Page 65 of Unwritten Rules (The Sunburnt Hearts #1)
Chapter Thirty-Three
TATUM
W ith my father out of the house for the game tonight, and Raya unable to keep me distracted because she's cheerleading, I'm left to wander around the house, moving from room to room in the hopes I'll find something to fill my time with.
Reading a book did nothing but make my mind wander, unable to focus on the words.
When I couldn't find anything decent to watch on the streaming sites, every TV show or movie either not interesting enough or something I've watched far too many times that I can recite the dialogue backwards, I tried cleaning my bedroom.
Clothes were strewn across the floor in desperate need of hanging, and the top of my dresser was a mess, littered with perfume bottles and random hair accessories, reflecting the chaos in my head.
My body and mind are not happy with whatever I try to do, intent instead with forcing me to ignore everything and focus on the ocean eyes that have plagued me this past week.
I hate that I can't forget about Sinnett.
Not that I want to. But if I'm going to move on from this and allow him to continue his career without my getting in the way of his ambitions, then I need to continue to remind myself that this is for the best. Putting him above my own needs and desires was the right call.
I've been trying to tell myself that every chance I could get this past week, and each time the reminder was like a knife to the heart. I know deep down it was what needed to happen, but my heart refuses to accept it.
Sinnett has tried to reach out multiple times, and each time I see his name on the screen, it physically pains me to not respond.
We haven't spoken since the game last week, when I walked away without giving us a chance to discuss the situation.
I know what he would say. He would tell me that he can have both—his career and me.
But I know that it can't happen. As long as my father is hellbent on me not dating anyone on the team, whether I'm working for the club or not, Sinnett will always be out of reach.
Sighing, I flop down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Despite the chill in the room, sweat lingers on my skin. I should go have a shower, even if it's to give myself something to do, but my body refuses to move, intent on just lying in one spot and staring at nothing.
Thinking. Feeling. Remembering.
The late-night drives with Sinnett is something I miss more than I thought I would.
His comforting presence when we were in his car, laughing, talking and singing along to whatever song played from the playlist I created for him—for us—was a welcome distraction from how exhausted I was from work.
It was an outlet for both of us, one that allowed us time to decompress and just be together.
We didn't need to do anything sexual; we just needed each other.
My phone vibrates on the bedside table, pulling me from my thoughts.
It could be Noah or Nathan. We're all riding the 'hot mess express' together, so we've been doing our best to be there for each other.
They're my best friends and I would do anything for them, and vice versa.
I'm always a phone call away if they need me.
I blindly reach for the device and bring it my face, expecting to see either one of my friend's names on the screen. My heart thunders in my chest when it's not either of them. I slowly push myself into a seated position, reading and re-reading the three simple words on the screen.
SIN: I need you.
I shouldn't respond to him, I know that.
It'll be easier for the both of us if I continue to keep him at arm's length.
But the longer the words sink into my skin, embedding themselves into my blood stream and racing toward the beating muscle in my chest, I can't help but feel as though something is wrong.
The previous texts from Sinnett have mostly been him wanting to see me so we can talk, but this one is different.
It could mean anything. The uncertainty of not knowing the context and the need to know he's okay is the driving force behind my actions.
My fingers move in a blur as I type out a response.
Even as I press send, I can't help but feel that this isn't just a ploy to get me talking to him again.
TATE: What's wrong?
His response comes quick, prompting me to check the time on the screen. It's far later than I thought, approaching 10 PM. If Sinnett is texting me, it means the game has ended already.
SIN: I might have hurt my quad during the game tonight. Can you please look at it?
TATE: Why me?
SIN: You're the only person I trust, Tate. Please.
Blowing out a long breath, I tap the side of my phone, weighing up my options.
Should I do this? I've spent the past week ignoring him in the hopes it'll make moving on less painful down the line. But now that I've given him that in, will I be able to pull away again?
TATE: Sin, we really shouldn’t…
SIN: I just need you to check out my quad, that’s it. No funny business, I promise.
