Page 86 of Hard to Hold

“Is that what this was all about? You. Me. This?” he asks throwing his hands up.

“What are you—” And then I realize what he’s asking, and I’m dumbfounded by it. “You think I’m sleeping with you because I want answers? For what, Rush? You think I’m being paid by Seth or LFC or someone to get the truth out of you? Then what? I’m going to sell the sordid story to the tabloids and make money off it?” I climb out of the spa, pissed at the insinuation, and turn to face him. “I can make my own money, Rush. I don’t need to make it off selling athletes’ stories, so screw you for even implying it.”

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“Isn’t it?” I shout. “Maybe you’re so used to people fucking you over that you don’t know what it looks like when someone is actually trying to help.”

“Help with what though?” he asks in too calm a voice. “The last thing I need is someone I’m sleeping with to hold my hand, Lennox. I’ve got plenty of people for that. You’re—” He runs his hand through his hair and mutters an obscenity. “Never mind.”

“I’m what?” I ask, heart in my throat, as I wonder if I’m going to like or loathe the answer he gives me.

“You’re the one person I feel like I can be myself with. The one person who . . .” His sigh is so heavy it drowns out the waves. “I’m doing what I have to do. Okay?”

“For who, Rush? Who are you doing it for, because it sure as shit isn’t for you? Quit hiding behind some stupid club gag order and just tell me the truth.”

“No,” he says unequivocally.

“Don’t you trust me?” It’s the worst question I could ever ask given the expression in his eyes.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“What a sad way to live,” I say reflexively and see the slightest wince, before his guard goes back up.

“Now you’re insulting who I am?” The words come out in a laugh.

“No. I just . . . is it so wrong to want to help you? Is it such a bad thing to see you suffering for something I don’t think you did and for the fucking life of me, I can’t understand why?” I throw my hands up.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Got it. So I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to open up to. Perfect. Classy.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and rolls his shoulder. “Those are your words, not mine.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why can’t he tell me?

Why can’t he see I’m more than a pretty face? Trust in me. Why am I not even enough for his truth?

I need him to be the good guy I think he is instead of this asshole who’s standing before me trying to pick a fight.

“So you want people to believe you’re fucking her with no remorse. Good to know.” I start to walk away when the low, frustrated grit of his voice rings out.

“I’ve slept around my share, Lennox. Even done some things I’m not proud of, but I’d never sleep with a married woman, let alone a teammate’s wife.”

I turn to face him and when our gazes meet, his eyes are burning with emotion that is all but boiling over. “Then explain the picture to me, Rush. Tell me how the hell there’s photographic evidence that you did.”

“Why does it matter?”

We stare in silence as the cool breeze chills my wet skin. His honesty equally hurts and fortifies my heart.

“I don’t understand. If that image isn’t what it looks like it is, then why in the fuck are you silent about it? Why the hell—”

“Drop it,” he demands. “Can you please just drop it?” This time his voice is softer, almost begging, and my last thought before I turn to walk away and do as he asks, is that there’s a whole host of pain in his eyes.

I wish he trusted me enough to let me know what it is.

Maybe I could help.

Or maybe I could sit by silently and hold his hand to let the man, who thinks he doesn’t need anyone, know that someone is there.