Hustle

Not again.

It’s my mother’s whisper that screams in my thoughts. On full blast. I pull the covers over my head, but it doesn’t block out anything. The night flashes behind my eyes in striking clarity that I can’t change.

“Not again,” my mother gasps and covers her slip with the palm of her hand. Tears run down her cheeks as she stares at me standing in the living room, Drew by my side. “Please.”

It was her first response, and one of the few things she said all night. The memory of each tear slides down my heart till it’s worn away to nothing, eroded under her sadness, under her disappointment. But it was too late to take it back. Everything was set in motion.

Officer Bradford had jumped to his feet to make phone calls, ignoring my mother’s plea for him to wait. And then two detectives were in our living room, questioning me, taking photographs.

I swallow the burn in my throat and groan at the pain coursing through my body. Pain caused by undeniable regret, by fear of facing the morning. I can’t do it, but I have to.

What have I done? Why did I do it when I know the consequences? Why had I agreed?

I press my face into the pillow to silence my scream as anger overtakes my sadness. Anger at myself. Anger at everything.

The old hinges on my door creak as it opens.

And my body tenses as my internal rage freezes. I don’t move, knowing it’s one of two people—the only two people in the house.

My mother, who should be sleeping, and who probably wants nothing to do with me right now for the chaos I’m throwing her life into, yet again.

Or Andrew, who I’m not sure I want to see. I want to scream at him. I want him to hold me till I stop hurting. I want him to take it all away. To tell me it will be okay. I want him. But I can’t have him.

The bed sinks as the person sits on the edge of my mattress, and then a hand is placed on my back, and I know by the size, by the feel, that it’s him.

He’s the reason I spoke tonight. I had to.

I sit up and scoot away when he lifts the covers to my twin bed. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be on the couch.”

He doesn’t stop his path and slides under my sheets, his hands circling my waist as he leans back against the headboard. “I was worried about you, I could hear you from out there.”

“I’m fine.” I push his hands off of me. “My mom wakes up for work early.”

The night side clock glows 1:12 am.

“I’ll go back out there before she gets up, but really, I don’t care.” He leans his upper body close to me, his fingers guiding my chin to look up at him. “She’ll get over it. I’m not leaving you alone like this. Besides, she never said I had to stay on the couch.” His hand travels down my back, curling around me till I’m pulled into him. “You shouldn’t be in here crying about tonight. You should be proud of what you did.” His lips speak into my hair. “I’m proud of you.”

I close my eyes, but stay against his chest as a wave of dread shudders through me. “You have no clue what I did tonight. You have no clue how bad this can get. I told everything, but I can’t prove any of it. I shouldn’t have told about Kyle.”

“You had to.” He blows out air, squeezing me tighter. “He’s not innocent in this. He knew and never said anything. Damn, I always wondered about him, but I never would have thought him and TJ. It doesn’t matter though; he doesn’t deserve your silence. They both deserve whatever happens.”

“That’s the thing, nothing may happen. There’s no proof, and it’s my word against theirs.”

“Stop thinking like that.” His fingers glide through my hair and trail down my arm. “You did what you could. Now we wait and see what happens. But whatever happens, I’m here. Okay, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” He seals his promise with a kiss to the top of my head.

His words and touch strip away my worry, tricking me into a momentary calm, momentary peace. His fresh rain scent comforts me into relaxing, my arms wrapping around his waist to hold onto this illusion for a brief moment. He makes me believe it could be so simple.

But thoughts bombard me, laughing at the false promise, and I pry myself away from him. Retreating to the middle of the bed, no longer touching him, and too drained to cry anymore. “Yeah, you will. You’ll have to leave. That’s what you don’t understand. This doesn’t go away, it’s not going to be over tomorrow. And you have other obligations.”

“I know that.” He sits up, too, hands clasping my thigh through the comforter, holding me in place. “I know it’s going to take time, but I will be here through it all.”

“And when does the baby come?” I spit out the question, anger feeding on my fear.

“What?” He flinches away, brows slamming together.

I take in a breath, giving me a moment to make sense of my thoughts, my hands floating to my head as I pull my legs up to my chest. “You should go now. I can’t take back what’s done, but it’s not too late for you to get away. You don’t want to get wrapped up in what’s going to happen.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He braces his hands on either side of my body and leans forward into my line of sight. “I don’t care what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“What about football?” I meet his stare, with an empty challenge.

“I can still do that. This isn’t changing that. Standing up for yourself, for someone you care about, doesn’t destroy everything else. You had a bad experience before, but this time will be different. They’ll see you’re fighting back.”

“Like I didn’t before.” I sink into the dark defeat pulling me under.

“You didn’t have someone standing behind you before.”

“My mom—”

“She might have meant well, but she didn’t help you. She didn’t fight for you. I saw that much tonight, she stayed in her room most of the time.”

“It’s not her fight,” I defend her, voice cracking with frustrated tears. “It wasn’t her fight then, and it’s not her fight now. All I do is make her life worse, but she stays by me.”

He springs and I’m in his arms, inside his hug.

“Don’t talk about her,” I plead against his chest.

“Okay, I won’t.” His palm slides over my hair and down my back, a heated pressure seeping into me from his touch, relaxing my muscles. “But this time you’ll have both of us. Stop doubting that, okay?” I nod and he shifts away enough to look down at me, and his voice is a deep hum, “You don’t make anything worse.”

