Page 120 of Too Far

Instead of agreeing, he closes his eyes and leans against the seat back, as if he’s trying to distance himself physically.

Finally, he swallows and nods.

Over his shoulder, I catch sight of Locke. With a frown, he shrugs.

If that’s all he can give right now, then I can accept that.

“Time-out,” I repeat once more. Then I rise to my feet and go in search of my own cup of coffee.

Chapter 55

Decker

Iwaswrong.Sodamn wrong.

About so much.

There’s no comfort in that realization.

I rub at the tension gathered at the base of my skull and turn my head from side to side to ease the pain. The fabric of the hammock bunches as I shift. With a shrug of my shoulders, I rearrange myself again in a seemingly futile struggle to get comfortable.

“Oh. Sorry, brother.”

Kendrick.

I jackknife up to sitting so quickly I almost spin the entire hammock.

“Easy,” he chuckles, holding out a hand. “I didn’t realize you were out here. I’ll give you space.” Pivoting, he heads back to the door.

The urge to talk about what the fuck I’m supposed to do now is too strong to let him go. “Wait. K. Stay.”

He stops in his tracks and regards me over his shoulder, his brow furrowed.

Clearing my throat, I double down. “Please stay. I could use the company.”

Nodding, he approaches my end of the deck. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

Shifting in the hammock, still sitting upright with my legs dangling over one side, I sigh. “Feeling sorry for myself.”

He scoffs, then laughs. Like I’m a joke.

Anger burns hot in my veins, mixing with the self-loathing I’ve let consume me. “Is something about this situation funny to you?”

Towering over me, he rolls his lips and assesses me. “Yeah,” he admits. “Kind of.”

I grit my teeth, waiting for him to elaborate on how my misery and the situation I put us in could be humorous.

With a huff, he drags a chair across the deck. The way it scrapes against the composite surface sends a shudder through me. He spins it around, then straddles it, so close that I can see the golden flecks of warmth in his irises. He’s close enough that the disapproval coming off him is palpable.

“You’re Decker Crusade.”

As if I could fucking forget.

What I wouldn’t give to forget…

“What excuse could you possibly have to feel sorry for yourself? Bro, you’re laying on a hammock at your private cabin in the mountains. You’re the golden boy of Lake Chapel—the future prince of professional football. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone to take pity on you.”

I grind my molars at the scolding and will my indignation to remain at a low simmer. He’s not wrong. Yet so much of my life is out of my control these days. The reality of it isn’t even remotely aligned with what I want for my future.