Page 1

CHAPTER 1

PAXTON

I'm just about to settle in for the night when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I shift on the couch, groaning at the idea of Nash, Lawson, or Baylor trying to convince me to come out tonight. They’ve already tried twice.

Not only am I exhausted, I'm just so damn tired of running into Monroe and Liam everywhere we go.

As long as she's happy, it's fine.

I just don't have to subject myself to the torture of it.

I pull out my phone, my heart stuttering in my chest when I see Monroe’s name and picture pop up.

I hesitate, wondering if my friends have roped her into asking me to come out too.

Normally I’d never hesitate to answer her call, but things have been different lately. Strained.

I'd like to blame it on the fact that I don't like Liam—he's a douchebag who somehow convinced her he's a nice guy—but it's more than that.

It's always been more than that.

I swipe to answer the call, knowing damn well I’ll never ignore her.

“Hello?” I answer, clearing my throat.

Loud music blares in the background, and I press my phone harder to my ear like it’ll help me hear better.

“Paxton,” Monroe says my name on a panicked breath.

That quickly, I'm up, shoving my feet into shoes and grabbing my keys.

“Where are you?” I ask, adrenaline flooding my veins as I head out of my house, barely remembering to lock the door on my way out before I’m in my car.

She's crying.

I'm going to fucking kill him if he hurt her.

“He drove me into the city for this festival thing and he left me here,” she says, her tone drenched in tears, her breathing shallow.

“Fuck.” I grip my steering wheel so tight my fingers ache, shifting my phone to speaker and drawing up her location.

We've shared locations since we've had the ability, and I’ve never been so grateful for that as I am right now. My phone’s GPS locks on to her, and I take the route faster than is probably safe.

“I'm on my way,” I say, doing my best to keep the anger I feel out of my tone.

It's all for him, and nothing for her.

Goddamn him, he has no idea what he's just done.

“Monroe,” I say firmly. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? I'm going to stay on the phone with you the whole time. You’re not alone, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she says. “I'm trying. But there are so many people here, Pax.” She lets out another panicked little cry. “I don't know anyone here. I'm so sorry I had to call you?—”

“Never apologize,” I cut her off. “You need me and I'm there. Always.”

That’s never changed.

I've known Monroe since we were kids, since our families are close friends.

Which is why I know that being abandoned in public places is a huge trigger for her. It causes all variations of panic attacks.

Once, when we were ten and on a vacation in Greece, Monroe got separated from us in the market. It’d been packed. One second, she was there, the next she wasn’t. It took us over two hours to find her, and by the time we got to her, she’d been so traumatized by it that it stuck with her forever.

I’ve never let her out of my sight again when we’re out together.

And this asshole just left her.

“Breathe for me, Monroe,” I say again when I hear her breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just close your eyes and breathe. Is there a place you can get away from the crowd? A front entrance, a reception desk, anything?”

I'm on the highway now, driving twenty over the speed limit in an attempt to get to her faster.

“There's too many people,” she says, and I can hear her teeth chattering, her body going into full panic mode at being left in a strange, crowded place alone.

I’m going to fucking kill this guy.

“That's okay,” I say, taking the exit that will lead me to her. “I'm two minutes out. You don't have to move. I will find you. I promise.”

“I'm so sorry,” she says again.

My chest cracks at the apology. At the way she always apologizes anytime we've ever been in this situation. Which is a few since that first time.

“You've done nothing wrong,” I say, finding my way onto the patch of land that's working as a parking lot for the festival happening several yards away.

“I did,” she says. “It's my fault. I broke up with him and he left me here. He left me with no way to get out. Get home.”

Rage cuts into me, but I do my best to push that to the side.

I have one focus now and that's getting to her.

“I'm here,” I say, holding the phone to my ear as I pay the person at the gate so I can go through.

The live music is six times louder now that I'm here. The breath stalls in my lungs as I look out at the massive amount of people who are dancing and jumping to the band that's playing on a stage I can barely even see because I'm so far back.

For a fleeting second, I wonder how the fuck I'm going to find her in this packed crowd, but I know there's no other option.