His lips lower to my forehead, my cheek, a soft graze to the corner of my mouth, and then their on mine, fitting like they were meant to be there. I kiss him back, hungry to escape into the rush of need that surges in me. I’m up on my knees to reach him better, and his hands slide around my hips, pulling me to straddle his lap and then sliding down and back up my sweatpants covered thighs. A thrill follows his touch up my spine and his tongue teases my lips to gain entrance. When his firm grip makes its way back down my body, fingertips dipping into the elastic waist of my sweats, I jump off him like he burns me.

“We can’t do this.” I swipe the back of my hand over my lips, holding onto the feeling and denying it.

He drops his head for a moment, but when he lifts it, the pale moonlight from the window shines on the determination in his dark green eyes. “Why? Why can’t I kiss you?”

“You said friends.”

“If that’s all you’ll give, I’ll take it. But you know I want more. And I’m going to have a hard time not touching you.”

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, tasting him and regretting it. It only makes me miss him more.

“You’re having a baby.”

“I already explained that—”

“When?” I erupt, spilling the questions that have been spinning at the edges of my mind since Tatum’s crushing confession. “When is she due? How far along is she? When did you have sex with her?”

“June.” His low voice silences me. “She’s due in June. She’s a little over a month along.” He hasn’t moved, but all of him is closed off, nothing inviting in his cool demeanor. “You want to know when we had sex? Why?”

“Because you said there was no one else when we became friends.”

“That’s what I said.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the headboard. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m trying to understand because that was five weeks ago. How is she a little over a month if that’s true?”

“We were having sex before that, but not after.”

“Scott said—”

The flash of his eyes silences me, but he rolls his hand in the air. “Continue, what did Scott say?”

“He mentioned that if she’s five weeks, then she conceived three weeks ago. I looked it up, it’s true. You count weeks pregnant from your last period, not when you conceived.”

“So he told you I slept with her while I was trying to get with you? And you believed him?” He puffs air out of his nose as he shakes his head.

“What am I suppose to believe if she’s only a month pregnant and you say you’re the father?”

“You’re supposed to believe me. I don’t know exactly how far she is, she doesn’t know till her doctors appointment next week.”

“How do you know it’s yours?” I grip the sheets under my palms, hating to voice the accusation.

“I don’t, not really.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “You’re not the only one who’s been looking into things. If the dates line up at next weeks appointment, I’m going to step into that role until I know for sure. There’s nothing I can do to test for paternity until the baby is born, unless I get a lawyer, and I don’t have the money for that. I don’t want to give you any false hope because there’s a good chance I’m the father. In fact, it’s likely. We had—one night the condom broke.” He swipes his hand over his messy hair. “Fuck, I hate talking about this. That’s how different things are now. I don’t even want to remember being with anyone else that’s not you.”

“I’m sorry.” I drop my head, pained that I doubted and questioned the one person who didn’t question me. He’s here for me, but I haven’t given back.

“I’ve always been honest with you.” The warmth is back in his voice, luring me to look at him, and there’s a softness in his gaze. “I meant everything I said earlier, too. I’m not going back to her because I know what it’s suppose to feel like now.”

My heart swells with his words, but it feels like an anchor, too. His words are so strong, and I fail at every step. Tears fill my eyes till they spill over, but his fingers catch them, brushing them away with a warm touch.

I fold into his arms, breaking as he wraps me up. “I’m so sorry.” I press my hands into his body, soaking up his heat and comfort. “I don’t know how you do it. How you just trust me, without having to question me. I’m sorry I didn’t do the same. I’m sorry I’m a mess. You’ve been amazing tonight, and I keep pushing you away. I’m sorry.”

“Does this mean you’re done pushing me away?” His finger trails across the back of my neck, sliding my hair to the side, and he rests his head on top of mine.

I nod, relaxing against him, each heartbeat quieting my thoughts.

He pulls me down to the bed with him, rolling us onto our sides, and his arms hold me close.

“Really though, how do you do it?” And I’m not even sure what I’m asking. Everything, probably. How does he believe me so easily? How does he make me feel so safe, so warm, so intense.

“It feels right.” He places the sweetest kiss to my forehead, eyes dropping to meet mine, and the smile in them holds my heart. “I don’t question you, like I don’t question a well practiced play on the field.” His arms move up and down my back, rhythmic and soothing. “When I trust the team to know where to be and I have to react in a split second, I don’t focus on where they are. I look to the opposite team and check that they’re not in the way, and then I complete the pass. It has to be that way if you want to win.”

“All right,” I huff a slight laugh, a little confused, but flattered. “So I’m like the play you have to trust to go well?”

His body shakes against mine with a delicious rumble of a laugh. “No. I don’t even know what I’m saying, really. But you’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. And this feels too right to be a lie. I trust you because it’s the only option that makes sense. I trust you because I have to.”

I kiss him then because I have to. I need to. And he kisses me back. Soft, full lips pulling mine between them as he presses me back to the bed. But all too soon, he slows it down, parting with a few light kisses as he braces his forearms on either side of my head to prop himself up.

“You’re the team,” his voice is husky and strained, and I feel it all the way to my toes.

“What?” I move my fingers through his hair, down to the curls at the back of his neck, craving more of him.

“When I talked about the play, you’re the team. I trust you because you’re my team, and moments like this—” he brings his lips back to mine, giving me air as he speaks against me “—this is winning.”