“What are you thinking about?” I ask, pulling away so I’m no longer leaning against him.
“That you’re the only thing I miss about this place.” He links our hands together, his eyes still outside.
“Not the parties or the girls?” I raise an eyebrow, hating the way the question makes me feel.
Amused eyes flash to mine. “Are you jealous, Lyla James?”
“No.” I scowl.
He chuckles and leans in to kiss me softly. “I don’t miss the parties or the girls. You were in my life for less than three months, and you managed to become the best thing of my college experience.”
“I’m not sure if I believe you, but I accept that answer.” I smile and look outside again. “Have you been back here at all?”
“Once.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “I met the new team and had lunch with Coach Rob and Jameson.”
Anger shoots through me. “I hate him.”
“It really makes me wonder if all those times he reached out, he was just trying to get information on where you were,” he says. “Or trying to find out whether or not we were together.”
My anger grows. We spent three years of our lives apart, because of him. I’m all for “everything happens for a reason,” but this was forced by a person with an obsession and a God complex. He killed my mother and one of my best friends. He tried to kill me and was unsuccessful, but I still missed out on a season and a half of soccer. I missed out on the rest of my college experience. I ran from the love of my life because I was terrified of what might happen to him. All of those things sit heavy over my chest as we turn onto the street that leads to the new building.
“I really hate him,” I whisper, as Ronnie parks at the curb.
Lach opens the door and I take his hand, as he helps me out of the car and keeps it in his while he speaks to Derek again. Ronnie looks at me when I lean into the backseat.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but if he gets me alone, try to get everything he says before you come for me.”
Ronnie stares at me for a long moment before he gives a sharp nod. I step back out and look around, over my shoulder, down the street, and inside the building. There are people arriving behind us — women wearing nice dresses and men in suits. I see a few familiar faces, but I don’t know anyone. It isn't until Lach tugs my hand that I realize I’m just standing there. He looks at me, eyes full of concern, and I squeeze his hand to let him know I’m fine. I’m not; I’m shutting down, but I don’t need to tell him that. He knows me better than anyone. His green eyes scan my face for a moment.
“You can shut out the entire world, Lyla James.” He kisses my lips hard, making my heart skip a beat. “But never me.”
I take a breath and let him lead me inside the building.
CHAPTER54
LACHLAN
We sayhello to some of the current and former athletes who walk up to us, as we make our way through the facility’s enormous lobby. I thought coming to the event would be torturous, but it’s not bad. I’m sure we’d have a great time if Jameson weren’t a concern. I’m not letting these interactions distract me, but I am trying to only focus on my attack and not on what he did to Lyla. If I think about that, I’ll fucking lose it. Lyla lets go of my hand while I’m talking to the current left and right wing. She only moves a couple of steps away to speak to some girls. She’s right there. But without her hand in mine, my adrenaline instantly spikes and my senses go on high alert. The guys ask for a selfie with me, which I gladly take. Of course, they ask about my retirement.
The second we move away after saying goodbye to everyone, I grab her hand again. We walk to the check-in section, and I speak to the woman behind the table. While I’m giving her my name, Lyla lets go of my hand again, and I pause mid-sentence to see what the hell she’s doing now. I didn’t think of it before, but I should have bought one of those leashes parents use on their kids.
“What?” I ask when she doesn’t turn back around.
“Banks is here.” She looks at me. “I haven’t seen him since. . .”
“Let me finish here.” I give her a look that I wish would freeze her in place.
I continue the check-in process. The woman starts talking about the facility and everything it has — Olympic pool, tennis court, basketball court, weight rooms, etc. Then she moves on to the banquet room we’re about to sit in. I’m sure whatever she’s saying about the place is great, but I’m so tuned into Lyla that I’m only half-listening. I thank the woman, get the gift and table number, and grab Lyla’s hand to lead her away from the crowd behind us that’s waiting to check in.
“He probably hates me,” she says, as she watches him laugh with some guys who take pictures with him.
“I’m sure he doesn’t. He’s probably worried, though.”
“I need to talk to him.”
I look around the lobby area once. Twice. When I don’t see who I’m looking for, I give a nod in Banks’ direction. “Let’s go.”
When we walk up, Banks halts mid-conversation and looks at Lyla like he sees a ghost. I let go of her hand so she can adequately greet her friend and watch Banks go through every emotion — disbelief, confusion, sadness, joy, and relief. He settles on that one and smiles, even though he looks like he’s about to start crying. It’s doubtful that Lyla will, since she’s already adopted her poker face, but she’s a lot more emotional these days, so I can’t be sure. The guys Banks was talking to are also watching the interaction and giving him space before they pat him on the back and walk away.
