Page 88 of Hard to Hold

“It doesn’t matter what people think about me. I learned a long time ago that people believe what they want even when the truth is looking them straight in the face.”

Like I am you right now.

“But it does matter. It’s a battle worth fighting. Finn. Your publicist. Your lawyers. Your teammates. They should be screaming at the top of their lungs, vouching for you, setting everyone straight.”

“I gave up hoping anyone would go to battle for me a long time ago,” I whisper as I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “And I’m okay with that. The only person you can completely depend on is yourself.”

“You pay these people,” she says, disbelief ringing in her tone. “They better fight for you.”

She doesn’t understand, and I’m not sure how to make her. “I’m a kid from the wrong side of town who got a chance of a lifetime and ran with it. Everything I’ve done I’ve had to work and fight for myself.” I lean down and press a kiss to her lips, needing her touch. Needing that connection. “That’s not going to change now. I’ve got it under control. It’ll all work out.”

“Rush.”

I deepen the kiss to distract her, because what else can I say? That the only father figure I’ve known—who I thought was in my corner—betrayed my trust? The man, who should have been there for his flesh-and-blood son, proved himself more selfish than I thought, demanding I pay back what he gave me?

I feel cheated. Wronged. Used in the weirdest sense of the word.

Lennox is also right about my agent, my publicist, my teammates. Well, apart from Louie. Christ. It’s like none of them have any faith in me.

“You’re the rebel they expect this from. The man who brawls in pubs and changes women like you do your socks and doesn’t give a fuck who sees or knows.”

Or maybe I’m just finally seeing it because . . . Lennox has faith in me.

“You don’t have to fight this on your own. Let me help you. Let me—” A gasp falls from her lips as my fingers make my way between her thighs.

“No one’s ever fought for me before because they thought I was worth it.” Another kiss to quiet the doubt. “I stopped hoping for that a long time ago.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LENNOX

WE WERE SILENT THE WHOLE ride back due to the wind and the convertible, much like we were on the way up to Montecito, but this time there’s an added weight around us.

We had a fight.

I let the thoughts in the back of my head get the best of me, got a little too relaxed, and those thoughts spilled out. Maybe I didn’t mean to ask the question how it came out, but my curiosity sure as hell did.

And sure, he woke me up and apologized, but there was so much left unsaid on my part, so much that I feel he silenced with his kiss and then the sex that followed.

But I let him distract me because I was too damn afraid to ruin whatever this is between us. Too scared to rock the boat. But then I realize there is no boat. There’s just this small space of time where Rush and I are going to be together. It’s perfectly natural to develop some feelings for a man I’m all but living, working, and having sex with. Normal on so many levels. There’s no need to overthink it since in the not-so-distant future, we’ll be parting ways to go back to our normal lives.

Brexton was right.

Rush is my perfect idea of a relationship. Quick, satisfying, and then over when we both move on.

But if that’s the case, why now, as we’re crawling through the Hollywood Hills back toward our reality-for-now home, does my head buzz with so many more thoughts and things I want to say? Why now, do I become nervous when Rush pulls the Mustang to a stop in the roundabout in front of Johnny’s house?

It’s because I’m lying to myself.

I’m lying to myself, and I’m not sure how to convince myself the lies are all true.

“So you got one thing ticked off your ‘American things’ to-do list, right?” I ask nervously. “What else was there? Tailgating and learning to appreciate why we Americans love our ice cubes? I’m sure there’s more. What else can you think of? I mean . . .” I wring my hands in my lap and look out the passenger side window as I try to figure out how to say what I want to say. I turn toward him. “About last night.”

“Forget about it.”

“No.” I reach for his hand to stop him from getting out of the car and wait for him to look at me. “I need to say this. I need to . . . please?”

Rush shuts the car door and turns to face me. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”