Page 17

“Couldn’t go to the store and not get you your favorites,” Reed quips, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Tatum. Huh? Wonder what that’s about.

“This wasn’t on the list.” I pull the bag open and grab a minibar. “But thank you, I appreciate it.” Unwrapping the candy, I take a bite. “Mhhh... The perfect amount of crunch, chocolate, and caramel,” I say as I blow a chef's kiss.

The guys always leave me full-sized candy bars on home game days; a thank you for keeping them healthy and in game condition. It’s one of their superstitions now, not that I’m complaining. Who would complain about chocolate landing on their desk?

“Why don’t you guys get settled? I’ll make dinner while you unwind,” I say. Greyson smiles down at Hannah, taking her hand and le ading her into their room, which holds a “Future Mr. and Mrs.” banner over it. When I hear the door click, I turn toward the brutes in the living room.

“You better not have jacked with the list. I had everything planned for every single meal.” My finger points in their direction, but while they may be professional athletes, they aren’t stupid. Well, most of the time. But they love to mess with Hannah and me, so I wouldn’t put it past them.

“I promise, we got everything on the list,” Andrews says as he raises his hands in surrender.

“Among other things,” Monroe chuckles from his spot on the arm of the couch.

“You guys!” I walk over to the fridge and yank the door open. It’s overflowing with a ridiculous amount of bacon, eggs, and cheese. Slamming the door, I take a deep breath before turning around. “Are you for real right now? What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Bacon and eggs?” It’s Wilson who pipes up.

He’s the quiet one of the bunch. I figured he’d be able to keep them in line, but obviously not.

My eyes narrow; try as I might, the deep breaths are doing the opposite of what they should be doing.

I need to get myself under control. “There is nothing else here. I cannot and will not eat bacon, eggs, and cheese for every meal for a week.”

Snatching the keys off the counter, I head to the garage.

I don’t need to look behind me to know who’s following; his footsteps give him away.

I jab my finger into the garage door opener, the squeak of metal as it lifts barely registers over the sound of the blood rushing through my ears.

I yank open my car door hard enough that I have to catch myself from falling flat on the gr ound.

I slide in, slamming it shut behind me, desperate to hit the lock before I have an unwanted guest in my car–too slow.

The passenger door swings open before I can react, then slams shut again.

He settles into the seat like it’s the throne he sits on daily, cool and composed like he didn’t just hop into my car uninvited. His vanilla and cedar wood scent fills the small space, making it feel like we’ve just been vacuum-sealed in with both my greatest fantasy and worst nightmare.

“Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

No. Let’s not.

I level him with a glare, the kind that should make him think of his next move very carefully.

But instead of him getting out like I hoped he would, he reaches for the seatbelt, dragging it across his chest and clicking it into place.

He then intertwines his fingers and drops them in his lap, and looks at me like we’re headed to Sunday brunch.

“Seriously?” I bite out.

He doesn’t flinch; he just raises an eyebrow slightly, daring me to make a move.

I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles ache.

The garage is too quiet, and the air in this car is too thick.

The last thing I want to have is this conversation.

I can’t sit here. We need groceries, and I need to be out of this house where anyone could walk out the door and see me unraveling in all the ways I’ve fought so hard to keep under wraps.

The first five minutes of our drive, the car is filled with the kind of silence you’d associate with the aftermath of an avalanche.

Heavy and filled with anticipation. The kind that deepens the pit in your stomach, like when the ominous music starts in a horror film.

You know it’s coming; you just don’t know when or how. Then he hits the detonate button.

“Did they hurt you?”

His question slices through the barrier I had around my heart, sharp and sudden. My breath catches in my throat. I feel trapped like a caged animal, desperate to escape, but there’s no way out.

I barely get my car in park on the side of the road before my vision tunnels, my head hitting the steering wheel as a shiver rolls down my spine. My chest is tight, too tight; breathing seems like a chore. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get enough air.

My body hijacks itself; the more I try to stop the shaking, the worse it gets. My skin is covered in goosebumps, yet I’m sweating. This is what I was trying to avoid. I don’t do feelings . I can’t control them, so I just ignore them.

How is that turning out for you, Abby, huh?

A ragged sob claws its way up my throat, raw and completely unhinged, yet here in the car, it feels like the safest place to let it out. My palm slams against the wheel as I try to keep it together. I hate this. I hate him. I hate that he knows my deepest, darkest secret.

And now, here I am, on the receiving end of his pity. Pity that I don’t want. That’s how it always goes, though, doesn’t it? People don’t know what to say or how to act. They don’t see me anymore–just the girl who was too weak to stop it. The girl who let it happen.

“Are they why you got so upset when we were reading Hell or High Water?”

My head snaps up, my eyes burning with tears. How? How does he remember that? How did he notice that ?

“Yes, the stupid woman in the book didn’t listen when Hunt said no.

Luckily, it didn’t get that far for him, but.

..” I whisper, the word sticking to the back of my throat.

My voice trembles, and I loathe myself for being so weak.

“I...” I don’t have it in me to hold back anymore.

The tight control I’ve clung to for the past nine years dissipates right in front of me.

“I was nineteen.” A tear slowly rolls down my cheek.

“I haven’t been able to be with anyone else since.

Even the guys on the team unknowingly bring me back to that place of fear when they hug me out of nowhere sometimes.

It’s like their touch still lingers after all this time, I just..

