Page 14

fourteen

CAROLINE

My senses aren’t working properly. All I can hear is bass thumping louder and louder. The walls are shaking. The room is spinning. And it’s so dark I can’t see a thing.

I turn and press against something soft.

I try to lift my head, but it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.

I squint—or try to—but my eyes won’t open.

They feel cemented shut. It takes everything I have to pry one open, and harsh light slices through my vision, sending pain straight through my skull.

I let out a breath and try to push up on my elbows, but a wave of nausea knocks me back onto the plush, unfamiliar surface.

“ What the hell? ” I mutter, my mouth dry as sandpaper.

I rub at my eyes, then rip off the metaphorical band-aid and force myself to sit up. I blink several times, trying to process what I’m seeing—then go completely still.

I have no idea where I am.

My bleary gaze sweeps across an all-white bedroom. For a second, I wonder if it’s a hospital. But no—it’s too warm, too curated. Pottery Barn furniture. A cozy reading nook. A salt lamp glowing on the nightstand.

I sit up fully, groaning as a skull-splitting ache pulses behind my eyes. I clutch a fistful of my hair and wait for it to pass. When I open my eyes again, I notice something I missed before.

There’s a lit candle on the nightstand. And next to it, a steaming cup of coffee.

My spine stiffens as the white comforter slips down my chest. That’s when I notice what I’m wearing.

It’s definitely not the white pantsuit from last night.

I’m in an oversized black cotton t-shirt I don’t recognize. There’s some graphic and text on the front. I start to tug the fabric to read it—but a noise cuts me off.

It’s coming from the next room. Through a cracked door.

I freeze, heart lurching. After a few seconds of silence, I wrap the comforter tighter around myself and slide off the bed.

I try to tiptoe toward the door, but my foot catches on something. I look down—my clothes from last night.

I slap a hand to my forehead. “Goddammit, Caroline. What did you do?”

The sink turns on in the next room.

I move beside the door, pulse racing, then slowly tilt my head to peek through the crack.

And my stomach drops.

There’s a shirtless man at the kitchen sink. Back to me. Washing his face. A backwards hat covers his hair. I have no idea who he is.

So… we didn’t drunkenly bond with one of my female classmates and come back for a wholesome little sleepover. Got it.

I inch forward, scanning the living room of what’s clearly a luxury high-rise in downtown Austin, hoping to spot either clues—or a way to escape.

Instead, I spot my reflection in a mirror.

My hair is a rat’s nest. Black mascara smudged beneath both eyes. Even if I’ve been kidnapped, I decide I shouldn’t look like this when I make a run for it.

I run my fingers through my bob, wincing, and swipe beneath my eyes. The comforter slips halfway down in the process. That’s when I finally see the shirt’s design.

“Oh. My. God.”

The man at the sink jumps and spins around.

And when I confirm what I was silently praying not to be true, I scream.

Loud enough for Rhett to cover his ears—even over his headphones.

“Good morning to you too,” he says, pulling them off.

I yank the comforter up, hiding the Texas Storm practice shirt with his number plastered across the front.

“Oh my God—I—You—What— Get out! ” I sputter.

Rhett raises both hands like I’m pointing a gun at him. “This is my apartment.”

“Why?” I shriek, still wrestling with the blanket.

“Well, it’s a good halfway point between the arena and the practice center. Nice appliances. I always thought I was more of a granite guy, but they really sold me on the quartz?—”

“ No ,” I cut in. “Why. Am. I. Here?”

Rhett tilts his head. “Cub, you were very drunk last night. But… you don’t remember?”

“No.” My pulse stutters. “Oh my God. Did we—” I wave a hand between us, unable to say it.

“What?” His brows pull together, then comprehension dawns. “No. Of course not.” He steps around the counter. “Jesus Christ, Baby Bear. No .”

“Then why am I here? Why was I in your bed? Why are you not wearing a shirt? Why am I wearing this—oh my God. You took my clothes off? ”

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett says, waving his arms. “I didn’t take your clothes off. You did that yourself.”

“Right,” I deadpan. “And then I just jumped into your bed?”

“Actually… yes.”

My spine snaps straight. “What?”

“You were way past drunk. I tried to take you home, but you couldn’t remember your address. Your phone was dead. You threatened to murder me if I called your dad. So I brought you here.”

“To sleep in your bed?”

“Not intentionally. But that’s where you ended up.”

I narrow my eyes.

“For the record, I wasn’t in the bed with you.”

“You weren’t?”

“No,” he says. Then pauses. “Well?—”

“Well? Were you or weren’t you?”

“After I was sure you wouldn’t drown in your own puke, I wasn’t.”

That’s when I notice the couch—and the pillows and blankets arranged into a makeshift bed.

