Page 81 of Wicked Devotions

Thirty

DECLAN

There’s nothing I hate more than sitting on the bench during practice. It’s the fucking worst. Emerson, forever the best at everything he does, goes through each drill with ease. Occasionally he’ll stop to help one of the younger guys by giving them a tip or answering their questions. Knowing that I’ll have to fill that role on my own next year makes me want to vomit.

“How’s the foot, Ambrose?” Coach asks as he drops down beside me on the bench.

“Feels fine to me. Wantto cut me loose?”

“And have the trainers up my ass? No thanks. Maybe don’t walk barefoot on broken glass next time.”

“Good tip.”

He smacks my leg with his clipboard and walks away, blowing his whistle to stop practice. He’s a great coach. In all honesty, he could be at a much bigger D1 program or even coaching an MLS team. Instead, he’s here at a small, private university so he can be more present with his own kids.

I stand up as Emerson trots off the pitch headed my way. His expression is pensive as he watches me walk toward him. He gave up trying to get me to keep using the crutches after a few hours of arguing. Now I’m stuck with having his eagle-eyed gaze locked on me twenty-four-seven. He’s going to be really pissed when I tell him we’re having a party at the ruins tonight.

It’s been over a week since the brick was thrown through the window, and things have calmed down. One night of letting loose won’t hurt anyone, plus we’ll have eyes on Harper all night. I know I can’t be the only one of us who has noticed Cy getting restless. He needs to fight, and this is the safest way for him to let out his aggression.

It’s not like there isn’t always a line of guyswanting to try to beat him. His reputation is legendary in the underground fight scene throughout the southeast. It wouldn’t be like that if it weren’t for his uncle. For that reason and all the shit he puts him through, I’ll never respect the guy, even if he did take him in after his parents died.

“How are you feeling?” Emerson asks.

“Good as new.” I meet his unamused look with a smirk. “Party tonight.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye while he pulls off his shin guards. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“Good thing you’ll be there to keep us all in line.”

“Fucking full-time job,” he mutters, tossing his gear into his bag and heading off the field.

I follow after him, powering through the short-lived shooting pain in my foot. He throws his bag in the back seat and starts up the jeep. Even though October is days away, the southern heat continues to linger, allowing us to keep the top off. Even after years of living down here it still blows my mind, especially when my childhood friends send me photos of an early snowstorm in the Berkshires leaving red leaf maple trees dusted with heavy white snow.

Next to my mom, winter is what I miss the most. I shove my hand in my pocket, searching for the familiar comfort of the worn beads I always carry. Every bead carries a memory, a thought, or a prayer. Sadness washes over me in a wave that’s become so familiar it’s almost comforting. These moments used to knock me on my ass, the grief so palpable and thick I didn’t think I’d be able to pull myself back up again.

Then I found soccer. And Emerson and Cy. Once I was old enough to get my pilot’s license, I found my mother’s soul in the clouds. I still feel her spirit in between the stone walls of a cathedral.

“Does Cy know about the party?” Emerson asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yeah. He’s picking up supplies with Harper on their way home from the stables.”

“I wish she’d quit that job, at least until we figure out who is stalking her.”

“I know.” Unfortunately, the threat against Annie just made her even more determined to spend as much time out there as possible. It’s hypocritical of me to want her to give it up when it means so much to her considering how much my dad pressures me not to fly, but I can’t stop myself. It’s such an unnecessary risk. “She won’t though.”

He groans as he pulls out onto the road. “How did I find myself surrounded by so many frustratingly stubborn people?”

“Like calls to like.”

He answers me with a salute of his middle finger.

Harper comesdown the stairs in the prettiest little sundress and a pair of matching baby pink sneakers. When she turns the corner and passes me in the foyer, I see the final touch that sends me over the edge. A pink ribbon tied around her ponytail.

By the end of the night that ribbon will be joining the collection I have in my bedside table. Cy approaches her with a predatory glint in his eyes. Like the big, bad wolf coming for little red riding hood. She squeals with delight as he wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her off the ground, pressing a kiss to her lips.

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