“You may want to take me off speaker for this,” he says, careful to temper his tone.
“It’s fine. There’s nothing you could say that she can’t hear.” For the first time since he answered the phone, some of the tension leaves his body.
“Cruz—”
“It’s fine, just tell me.” Suddenly, he sounds so exhausted. The wariness in his voice amps up all my protective instincts. “Please.”
“Victoria has a bottle of GHB she found in his luggage after the trip to Miami.”
The phone slips from his hand, dropping to the bed. I’m caught off guard, not sure what GHB has to do with Jarrett’s death, but I don’t have time to figure it out because Cruz is crumbling in front of me.
My heart breaks as I watch him bring his balled hands to the side of his head before he curls in on himself and lets out a strangled cry. It’s the most heart wrenching sound I have ever heard.
“Cruz.” Rich’s sharp voice is muffled by the sheets as he calls out in concern.
I grab the phone and shift so I am in front of Cruz. “Rich, it’s Delilah. I’ve got him, but I’m going to hang up now. I’ll have him call you later.”
“There’s no rush. I can handle things on my end. Take care of him.”
I don’t bother saying goodbye before I end the call. My hands smooth up Cruz’s arms, covering his tight fists with my own and lowering my head so I am eye level with him. As soon as our eyes connect, he pulls me into his lap. My arms loop under his and hold him tight as he buries his head in my hair. His body shakes as he struggles with his emotions.
“I’ve got you.” I have no idea what to do for him other than to hold on tight and let him know I’m here. “I’m right here.”
“He did this. That fucker took my brother from me.” I’ve never heard his voice like this before. It’s filled with a vengeance that sends ice through my veins. Not because I’m scared of him, but I’m afraidforhim. I can feel the way this is taking over stealing him from me.
I blink back the tears brimming my eyes and fight every instinct I have to tell him he needs to calm down. It’s the last thing he needs to hear, but his doctor just reiterated his need to avoid stress. Maybe it’s selfish, but I need him here and whole for me.
And so does Jarrett. He promised his brother he would find out what happened. He can’t do that if he ends up back in the hospital.
My hands make circles on his back as I hold on tight, hoping that the motion will do something to calm him. Eventually, his breaths become less ragged and the tight hold he has on me starts to loosen. The first words out of his mouth are a bucket of ice water over my head.
“I need to pack a bag.” He shifts me off his lap. His movements are almost robotic as he moves towards the closet and pulls a pair of clean boxer briefs up his legs.
“A bag?” My mind races, trying to catch up. I pull the bedsheet with me, almost tripping over it as I follow him to the closet.
He’s already lugging his suitcase out when I get to the closet door. He breezes right past me, dropping the suitcase on to the bed before returning to the closet and pulling things off hangers.
“Cruz, slow down.” Fuck. Where are my clothes? I look around for anything I can put on before this sheet gets wrapped around my legs again. I grab his discarded t-shirt from last night and slip it over my head.
“Can you grab my charger for me? I’ll need to talk to Coach about starting rehab from St. Louis.”
“St. Louis? Can we talk about this for a minute?” My arms come around my stomach as I stand in front of him, trying to get him to stop moving long enough to talk to me.
“Uh huh, sure, just let me book a flight.”
“Stop. Please,” I say, dropping to the bed between him and the suitcase.
“I have to go. Three years I’ve been waiting for this, I promised him I’d figure this out. I owe him that much.”
“What about you?” My voice breaks on the last word and part of me really wants to ask,what about me? I silence that thought. I don’t want to stand in the way of what he needs to do for his brother, but he just got cleared for some activity today. Two weeks ago, I sat by his side in St Louis while he was recovering from a head injury.
This seems like too much too fast. What if he has complications or his symptoms return? I need him. The turmoil rages inside me as I fight to lock it down tight.
“Me? I don’t matter. This is about him.”
Those three words “I don’t matter” hit me square in the chest, cracking it open wide. My throat thickens as I push the words out.
“You matter to me.Thismatters to me.” My hand gestures between our bodies, desperate to break through to him. “I need you Cruz. You’re my future. I—I don’t think you should go. Not right now. Give Rich a few days to figure things out. See how you’re feeling. Let your brain heal a little more.” My stomach knots itself into a mess that I’m not sure I’ll be able to untangle as I try to plead with him to stay. But I can see on his face it’s not going to make a difference. He needs to do this, but I am not sure how I’ll be able to standby and watch him put himself at risk.