I hum, rubbing at my chin. This better not be a ruse to get me talking to him. Walking away from him was hard enough last time, so to do it a second time might very well be torture. Despite this, I relent, hoping I’m not making a huge mistake.
TATE: I’ll be at your place soon.
Standing in front of Sinnett’s apartment door, I’m struggling to find the strength to knock, because I know once I do, there is no turning back. Once I see his face again, I’m going to have a hard time not falling back into hold habits. I just hope my heart is strong enough for this.
Knock, knock, knock .
Holding my breath, I stare at the wood, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to appear. When the door swings open, I’m met with pale green eyes, not the ocean ones I have grown to adore.
Khai blinks at me, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “Tatum,” he says quietly, attention locked on my face. “He’s out on the balcony.”
I don’t know how much he knows about us, or if anything at all, but judging by the faraway look in his eyes and tense shoulders, I have no doubt he knows all about our situation.
In his eyes, I hurt his friend. With how close they are, it doesn’t surprise me that Sinnett confided in him.
I can’t even be mad about it when I did the same with my friends.
“Thanks,” I murmur as I waddle past him, rubbing my arm.
I feel his eyes on the back of my head as I walk into the open living space. The balcony door is open, almost like a gateway to the stars lingering in the sky, the moon shining bright enough that the overhead light has no need to be used.
Sinnett sits on one of the patio chairs, a black hoodie hugging his chest and the same athletic shorts that are on constant rotation in his wardrobe.
The hood is pulled over his messy hair, and his hands are shoved deep into the front pocket.
His right leg is propped up on a foot stool, an ice pack balancing on the taut muscles.
I shiver at the sight. How is he not shivering?
He doesn’t notice me at first when I step onto the balcony, the cool air whipping at my face. From up here, the lights of Sydney stretch for kilometres, creating a dazzling display that has captured Sinnett’s attention. But not me.
I wrap my arms around my waist, the hoodie I threw on doing nothing to ward off the freezing air. My gaze lingers on the curve of his jaw. God, it feels almost impossible to look at him—both from guilt over pushing him away and his striking features that have me questioning if he’s real.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask how you can wear shorts in weather like this.” My voice carries on the wind to him, causing a delayed reaction.
Sinnett twists his head, eyes roaming my face. They linger on my lips for a brief second before lifting. Pain swirls in the depths of the sea water, and it hurts to know I’m the cause of it.
“You came.” He says the words as if he genuinely thought I wouldn’t show.
I take a tentative step forward, the air between us thick with unsaid words. “I promised you I would, so here I am.” My eyes drop to his right thigh. “Can I take a look?”
Sinnett nods, sitting straighter in the chair. He removes the ice pack, placing it on the table beside him as I take slow and deliberate steps towards him, almost as if I’m approaching a newborn puppy that is timid and unpredictable.
Lowering to my knees in front of him, hissing at the cold bite that seeps through my pants, I focus on his thigh and not the fact that I hear his breath hitch in his throat or the subtle flex of his hand resting on his left leg.
Using the light from the moon and stars, my eyes skim over the area, examining it for any sign that he has done damage to it.
Visually, the skin looks a little bit inflamed, but without doing an exam, I won’t know for sure if it’s something in the muscle causing him pain.
“What happened?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. My head lifts, eyes meeting his. “In the game.”
Sinnett swallows hard and leans back in the chair. “I found myself in a rough tackle. A guy from the other team jarred me right in the thigh with his knee. Hurt like a fucking bitch.”
“Did you come off the field after it happened?”
Sinnett holds my gaze, jaw ticking.
His silence speaks a thousand words.
“Sin…” I press, raising a brow at him.
He shoves a hand through his hair and huffs out a sharp breath. “No, I didn’t come off the field. I got it strapped during halftime and continued on like nothing happened.” Lips rolling, he shakes his head. “My sister was in the crowd and I didn’t want her to worry.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, your sister is in Sydney?”
He nods. “She drove down last week. She’s been… dealing with some personal shit. But I’m sure you know that already if you’ve spoken to your buddy recently.”