Page 148 of Colliding with Ten

That pulled me up. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me.” He held my gaze. “How do you know this wasn’t the play the entire time? A guy like that—smart, strategic—how do you know he didn’t see an opportunity? The rival quarterback’s sister, working in the training room, has access to injury reports, is young and trusting, and doesn’t see it coming. How do you know this is not a honey trap, Ayla?”

I stilled. The words hit places I didn’t know could bruise. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know him.”

“I thought I knew you, too, but you still lied to my face for two months.” He waited, letting me absorb that before he continued. “So forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment right now.”

I had no defense because he’d taken the foundation out from under every argument. I sagged. At that, I thought I saw his features soften, a flicker of the brother who told me he was glad I was home, but then it was gone.

“I wish you had stayed in California with Dad,” he continued, stepping closer. “Everything was simpler before you showed up and tangled your life in mine. Again.”

I sucked in a breath that felt like glass, the shards ripping and tearing at everything inside me.

“Leave.”

The word hit my chest like a physical thing. “What?”

“I can’t look at you right now, Ayla. I need you to go.”

“AJ—”

“I’m not asking.” His voice was forceful now, hands shaking at his sides from the effort of keeping himself from saying something he couldn’t take back. His voice rose. “I need you to leave my apartment.”

Meadow cringed in the hallway.

As his sister, I could count on one hand the times I’d heard Alexander Jericho Callahan go several pitches above his register outside the huddle. Every time, it meant something was broken that might not get fixed. I was hurt, but terrified this would be it for my brother and me. I had to salvage this, placing every soft, vulnerable piece of me on the line for him to tear apart if that’s what it took for him to love me again.

“AJ—”

“GET OUT!”

The apartment rang with it. The words bounced off the walls, the reorganized cabinets, landing in the center of my chest like a fist. Meadow’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes went wide, not just from shock—but fear. We exchanged looks. She had never seen this from him before, and neither had I.

The quiet in the room after was worse than him yelling. AJ’s breathing became rapid, fists clenched at his sides. His eyes were red. He wasn’t just angry; he was trying not to cry. He hadn’t cried since our mother’s funeral but was now shaking with the effort not to break down. My heart lurched at what I was doing to him.

“Please go.” His tone was low, but wrecked.

Meadow took a step forward. “AJ, it’s the middle of the⁠—”

“I don’t give a fuck.” AJ erupted.

Meadow flinched, but didn’t back away.

“Okay,” she said, and something about her voice made him look at her. He was desperate and breaking. “You’re angry.”

“Damn right, I’m angry.”

She stepped right into his space.

“Meadow, she—” he said desperately.

Meadow nodded. “I know, baby.” She wrapped both hands around his arms, still at his sides. “You can be hurt. You can hate what she did. You can wake up tomorrow and still be furious about it all. But that’s your sister.”

AJ squeezed his eyes shut.