“We messaged you when we heard. Surely you got the news?”
“I got fucking nothing,” I yelled, the music and the dicks on the next table forcing me to raise my voice. I suddenly felt like a tiger caged in the booth by Phoenix’s massive bulk.
Both brothers were looking at me like I suddenly didn’t know my own mind.
My entire head felt like it was going to fall off my shoulders. “I never got any fucking message. How badly was she injured?”
“Cut open part of her throat, could have been nasty.” Christ, the scar on her collarbone. I suddenly felt like puking, and I jammed my hands through my hair.
“So, Storm was coming to see you that night. Maybe to stop you from leaving.”
“Fuck! What does it mean?” I hissed, lowering my hands and appealing to both.
“You’re not that fucking stupid,” Nix said with a grunt as he leaned back.
“Shit. Let me out. I need some air.” My head had started to feel a little fuzzy.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Hudson growled, moving to stand as Nix dragged himself out of the booth.
“Stay put. I’ll be back in two.”
THIRTEEN
REED
My thoughts were racing. Had Storm really been going to see me that night? If that were the case, our lives could have been so very different. I thought about my career with the NFL. If she had shown up, I never would have left.
Why the fuck didn’t I get the message that she’d been hurt? Even after the event?
And if I hadn’t left, where would I be now? Did I even care that I may never have made it as a footballer?
No. I would have thrown away everything for Storm.
I pushed off the thought. I may have the career, but I had lost the girl I loved.
Making my way past the restrooms to the back of the venue, I used the panic bar to push open the steel fire door and stepped outside. I took a deep, calming breath. I needed to allow air into my lungs and give those organs a reprieve from the smoke I was about to clog them with.
Fuck I needed a hit. Thoughts of Storm’s body trapped in the twisted wreckage of her car and my not being there made my chest tighten. Why didn’t they call me? My brothers must have known I would be there for her. Would have raced to the fucking hospital.
Because you and Storm lived a lie for so many years. They probably didn’t know what to believe.
I took a smoke out of the back pocket of my jeans, and tested it between my fingers and thumb as I glanced around my surroundings: still the same old shit. Gunther had confessed that drug tests were becoming more regular in the Patriots, and so I needed to make sure I didn’t have any weed in my system. On that occasion, nicotine would have to do. I didn’t smoke rollies often, just in emergencies.
The rusted-through chest freezer, which had been there for years, still sat in the corner of the yard, untouched. It was now surrounded by large, empty cooking oiltins and a couple of bags of trash, ones that the rats had been at from the holes and food waste hanging out. Grimacing at the mess, I lifted the cigarette to my nose, inhaling the tobacco. It wasn’t the same as weed. I so missed getting stoned with the guys. But if you got caught with any drug in your system, there was a good chance you’d get suspended, maybe even kicked out of the team.
Pulling out my Zippo, I lit up and took a slow, deep drag of my smoke, embracing the way it calmed my nerves. Flicking the lid back over the lighter, I pushed it back into my pocket. It was vintage and cost a small fortune.
The alleyway that led from the yard and out onto the sidewalk, a street away from where the bar was located, was empty, and I relished that moment of peace.
My brothers and I used to smoke out there when we were in college. Being there again prompted a stirring of nostalgia.
From the tatty plastic chairs sitting across from the dumpster and the metal ice bucket full of cigarette butts, it appeared the staff still chose to smoke out there, even though there was a purpose-built smoking shelter to the side of the building by the staff entrance.
I lowered my tired ass onto one of the chairs, placing the cigarette between my lips and taking another drag.
The sounds from the bar were muffled, and as I flicked some ash onto the floor, that calm feeling in my chest was suddenly replaced by something else. I could sense a presence, and I pushed to my feet.
That earlier feeling of being watched morphed into another feeling: one that suggested something else. I had company.
