just come help me, and I’ll never ask you for another thing as long as I live.”

“What exactly do you think I’m going to be able to do? And how the fuck does one even break their dick? It’s not possible.”

“It is, actually. Look it up,” he says, much calmer now, and when I say nothing, he adds, “I’ll wait.”

“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” I grumble as I pull my phone away from my ear and Google “broken penis.”

“Oh, shit !” I yell when the screen loads.

“Told you,” I hear Chris’s muffled voice say, and when I put the phone back to my ear, I swear I hear more than one voice in the background.

“Wait. Is someone else there? Who’s with you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“No one!” he says, his tone sharp. “No one’s here. It’s just the TV.”

“Even if you’re telling the truth, what the hell were you doing to break your dick, anyway? Actually,” I grip the phone tighter and dry heave, “don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

“Smart man. So, will you come help me? Please? ”

“And just what do you think I can do to help?”

“I can’t drive like this, bro. You think I can drive with a broken dick? I’m not fucking Superman. I gotta cradle this shit the whole way in, whisper him words of encouragement, give him soft pets, and keep him calm.”

“Why is this my life?” I mutter as I glance up at the ceiling.

“So, you’ll come?” he asks, sounding a little too excited about it.

“Fine.” I sigh, the weary sound of a man who’s accepted his fate. “I’ll be there. But I swear to God if this is some kind of ruse to lure me there for any reason other than a mangled penis, I’ll break your dick for real.”

“So violent. See you in five,” Chris says, and then he hangs up.

Five minutes later, I knock on Chris’s door and wait, cradling the bag of frozen peas in my arms like it’s a child.

“It’s unlocked!” his voice calls out, muffled behind the door.

With a deep inhale for fortitude, I push inside to find the apartment seemingly empty. “Where are you?” I call out, slowly making my way through the living room with no sign of him or Jace.

Shit, maybe Chris was telling the truth.

“In here!” Chris shouts. “My bedroom.”

I frown, because I swear his voice wasn’t coming from the direction of his bedroom when he first answered me through the door, but I head toward it anyway, grumbling as I go.

When I swing open his bedroom door and take a couple steps inside, my gaze immediately falls to the empty bed. Movement to my right catches my eye, and I turn. “I brought you some?” The words die in my throat at the sight of her? Avery ?standing across from me with a deer-in-headlights expression.

I barely have time to process what’s happening around me when Chris’s door slams shut behind me. I jump, startled at the sound when I turn, my gaze falling to the doorknob as I process the familiar click of a lock too late.

Dropping the peas, I lunge for the door and futilely try the knob, but it doesn’t budge, and I can’t unlock it. The asshole turned the fucking doorknob around, so the lock is on the outside.

Anger bursts inside my chest, a kaleidoscope of color as I pound a closed fist on the door. “What the hell, Chris? I swear, if you don’t let me out?”

“This is for your own good,” Chris yells from the other side of the door, sounding perfectly healthy.

So much for a broken dick.

“Yeah? Will it be for your own good when I get out of here and really do break your dick?”

A beat of silence follows before he mutters, “I’m not scared of you.”

I huff, placing my hands on my hips as I stare at the closed door, my expression thunderous.

He fucking should be scared of me, because at this very moment, I want to fucking kill him.

“Listen,” Jace’s voice croons through the door, “we’re only doing this because we care.”

My brows rise, along with my temper. I knew I heard someone else on the phone! “You’re in on this, too?” I practically hiss.

“We need you, man,” Brandon says, and I want to scream.

I nod to myself, processing this information. Chris, Jace, and Brandon. “Is West here, too?”

“I’m here,” his deep baritone calls out.

“Great. Lovely.” I nod quickly as if trying to absorb the gravity of the situation. “Just getting a headcount on how many asses I need to kick.”

“This is for your own good, Damon,” Chris says again, though the wobble in his voice tells me he’s not entirely certain. Or maybe he’s a little scared.

Good, he should be.

“Locking me in with my ex?” I ask with a dry laugh. “The one I want nothing to fucking do with?”

The one I just opened up to you about?

Fucking fabulous.

I hear a sharp inhalation behind me at my words, one I try to ignore.

“Remind me to never tell you guys anything again,” I grind out.

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t be like that,” Chris says.

“You need to talk to her. Say what you need to and get everything out of your system. Closure, and all that,” Jace adds.

“And once you do, we’ll let you out,” Brandon chimes in.

I snort. They can’t be fucking serious. “And what if I don’t talk? What if I just sit here like a mute until you let me out?”

I hear a muffled grunt, like the thought pains whoever made it, followed by Chris’s voice. “Then it looks like Clayton will be our starting QB on Sunday morning.”

I bark out a laugh. They wouldn’t fucking dare. But before I even have a chance to argue, Chris is calling out, his voice seemingly further away this time. “We’re going out for pizza, but Avery’s supposed to text us once you’ve talked. Be back in a couple hours.”

“We want our quarterback back!” Brandon calls out, and I open my mouth to protest when I hear the apartment door slam shut and I freeze.

Silence falls over the room, pierced only by the sound of footsteps behind me, an unwelcome reminder I’m not alone?that Avery stands merely feet away, breathing the same air, staring at the same wooden door, and witnessing my panic at the thought of being confined in a room with her.

“Damon, can we just?”

“I have nothing to say.” My voice is cold, calm, in complete juxtaposition to the way my heart is frantically clawing at my ribs in a fit of panic.

“Well, I do.”