“I don’t puke,” I say.

It’s true. I never do.

“Yeah, well…” He hesitates. “I just wanted to be sure.”

I pull the comforter tighter. Then a thought hits me.

“But how did you know I was drunk? You left the bar.”

“I left the bar,” he nods. “Not the parking lot.”

My brows rise. “Why?”

“You didn’t want me inside,” he shrugs. “But you were already a sip away from hammered before I walked out. I wasn’t going to leave you there.”

My throat goes dry. “I still have so many questions.”

“Ask them.”

“You didn’t sleep with me? ”

“No. I already told you that.”

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“What?” He recoils. “No.”

“Then what’s that?” I point to the nightstand.

He glances, then relaxes. “Um… tea?”

Tea?

“Why?”

“Because you don’t drink coffee.”

My lips press together.

He’s right. I don’t.

“And you’re sure we didn’t do anything more?”

“I promise.” A beat. “Well?—”

“If you say ‘Well’ one more time?—”

He cuts in, hands raised. “Define more.”

“Rhett,” I sigh. “You know what I mean.”

He studies me for a long second. Something flickers in his eyes. “You don’t trust me.”

I don’t answer.

“Wow,” he mutters, turning away.

“Wow as in…what?”

“Wow as in, wow, Cub. That’s pretty fucked up. Knowing you think that little of me.”

Guilt tugs at my chest. “I don’t not trust you. I just…” I rub a hand through my hair. “The whole night’s a blur.”

“Well, there’s one thing you can be sure of,” he says, stepping closer. “That didn’t happen.”

My brows furrow.

“Because you’d remember,” he says, voice low. His eyes flick downward, darkening. “I’d make sure of it.”

My breath catches. I drop my gaze to his chest. “Why are you not wearing a shirt?”

“I went for a run. I always do before practice.”

“Practice? ”

“Yeah. I need to leave in fifteen?—”

“Wait.” My head whips to the kitchen clock. “Oh my God. I have a broadcast meeting in forty-five minutes. I have to go.”

I drop the comforter and turn to sprint—then remember I’m in just a t-shirt and panties.

“Baby Bear?—”

“Don’t look at me!”

“Why—”

“ Rhett! ”

He lets out a sigh and turns his back.

I yank open drawers, grabbing the first thing that resembles shorts. Turns out they’re gray boxers instead, but I don’t have time to be picky. I step into them, rolling the waistband until they’re presentable. Then I shut the drawers, spin around, and scan the room.

“Can I look now?” Rhett calls.

“If you insist,” I mutter, still scanning.

“There’s no need to stress, okay?” he says, trailing me. “You can ride with me. We’re going to the same place.”

I bark a laugh, grabbing my clothes from the floor. “I most certainly cannot.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, I need to go home and get ready. I can’t show up with last night’s makeup and yesterday’s outfit. And second, I cannot be seen with you.”

Silence follows while I gulp the lukewarm tea. I don’t notice the shift in energy until Rhett says, “Really?”

I meet his eyes. “Yes, really. Not today.”

“Not today?”

“Not ever,” I clarify. “But especially not today.”

“You can’t be seen with me ever?” he repeats, incredulous.

“Not ever, and especially not today,” I repeat. “Not when, thanks to you, a good chunk of today’s meeting will be about how to make people not think there’s anything going on between us.”

Rhett presses his tongue into the side of his cheek. “So we’re back to that.”

“Yes, Rhett, we are. Because I never left it. And I’m not going to. It was recorded and broadcast for the entire world to see.”

“I said I was sorry?—”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t just make it disappear. So if you’ll excuse me, I have to go clean up this mess.”

“Fine,” Rhett says, stepping into my path. “At least let me drive you home.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t need you to.”

“I know you don’t need me to,” he says. “I want to. Let me help you?—”

“You’ve helped me more than enough in the last twenty-four hours, Rhett. And besides, you’ll be late for practice.” I try to move past him, but he blocks me.

“I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t,” I scoff. “Sorry, I forgot.”

I manage to step around him, but I don’t get far. His hand hooks around my elbow and spins me back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I exhale sharply. “Nothing, just drop it?—”

“No,” he says firmly. “Tell me. What did you forget?”

Frustrated beyond words, I blurt, “That you don’t care about anything!”

The silence that follows is heavier than before. Then, softly, he asks, “Is that really what you think?”

I don’t answer, and that’s enough for him.

“What else do you think of me, then?”

“I think life’s just a big game to you,” I say, my filter gone. “And I’m not sure you care about anything beyond your next move.”

“My next move?”

“I think you like the challenge. You like showing everyone that you can conquer anything—or anyone. But at the end of the day, none of it matters to you. Every day is just another scene in the Rhett Sutton Show, and everyone else is just a side character. None of it’s real.”

