“I know. I’m so sorry this happened.”
I pull her against my chest and hold her while she cries. Her body shakes, and I don’t speak because there’s nothing to say. I hold her and let her fall apart and promise myself that when this is over, I’m going to make sure she’s never sad again.
The TV keeps playing on mute, headlines scrolling across the bottom of the screen in an endless loop. I ignore it and focus on the woman in my arms.
By the time her breathing steadies, the light outside the windows has shifted golden. She lifts her head and wipes her face with the back of her hand, her eyes red and swollen.
“Sorry,” she says.
“Don’t apologize.”
“I got your shirt all wet.”
“If you want me to take it off, just ask.”
That earns me a laugh.
“What do we do now?” she asks.
“We wait and see how this plays out.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And we don’t let it destroy us. The media wants chaos. The gossip sites want us to lash out.” I meet her eyes. “The best thing we can do is wait.”
She nods. “I should call Addison. She texted me, like, fifteen times.”
“You should.”
“And maybe …” She hesitates. “Maybe I should call my mom back.”
“Only if you’re ready.”
She reaches for her phone and stares at it for a long moment, her thumb hovering over her Contacts. Then she sets it back down and shakes her head.
“I don’t have the energy for it. Can we … forget about this for the rest of the night? Order food, have incredible sex, and rot together? Tomorrow is a new day.”
“I love it when you speak my language.” I grab the remote and turn the TV off. “What do you want to eat?”
She shrugs.
“I’ll surprise you,” I tell her.
As we wait for the food, her body presses against mine. We watchHappy Gilmore, and each time she laughs, I can feel the tension radiating off her.
I feed her, please her, and then we take a hot bath together. It’s honestly one of the best nights we’ve had in a long time. A reminder that, sometimes, we have to shut the world out.
When we go to bed, she curls into me and holds on tight. I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe until sleep takes her, but I don’t follow. I stare at the ceiling and think about Damien’s face and Coach’s pride and all the ways this could still get worse, but something has to give.
36
KENDALL
Iwake up before Patterson, which almost never happens.
The bedroom is barely lit, and he’s sprawled across the mattress with one arm flung over where I should be. I move my feet to the edge of the bed and watch him sleep for a minute, noticing how handsome he looks. I admire the dip in his lip, the way his eyelashes curl up.
I grab my phone and go to the bathroom.
The headlines are worse today.
CROSS BROTHERS’ LOVE TRIANGLE: INSIDE THE SCANDAL ROCKING THE LEAGUE
