Page 28 of The Players Next Door

"Hey." He reaches over and tilts my chin up. "You're not alone. You have me."

"Thanks." A tear escapes. Then another.

"Whatever you decide, I've got your back. Always." His promise wraps around me, stronger than any blanket.

"Always," I echo, clinging to that single word like a lifeline.

"Always," he confirms, and even though nothing's fixed, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything might be okay.

Then he asks a question I’m not prepared for. “Who’s the father?”

Chapter 10

Cameron

Islump onto the couch, my muscles protesting after today's practice. It's brutal, but it's done. Now, there's only one thing on my mind: Holly. I can't shake her from my thoughts, no matter how hard I try.

My gaze drifts to the window. I could walk across the hall. I could knock. But will she be there? And if she is, will she even open the door? The silence between us lately feels like a wall I don't know how to climb over.

"Man, you look like hell," I mutter to myself, knowing the mirror would agree I it could.

I rub a hand over my face, the stubble scratching my palm. We laid everything bare at that away game. We're all in. She knew it, accepted it. We were good, moving forward. At least, that's what I thought.

"Dammit, Holly," I whisper, wishing she understood.

I stand up, pacing. Three steps forward. Two steps back. The distance to her door might as well be miles. My phone rests heavily in my pocket, tempting me. I want to text her, call her,show up with flowers or some other kind of grand gesture. But what if she's pulling away for good?

We were solid, unbreakable. Or so I believed. Each moment without her chips away at my resolve. But I won’t let it crumble. Not yet. I need to see her, hear her voice. I need to know we're still a team.

"Hey Cam, what's left in the fridge? I'm starving," Deacon calls out, his voice a low rumble from the hallway.

"Check for yourself," I reply, not taking my eyes off the door. Holly's silence is eating at me, and I'm seconds away from making the decision to go knock on her door when a sharp knock cuts through the tension.

"Got it," Jaxon says, swaggering to the door with that cocky confidence that only he can pull off. He swings it open, and bam! His head snaps back, a solid punch landing square on his jaw.

"Jaxon!" I shout, bolting up from the couch.

"Son of a…" Jaxon stumbles back, clutching his face. Sawyer Hawthorne storms in like a hurricane, fury blazing in his hazel eyes.

"You're dead!" Sawyer yells, lunging at Jaxon again.

"Whoa, hey!" Deacon and I leap into the fray, trying to wrestle Sawyer back. But the guy's a raging bull, all muscle and anger, barely noticing as we struggle to hold him.

"She’s my sister, you bastards!" Sawyer keeps shouting, veins popping in his neck. "How could you?"

"Stop, Sawyer! Calm down!" I try to reason with him, but it's like talking to a brick wall. His fists are still flying, aiming for Jaxon, who's trying to shield his face.

"Easy, man!" Deacon grunts, his arms wrapped around Sawyer's waist. "Let's talk this out."

"Talk?" Sawyer spits the word out like venom. "After what you did with Holly? You were all fucking my sister!"

"Sawyer, I can expl—" Jaxon starts, but another wild swing from Sawyer cuts him off.

"Damn it, Sawyer! Just stop and talk to us!" I'm shouting now, my own frustration mounting. We need to calm him down before someone gets seriously hurt.

The sound of a door slamming makes us all freeze. Holly's standing there, her hand still on the frame like she's keeping herself upright with its help. Shock paints her face. She looks haunted.

"What the hell, Sawyer?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it slices through the chaos.

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