Page 16 of My Brother's Teammates

“Not that I know of.” Harrison turns down the radio and hums along for a few beats before continuing. “But she did get herself a handful of little Jace before the night ended.”

Fuck all this. I close my eyes on a groan and lean back, effectively checking out of this conversation while the Three Stooges talk shit about me the entire way to the practice arena. Normally, I’d sit here slinging insults with the best of them, but I don’t have it in me today. I’m in a piss-poor mood, and as long as Charlotte remains inside my apartment, it’s likely to continue.

I hate that I have to hide something so big from my best friend, the one guy who’s stuck with me through the hardest times in my life. Just sitting next to him on the way to practice, my legs are bouncing and my palms are sweating. I’m sure if he looked at me closely, he’d see that I look guilty as hell, and I don’t want to be the one to have to explain what the fuck is going on in our apartment.

I don’t care if she makes me feel things. I don’t care if she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. And I sure as hell don’t care if she looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes of hers and begs me to let her stay.

If I’m going to get any semblance of normalcy back, she needs to go.

SEVEN

Charlotte

This isn’t fucking funny. I don’t run. I hate running. But I had no choice when Harrison pounded on the door like an ape, and now I have a fucking cramp in my calf.

The thrill of not getting caught by my brother in his teammates’ apartment was exciting, a challenge even. You know, for about two seconds. Then I realized how out-of-shape I am, and how impossible it is to catapult myself over the coffee table.

It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours, and I’m already tired of tiptoeing around, keeping my voice down, and racing through the apartment like someone is chasing me. The sense of foreboding hanging over my head gets heavier. I should tell him, right? I’m not the one who wanted to keep it quiet at first, and he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out.

The bands of tension—that haven’t quite gone away since the guys saw me naked in their living room—tighten across my body.

He can’t find out like this. I don’t want him to think I lied to him.

Pressing my hand against my chest while my ear is braced on the back of the door, I can’t steady my breathing or slow my spluttering heart. That was close, too close. Wait. Are they…? Oh my God, are they laughing?

What the actual fuck?

The front door closes with a sharp snap, and I crack the door to Harrison’s old room just enough to hear someone locking the front door. How can they laugh at a time like this? Don’t they know what I’m going through?

The temptation to slam the door with reckless abandon is overwhelming. I don’t care about breaking my cover and letting Harrison know exactly where I am. He’s going to find out eventually… right?

There’s no way I can stay here long-term. I’m wound so tightly it wouldn’t take much to break my composure. The near misses, the casual brushes of arms or thighs with the guys as we watch TV or eat meals together, the not-so-subtle subtext in damn near every conversation… It’s driving me closer and closer to the edge. And I haven’t even been here a full weekend. Jesus.

By the end of the week, it’s likely someone will end up murdered.

Probably Jace.

He’s avoided me like I’m infected with something highly contagious. He barely looks at me any time we happen to share the same space. And when we’re all together, let’s just say mealtimes are more awkward than making jokes with a stranger over my bare love box during a Pap smear.

Dropping my head back against the door, I let out a rough, frustrated moan. What was I thinking? I should have just come clean, either to my parents or to Harrison. I should have swallowed my pride after Shane booted me from his life, asked for help, and let them fix my sob-story life.

It’s too late now. If I try to ask Harrison for help, he’ll ask when Shane and I broke up, he’ll ask where I’ve been staying since. Even though he didn’t like Shane, I can’t stand to disappoint him again with yet another failure. And I can’t lie to him.

Except I have been lying to him, haven’t I?

Shame coats my body like glue. Is this one of those situations where the only way out of it is through it?

I can’t get out of this by myself. I’d need help, and money, and if I’m lucky, someone to carry my freakin’ sewing machine out of Shane and Kai’s place.

Ugh. They’ve probably sold it on an online marketplace or something.

What else can I do? You know, aside from being honest with Harrison. He’d help… once he calmed down. I know he would. But with the playoffs just around the corner, could I forgive myself if the Phantoms crashed and burned because Harrison murdered three of his teammates?

The lump at the back of my throat grows. I have to wait.

I have to figure this out on my own.

My phone goes off across the bedroom, where it’s still connected to the charger on the nightstand. I spring into action, launching myself onto my stomach on the bed, like there’s still a chance the men who have just left the house may hear the phone if I don’t silence its shrill ring.

---