Nat’s teammates rib him endlessly when he walks into the conference room with me and I sheepishly realize that my lipstick is all over his face.
Cordelia jogs over with a wet wipe and he cleans himself up enough for the photographer to take the picture.
I watch him interact with Renthrow, Kinsey and Chance McLanely. Those men seem the closest to him on the team. Should I tell them my concerns? Based on what? The fact that he’s limping and I heard pills in his pocket?
Nat hasn’t confirmed anything to me yet. And what if I tell the Lucky Strikers and it backfires on Nat? What if he gets kicked off the team because of me?
But what if that saves him from being hurt beyond repair?
My stomach wraps itself into knots.
I gnaw on my bottom lip.
Every so often, Nat’s eyes search the room for me and he gives me a smile or a wink before focusing on his teammates again.
I don’t know what to do. I want Nat to live his dream but, if it means keeping him safe, I may have to be the one to destroy it.
Chapter Fifty-Three
NATHAN
The over-the-counter pain pills are helping for now, but the effect wears off fast. I had to take another pill before we left the conference hall.
Riley’s in the passenger seat, arms folded over her chest and brown eyes locked on the passing scenery. This pickup is pretty spacious—I intentionally bought a truck that could carry all my hockey gear—but it feels like we’re sitting miles apart.
I shift in my seat and call her name tentatively. “Riles?”
“What?” The stern, teacher-voice is back.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Riley rubs her bottom lip and I notice that her lips are a little swollen.
“Riles,” I say, taking my eyes off the road to stare at her. “Are you okay? Are your lips sore?”
“I’m fine.”
I reach for her hand and then think better of it. “I’m sorry. In the hallway, I didn’t mean to be rough?—”
“Why were you in the hallway in the first place, Nat?”
I want to say something that’ll make her smile, that’ll melt that frigid tone, that’ll get us back to playful banter. But Riley’s eyes are intense and searching mine for any cracks in the facade.
The truth is, she caught me right after I took another dosage. Again, I defaulted to kissing her as a deflection.
But I overdid it. It seems like Riley’s onto me.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and waver on how I should respond. I could lie, but I feel like that would put me in more hot water and I also don’t want to start a habit of being dishonest with her. Or I can give her the whole truth and turn our relationship into a cycle of Riley pressuring me to go to the doctor, me resisting her and this stupid leg ruining a great thing.
I choose an in-between.
“I’ve been overdoing it with training lately. But it’s nothing to worry about. A few pain pills and some relief patches will fix it right up.”
“Is it your leg?” She sits straight up, her body straining against the seatbelt.
“Yeah, but I’m managing.”
“How bad is the pain from a scale of one to ten?” Riley asks, staring me down as if she’s a human lie detector.