She needs me. I'll find her.

I scan the place for landmarks. “Monroe, can you tell me what's closest to you?” I ask, having to practically shout now to be heard. “I'm seeing a lot of different things, like a few vendor tents, and big colored lights positioned at the edge of the crowd.”

“I'm close to the pink light,” she says.

I immediately move that direction, shoving people out of my way to get through the crowd. I get called a lot of names, but I don't give a fuck.

Relief barrels down my spine when I set eyes on her only a few feet away. I hang up the phone, pocketing it as I push through the last few people in my way.

“ Monroe .” My hands immediately slide over her cheeks, and I wipe away the tears rolling down them. “I'm here.”

Her face crumples as she shoves her phone into her pocket before gripping my forearms, crying harder. “I'm so sorry.”

I draw her to me, holding her against my chest for a few seconds before I gently nudge her away again. “I've got you,” I reassure her. “I've got you, okay?”

She nods a little too rapidly, and I can still see the effects of the panic attack clinging to her body. Not only because of the tears or her rushed breaths, but the way her body is trembling like we're in a dead winter, not the beginning of summer.

I hold her close, not letting one inch of her away from me as I navigate our way back through the crowd, shoving people out of my way as needed when they won't move.

It takes me a few minutes to get us clear of the massive array of bodies, and five more minutes to make it to my car. I open the passenger side door and settle Monroe in there before hurrying over to my side and immediately retaking her hands once I'm in.

“Let's breathe together,” I say.

We’ve done this multiple times before.

She nods, her trembling grip on my hands squeezing tight, her rich dark eyes locked onto mine.

I take a deep breath, holding it for four seconds before slowly releasing it, and another wave of relief crashes through me as she mimics me.

We do it again.

And again.

We do it until I've lost count of how many times we’ve inhaled and exhaled together.

My car is blocking out most of the sound, leaving it quiet save for our breathing. And I swear I can sense the moment the attack passes, her muscles relaxing, her trembling all but coming to a stop.

“I'm sorry,” she says again, leaning her head against the headrest now that she's grounded.

“You have to stop saying that,” I say. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You know that. I'm always here for you.”

“I know,” she says. “I just hate that I can't control these reactions.”

“No one can control these things,” I remind her.

Her therapist had told her as much when she’d been going weekly throughout her teens when the panic attacks mounted any time she was in a crowd. She'd come so far since then and had managed to go months at a time without having a panic attack, doing her best to avoid certain situations that would trigger them or work on techniques to help lessen the time if they did happen. No one would ever guess because she’s a full extrovert most of the time, but there’s no avoiding trauma like she experienced.

Of course it happened tonight, under the conditions.

“Are you good if I start driving now?” I ask.

She nods, so I start the car and navigate onto the highway again, heading toward her apartment.

It's all I can do to concentrate on the road and not start bombarding her with questions about what happened that led to him abandoning her at the music festival with no way home. But she looks exhausted and the last thing I want to do is put more stress on her.

I park in her apartment complex a while later, hurrying around to her door before she can open it. She leans against me as we head toward her place, her eyes glaring at the door next to hers before we head in.

I close her door behind us, my brow furrowed at the loud music coming from next door.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

Monroe starts crying again, and I hurry to wrap my arms around her.

“That's Liam,” she says. “We had an argument last week, and he's been doing this every single night. I haven't been able to sleep. And sometimes his fucking friends will come by and knock on my door at three a.m.”

I grit my teeth, doing my best to hold her gently.

“Tonight was supposed to be a fun way to work things out, but he was getting way too serious. He kept talking about our future together and trying to plan things with me even though I kept telling him I’m not a serious relationship person. When I reiterated that tonight, and he ignored it, joking that he would propose to me during one of the songs, I told him that I was done.” She shakes her head against my chest. “And once he realized I was serious, he said a bunch of horrible things and then left .”

I smooth my hand up and down her back, trying to be reassuring when all I can think about is the asshole next door.

“And he's been doing this music thing for an entire week? Over an argument?”

