Page 10 of I Still Love You

“Nah, I roll out the red carpet for people I actually like.” The corner of my mouth twists with a smirk against his glare. Seriously, though, I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see Henderson struggling through each appointment, which is why I kept conversation light and stayed away from sports talk.

He moves his hand over his heart. “Hitting me in the heart, Sacks. Now…you gonna tell me what happened to that pretty face of yours, or is it gonna stay locked in your head until the end of time?”

Layla immediately comes to mind. Her sunshine-colored locks. Her slender body and the curve of her backside. The enticing cleavage I remember turning into a fool over. Her smarts that I could never get over. I blink away the image, continuing to massage through the tension that hooks into my shoulders. “Nothing to talk about.”

With pursed lips, he says, “I find that hard to believe. First time you take a vacation in, what, ever, and you return with this little keepsake?” He reaches up and flicks the uninjured side of my forehead, earning him a scowl in return. “Did Mason finally have enough of your ass and throw you over the coffee table? Good ole rough housin’ between brothers never hurt anyone. Even if it ended up in stitches with a bruise like that.”

Gently, I flip his arm over to work from a different angle. As much as Mason wanted to sock me for the shit I pulled at that bar, he’d never lay a hand on me. He’s my opposite, calm and rational. If anything, he’d go quiet on me. “Like hell.”

I don’t want to admit that Layla’s absence makes me more hostile and on edge. On a good day, I contain myself by keeping busy with work. On a bad day when things become truly overwhelming, and I’m ready to throw fists as I did in Austin, I hit up the gym. And it usually does the trick. Temporarily, anyway.

“Come oooon, Luke,” he draws the word out and begs. “That,” he points to the stitched cut on my forehead, “is not a good look on a grown ass man.” Don’t I know it. “Lover turn up from nowhere? A lady find you with some other chick?” He blows out a breath and tilts his head to the side like he recalls a specific memory and chuckles. “Because that’ll definitely give you a nasty gash like the one you have. Man, some chicks are plain wicked and wouldn’t think twice about leaving a guy with something pretty like that.”

No one needs to know I started a bar fight, and the last place I should bring it up is here, my workplace. I’d like to forget about it. I’d like to forget about the fact that it left me with a cut that sent me to the hospital and into the arms of the enemy. Layla took all the decent parts of me when she left Quaint. It’s why I’m still so goddamn angry over it. Even after two years, because I don’t know how the fuck to get through it on my own. It’s crippling to know that she was the one who always saved me when I was sinking.

“First off, you know I’m not sleeping around. Second, are you speaking from experience?”

“You fucking bet I am,” he says without shame. “When I was a rookie, the guys made me tell them why I showed up to practice with a black eye. When I said some chick, they cackled at me for the entire fucking season. So, if I were you, I’d be careful about getting your dick wet with one too many chicks.”

A deep, boisterous chuckle starts in my chest and works itself up. “Judging by the fact that you still don’t keep it in your pants, I’m going to go ahead and say that you never learned that lesson.”

Some would consider Jett a playboy. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s hooked up shamelessly. Me? It takes a lot for me to let my guard down. I’d rather keep to myself. Layla was the best lover I’ve ever had. The physical attraction was there, and our connection was out of this world. I’ve always felt like no one else could compare. And if there is, well, I’ve been too focused on other shit to find out. I also don’t know how I’d feel about it—if there was someone better than her. She was it for me from the first moment I laid eyes on her. From the first time I heard her voice and entwined myself in her scent, her body.

“Listen, Sacks, these hands aren’t only good on the baseball field. I’ll pleasure any woman who wants a little bit of,” he lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers, “Jett Magic.”

“Okay, superstar.” I finish the deep tissue massage and toss the brace at his head. “Put that on, and we’ll do ice therapy. And let’s just say I tripped into a table. Does that work for you?”

Sarcasm drips from his words when he says, “Tripped into a table? That’s the worst excuse in the book and the least entertaining. I thought we were best friends.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all you’re getting.”

“Was this table throwin’ punches, or were you shit-faced?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as if he knows what I was up to in Austin. Unfortunately for him, unless he’s offering the magic fix for all the fucked up shit I’ve been through, I’ll never crack.

That doesn’t mean I don’t weigh out his question, though. Technically, I can say both. Switch out fists for beer bottles, and he almost hits the nail on the head. Then again, I don’t think I was that wasted. I remember every detail from that night; the asshole at the bar who couldn’t keep his hands to himself and my ex-fucking-fiancée who popped back into my life after ghosting me.

So many days of going without seeing the bombshell of a woman who made my heart seize, unlike anything else. The truth is, there’s nobody like Layla. She was the only person I could picture settling down with. The only one who made me want to slow down and appreciate the stillness in a world of chaos. She distracted me when I needed it and made me feel wanted and cherished and like the luckiest fucking guy in the room.

When the fatigue settles, in or the stresses of catering to professional athletes get to me, I go back to the golden days. Back to when I could curl into her side and share my worries. To when I had someone to go home to. She knew how to drown out the surrounding noise, and she knew how to pull me back up for air when my body grew heavy.

Then I remind myself how she deceived me. She built my walls up, made me believe it was okay to be vulnerable, then ripped them to the ground. She turned my heart to rubble and tore away the future we had planned.

And now that I know where she is, it’ll be easy as fucking pie to keep her out of my life. She can have the entire Lonestar state to herself for all I care. It’d be impossible to give her my trust after the shit she pulled. As pained as I still am over it, the further apart we are, the better.

I blink away the past and shift under Jett’s scrutiny, finally answering him, “Bit of both.” Nodding at his elbow, I say, “Keep that on for fifteen, then you’re done for the day.”

When I stand up and roll my chair back, he calls out, “Not gonna take me down memory lane? We can go out to the field! Knock some balls out of the park with all that pent-up emotion until you’re ready to tell me what really went down!”

He has the audacity to smirk in my direction when I glance over with a flat expression. He knows exactly what he’s doing, but I won’t cave. I won’t allow being reacquainted with Layla to throw me off work or my game. Gone is the alcohol and allowing myself to sink into the pain of the past. It’s back to the real world now, where I aid athletes back to their full potential, not reminisce over a woman who will never be mine again.

Before I head to my office to make notes in Jett’s medical chart, I lift a fist and use my other hand to crank up my middle finger, flipping him off.

A pleased smile lines his lips, and he shouts, “That’s my boy! Ain’t nobody ever let trippin’ over a table slow them down!”

4

Layla

“What are you going to do?” my sister Britney asks, peering at me from across the table. She pops a fried pickle into her mouth and chews, her peach-stained lips contrasting with the dark blue of her eyes.

---