.” I shake my head, trying to get a hold of something, anything.

“It was the only time I’ve ever questioned being a Physical Therapist. Was I even capable of working with men, let alone athletes who could overpower me after that? ”

“I started boxing about a month after.” I don’t even know if he can hear me at this point, but I have to keep going for myself more than anything.

“I didn’t ever want to be in that situation again.

I wanted to be able to defend myself.” I clear my throat and wipe a few stray tears off my face.

“Almost a decade of working hard to do just that evaporated the second they appeared. It’s frustrating, to say the least.”

I look up, expecting to see his face void of emotion. Instead, I find it twisted with rage. His eyebrows are pulled low, his frown is tightly pulled into a scowl, and his fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white.

“They did what?” His growl hits me in the most primal part of my being. It feels wrong to find peace in the way his chest heaves and his jaw clenches, for me. But I like it. I like it way more than I should .

“It was a long time ago,” I murmur, trying to defuse the seemingly very fragile bomb we’ve created. “I just thought I had moved past it.”

“Abby, that’s not something you just ‘move past.’” His voice comes out soft, a complete juxtaposition to the anger still swimming in his eyes.

“You are strong; I’ve seen you box. But even more than that, you work with male athletes all day.

You're not a pushover, and despite what they did, despite them making you question your career choice, you’re thriving in it.

You didn’t let them win, and that’s something a lot of people can’t say. I could learn a lot from you.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. I’ve known this man for almost two years; I’ve never heard him speak like this. Complimentary, motivating, and genuine. My traitorous heart picks that moment to say, maybe he’s not so bad. God, could my life get any more chaotic?

“Thanks,” I whisper, but it sounds like a gunshot in the otherwise silent car.

Without another word, he reaches across the console, prying my hands off the steering wheel. His warm, calloused hands wrap around mine, anchoring me to the present. His eyes meet mine, shining even brighter in the light of the setting sun.

“Tate–”

Before I can say anything else, he leans over our joined hands and kisses me like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s soft at first, questioning. When I don’t pull away, he releases our hands and wraps one around the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him.

I allow myself to indulge because, truth be told, I couldn’t stop thinking about the one from the other night .

But it all comes crashing back as soon as he unbuckles my seatbelt. The complications, the risks, all the lines were crossing. Not to mention, we can barely stand each other...

“Tatum, we can’t,” I say breathlessly, my forehead resting on his as my eyes flutter shut.

“We shouldn’t, but I want to. Just one more time.

” His voice is gentle and pleading, and I hate the way my body reacts to it.

Like it wants to turn to putty in his hands, to hand over every ounce of control.

As much as I hate to admit it, both times his lips met mine, it silenced the war raging in my head.

I sit back against my seat, folding my hands in my lap as I take in the man in front of me.

“Your brother and my best friend are getting married. We’re going to be around each other a lot.

I’m not willing to make it awkward if we give in to whatever this is.

..” I gesture between the two of us. “...and it blows up.”

Because it will blow up. Hurting him will hurt Hannah, and hurting him will be inevitable.

Our lives are too intertwined, we butt heads over everything.

But damn, if I don’t want to let him have “one more time.” His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t look away.

After what feels like an eternity, he nods.

He reaches across the car, grabs the buckle part of my seatbelt, and pulls it across my body, clicking it back into place.

I merge back onto the road and head the remaining way to the grocery store.

Monroe: I’m sorry, Knighty. We thought it was funny. Prank week, right ?

Abby: What are we going to do with that? We’ll never be able to eat it all.

Monroe: Oh ye of little faith...

Abby: Monroe, seriously. You guys can’t possibly eat that much bacon.

Monroe: Game on.

Abby: Want to start on prank one?

Monroe: More beautiful words have never been spoken.

Abby: In the closet in my room, there’s a purple bag. Inside, there are penis-shaped straws. One for everyone. We’ll start small.

Monroe: Good plan. I’ll get them.

Monroe: Wait, why are there snakes in here?!

Abby: If I have to spend a week with Oscar the Grouch, I might as well have fun with it. He’s terrified of snakes.

Monroe: Diabolical. I like your style.

Abby: Getting the actual groceries. See you in a bit.

Monroe: BACON4LYFE!

“Monroe thinks you guys can eat all the bacon they bought in the next week... Is that doable, or should I start making bets? I’m on a winning streak. Reed isn’t too happy about it.”I ask as I tuck my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Didn’t see how much there was.” Ahh, back to cold Tatum. Got it.

“Okie dokie then. Let’s get this show on the road.

” Unlocking the door, I step out into the Georgia spring air, it’s starting to grow on me.

I like the cold to start and end the day.

The walk into the grocery store is short, and soon, the heat is smacking us in the face.

“Ahh, that’s nice,” I say as I grab a shopping cart, pulling out the list I wrote in my journal.

The same list I texted to Monroe, and he completely ignored it .

Deep breaths, you are getting the train back on the tracks. Start at aisle one and move through them in order.

Tate points at the list in my hand, “Can I take a picture of that? I’ll get the stuff on the bottom half.

” I start to say no, but his hiked eyebrow stops me in my tracks.

Sighing, I hold out the list and watch as he grabs a basket and makes his way toward the opposite end of the store.

I mean, my list is organized by aisle number, but all stores are different, so this may be a game of Where’s Waldo instead of a quick trip.