Rhett narrows his eyes at me slowly, tongue tracing his bottom lip. “You want to talk about real?”

I pull back slightly. “Not really. But what do you have to say?”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “At least I let other people be characters in my show. Whatever game you’re playing, I know you can’t be having much fun. So why don’t you, for once, drop the poker face and stop trying to figure everybody out?”

“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have time for fun,” I say. “Some of us are too busy trying to be taken seriously and actually working toward our goals.” I pause. “And I don’t need anyone else in my show.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says, nodding. “Keep it up, and I’m sure you’ll get exactly what you want, Cub.”

I’m ready to fire back, but my mouth snaps shut. My jaw tightens, teeth grinding. I don’t know where they come from, but suddenly, hot tears sting my eyes.

“You’re an asshole.”

Rhett presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Back at ya,” he says with a sniff.

I scoff, then spin on my heel. I pause for a beat in the doorway, glancing back at him. “Do me a favor. Next time you feel like helping me—don’t.”

I take off. I’m barely halfway through the kitchen when I hear him mutter, “ Dammit .” Then there’s movement behind me, followed by Rhett calling out, “Cub, wait—” just as I bolt out the door and into the hallway.

I don’t even remember how I got to Rhett’s place last night, so I’m grateful to spot the elevator right away. And when his door slams open behind me, his voice trailing after me again, I’m even more grateful when the elevator doors part immediately.

“Cub—”

I don’t even look. I just smash the button to close the doors.

Only when I’m officially riding down the nineteen floors to the bottom do I finally take a breath and lean my head back against the wall.

I start to wonder whether it’s just a coincidence that Rhett lives on the same floor as his hockey number or if he’s really that obnoxious, when my phone starts ringing in my hand.

Startled, I glance down. It’s Addie.

“Hello?”

“It’s off—Morn—Now—Tell me wh?—”

“Addie, hold on. I’m in an elevator. Terrible service. Just give me…” I glance up at the floor indicator. “Twelve more floors.”

“Okay, it’s tomorrow. Where is my update about last night?” she asks as I step off the elevator. “And—wait, what building are you in that has twelve more floors?”

I’m looking around the massive, echoing lobby, trying to figure out where to go while also cobbling together a semi-coherent lie. “I… uh… I—it doesn’t matter.”

“Um, okay,” Addie says. After a long pause: “Why do you sound so suspicious?”

“I don’t,” I snap, weaving past my third marble pillar before finally spotting a break in the towering glass walls—a door, thank God.

“Caroline.”

“Addison.”

“Is something going on?” she asks.

“No,” I insist, just as I miss my exit from the revolving door and am forced to make another full lap. “It’s just—” I gasp when I look up and find someone directly across from me in the rotation. “Rhett!”

“Rhett?” Addie echoes in my ear. “Um, what?”

“Leave me alone,” I mouth to him before shoving out of the door and onto the street. The second I hit the sidewalk, the sunlight blinds me. The building’s tinted glass must’ve hidden it all—now I’m squinting and wincing like a vampire at dawn.

Even through the glare, I can still hear Addie. “What about Rhett, Caroline?”

“Nothing!” I exclaim, bringing the phone back to my ear as I spin around, trying to get my bearings. “Absolutely nothing?—”

And then I run straight into Rhett.

My clothes and phone go flying.

“Oh my God, Rhett,” I snap. “What are you doing?”

“I just?—”

“No. Just don’t,” I cut him off, grabbing my things and turning away. I barely make it a few steps before he catches me again, spinning me back around.

“Cub, I just wanted to say?—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Not now. I’m going to be late, so please, let me go.”

“Baby B—” Rhett huffs.

“What?”

“You forgot this.”

I turn back. He’s holding out my bra. I must’ve dropped it when I scrambled to pick everything up. Mortification washes over me as I reach for it—and then it only multiplies when I catch a flash out of the corner of my eye.

My head snaps to the side. Giggles. Mutters.

Two girls, maybe late teens or early twenties. Phones out. Cameras pointed straight at us .

For a second, I’m confused. Then I see it—one of them is wearing a Texas Storm cap.

My mouth drops open as I slowly turn back to Rhett. He’s piecing it together too. Our gazes drop at the same time.

Rhett Sutton—Storm’s captain. Me—Caroline Barrett, coach’s daughter and the team’s newest rinkside reporter.

Standing outside his building. He’s shirtless.

I’m in boxer shorts and a Texas Storm shirt with his name on it.

Last night’s makeup still smeared across my face.

Clothes from last night in one hand. Bra in the other.

“Oh, shit,” Rhett breathes.

The camera flash goes off again.