Page 101 of The Way We Touch

“How could you ever think any of those words are right?”

Her shoulder rises in a shrug. “Because it’s true—you’re all those things, and I’m… nothing.”

Reaching up, I slide my hand over her forehead, moving her hair back and lifting her face to mine. “You are not nothing, Dylan Bradford. You’re everything to me. I dream about you every night. I ache for you every day. Nothing any of those assholes say will change the truth, and the truth is, I love you. Everyone else can go to hell.”

She hiccups a breath, and I’m worried she’s crying again.

“What is it, beautiful?”

“You should come with a warning.” Her voice is small.

“Why?”

“My heart just exploded.”

The knot in my throat unfurls, and I pull her to me again. I slide my hands slowly down her petite frame, and I make a vow to fix this.

If it’s the fucking last thing I do, I’m going to make this right. She’s not going to be humiliated for being with me. Those assholes are never going to hurt her again. They’ll be too scared to.

Garrett

Coach is blowing a fuse. I said family emergency, but what family? Your dad?

Garrett’s text is on my screen when I open my eyes.

Dylan is curled into my side, and warmth spreads through my chest. My instinct is to text back My wife. Instead, I leave her brother on Read and turn back to wrap her in my arms again.

The situation isn’t fixed, far from it, but I didn’t lose her. She didn’t tell me to go to hell or say she didn’t sign up for this or say all the things she could’ve said. All the things she had the right to say.

She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way or spoken about like that, or have pictures of our intimate times published on the fucking Internet. That’s the main one that has me seeing blazing red.

I’ve already left a message with my lawyer, even though I know what he’ll say. I’m a celebrity. I’ve given up my right to privacy. Embarrassment isn’t the basis for a lawsuit.

Fuck it. I’m trying anyway.

“Oooooh, why did I drink all that tequila?” Dylan cringes in my arms, curling forward.

“What can I bring you? I’ve got water here, ibuprofen.” I slowly lift us to a sitting position, taking the tablets off the nightstand.

She blinks up at me, squinting through bloodshot eyes. “How are you here? Don’t you have practice?”

“Take these.” I hold out the pills, waiting as she takes them then handing her the water. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I am worried about you.” Her voice is quiet, and I recognize the low tone—it’s hangover volume. “They’ll fine you for missing practice, and you can’t miss practice!”

“Look at me.” I put my finger under her chin. “Do you remember what I told you last night?”

Her lips press together, and she nods, blinking fast. “Every word.”

It’s a thick whisper, and I dip down to kiss her lips. “You needed me last night. And I needed you.”

She reaches out to thread her fingers in my hair. “It means a lot to me that you’re here. It feels so good to be in your arms.”

I hug her closer. “I should’ve done a better job protecting you from them. I’ve asked a lot from you, and I never want you to be sorry you’re my girl.”

“You didn’t ask for anything I didn’t want to give you.” Her hand moves to my cheek. “And I love being your girl.”

“I can’t wait to have you in my box at Thanksgiving.” The thought of looking up and seeing her watching me play sends a surge of adrenaline racing through my veins. “Do you want to sleep a little longer? Are you hungry? I can bring you coffee, toast…”

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