“Let’s talk about President Parker,” Sam’s eyes shift back and forth as he thinks. “If Wes goes to her, she could do more damage to you than Coach.”
I shake my head. “Coach won’t let that happen. Look, man.” I pound a fist to my chest. “I love ya for worrying about me. But Emily is the one we need to protect. Not me.” Sure, I’m not going to lie. I don’t want to get kicked off the team or lose my scholarship or even get thrown out of school. And if I had to choose, I would give up football only because I could do more with a college degree. The NFL is a fucking dream and it’s still in my sights, but so many things have changed in such a short time that I need to be realistic about where I’m headed.
He pops forward, elbow on his knees. “Admirable, dude, and I want to protect her too, but someone needs to watch your back too.”
Suddenly, I feel like someone is driving a knife into my gut as guilt swirls into a violent storm inside me. I should fess up, right now, about selling drugs. The longer I wait, the harder it will be to tell him. He’ll be devastated, but he needs to know.
A knock sounds on the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief for the interruption.
I’m such a coward.
Sam answers the door, and the moment I lay eyes on Emily, I fly off the bed.
Her face is pale and her blue eyes are brimming with fear.
“What’s wrong? What happened? Did Wes confront you?” My pulse quickens. I’ll kill the bastard this time. Fuck sending him to prison.
Automatically, I pull her to me, and the minute her body is flush with mine, I let out a contented sigh.
Sam clears his throat. “What’s wrong, Emily?”
She buries her face in my chest as her arms wind around my waist.
Fuck, if this isn’t what I needed—to feel her against me, to breathe in her scent, and to know she came to me with whatever has her freaked out. Progress.
My heart settles as I kiss her head. “Talk to me.”
She pulls away and sits on my bed. “Wes came to my house. He’s not backing down.” Her tone cracks. “I can’t do this. I need...” Her hands begin to shake violently.
I ease down next to her, taking her hands in mine. “You’re safe, baby.”
She moves her head back and forth. “Adam, I need.” She peeks at Sam through her lashes.
I kiss her hands. “You don’t need that.”
I’m sure Sam is putting the pieces together that Emily needs to get high.
So, to distract her, I say, “Tell us what happened.”
Sam returns to his chair.
Withdrawing her hands from mine, she picks at the hem of her shorts. It’s only then I take in her long, tanned legs and pink painted toenails. Phoebe would love to have her toes painted pink.
A vision of Emily painting my sister’s nails pops into my head out of nowhere, scaring the shit out of me.
Because I like the visual a hell of a lot.
And that thought frightens me as much as it excites me.
“Wes told my parents some football players jumped him. He’s going to make sure you pay, Adam. He’s not letting up.” Tears coat her eyes. “He’s going to come after you.”
Pure joy floods my chest that she’s worried about me. That’s the only reason I’m not punching my fist through the window to expel my rage that the fucker had the nerve to go to Emily’s house when we clearly threatened him to stay away from her.
Sam shakes his head. “He’s just trying to scare us.”
I chuckle at my dear friend at how calm he is when I’m seriously considering putting a bullet into Wes’s skull because that seems to be the only way we can get rid of the asshole.
As if Sam knows what I’m thinking, he says, “Save the aggression for the football field.”