She nods. “I haven't been able to sleep, which probably didn't help tonight. Normally I can get through these attacks easier, but tonight, I couldn't get a grip. And now I don't know what I should do,” she continues, looking absolutely frazzled. “My lease is up this week, and I was going to sign a new one to stay here, but now that I know he'll continue living next door and acting like this, I don't know what to do. I haven't been able to go to Blakely or Reese’s because I don't want to bother them while they're enjoying their off-season time with Lawson and Nash. And Hadley just graduated, she doesn’t need me bringing her down. I have no idea what to do.”

I shake my head, adrenaline crackling through my veins as the wheels turn in my head. If Liam left her at the festival tonight and is being an obnoxious asshole on purpose from just an argument, he’ll get worse now that she's officially broken things off with him.

“I swear mercury is in retrograde or something,” she continues, pulling away slightly as she looks up at me. “I don't mean to dump all this bullshit on you. I'm sure you were out with the guys or something?—”

“I wasn't,” I say, cupping her cheeks. “And even if I was, do you think there’s anything on this planet that would’ve stopped me from coming to you?”

Fresh tears well in her eyes as she shakes her head. “I don't know what to do,” she says again, then flinches as the party going on next door heightens, someone banging on the wall that connects their two units.

“I’ll tell you what you're going to do,” I say, no room for argument in my voice. “You're going to go pack your bags right now, get everything that's absolutely necessary for the next few days, okay?”

“Pax, I don't want to be a burden?—”

“You’re never a burden,” I say firmly. “I have plenty of room at my house. It's quiet and safe. You'll have the space to think.”

She seems hesitant, but nods. “I'll go pack.”

“Good girl,” I say, and it earns a broken laugh from her.

I wait until she disappears down the hall and into her room, and then I'm out the door and pounding on Liam’s so hard I know he can hear me over the music.

One of his friends, Darrell, opens it, and I immediately shove past the prick, my eyes on Liam who is across the living room. The layout is the same as Monroe’s, only reversed.

“Who the fuck invited you?” Liam asks as I stomp toward him.

I don't bother answering. I grab his shirt and shove him against the nearest wall.

“You're a fucking asshole,” I snap. He struggles against my hold but can't break free. “You left her there, you piece of shit . And now you're pulling this music bullshit?” I shake my head, making sure he can see every ounce of rage in my eyes. “You come near her again, even think about talking to her again, and I'll fucking kill you.”

Hands wrap around me from behind, yanking me backward, but I push one of his friends off, fastening him with a warning look that says I won't hesitate to rip his head off too.

Liam holds his hand up at his friends, and they back off as Liam smooths down his shirt. “You need to calm down. Monroe practically begged me to leave tonight,” he says. “We all know you have a hard-on for her, but she's never going to look at you that way. Don't take that shit out on me.”

His friends laugh, and I roll my eyes.

“You're so fucking pathetic,” I say, not even phased by his comments. I step into his space again, anger rattling down to my very bones. “I promise you,” I say. “Hurt her again, and I'll ruin you.”

Worry flares in his eyes for just a second, likely remembering the fact that I've been a Badger a lot longer than he has, and I have way more pull with Coach, not to mention the owner. But honestly his position on our team is the last thing he needs to be worried about. Especially when I want to knock his teeth out.

“Fuck off,” Liam says, shaking his head. “Get the hell out of my place.”

“Gladly,” I say, my message delivered as I head out the door.

I carry Monroe’s three heavy bags to my car, and she’s silent but calm as she gets in.

We make it back to my house in no time, and I put all her things in the guest room that's next to mine. She takes a minute to change into PJ's and wash her face but joins me on the couch after she's done.

“Don't you want to lay down?” I ask as she sits close to me, our thighs touching.

“Can I just stay with you for a little bit?” she asks, tucking her knees up to her chest and turning toward me.

I move my arm, and she leans her head against my chest, sighing deeply.

“Of course,” I say. “Want me to turn something on?”

She nods, and I reach for the remote, turning on one of the documentaries I'd been watching before she called.

It hasn't even been ten minutes before she falls asleep in my arms. I hold her, not daring to move when I know how exhausted she is.

The urge to kill Liam creeps up all over again.