Page 11 of Cruel Start

Piper waited until the door shut before turning back to me. “What are you going to do?”

I shrugged. My mind was still numb.

“There’s a clinic.”

A clinic?That was way too much to deal with. “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out.” I snatched the stick from the counter and shoved it into my bag. “Hey…” I hesitated, pausing beside her.

A soft smile curved her mouth. “You don’t need to say it. I’ll keep quiet about your condition.”

Fuck.It was too much. “Thanks.”

I hurried out, walking blindly through the quad to my dorm. I needed to let everything settle and not make a rash decision. Sleeping on it was my best bet.

But one thing was crystal clear—I had to tell Phoenix. It didn’t matter that he’d brushed me off the one time I’d tried to talk to him. Even though he’d been a total asshat, he deserved to know.

Once back at the dorm, where my roommate was absent, I pulled out my sketch pad and got to work on my latest assignment. Shutting off my mind and losing myself in the drawing that I had to finish was the best course of action. Friday night or not, I didn’t plan on leaving my room. I had plenty to keep me busy as well as fruit and a granola bar I’d swiped from breakfast that would last me until the next day. Then I would face what needed to be done.

* * *

The day had already been a challenge. I’d woken to an incident of praying to the porcelain god before I managed to shower and get dressed. Then I ate breakfast, fell asleep, watched a show, and napped again. It was late afternoon. My homework was done, and I’d already paced the small space of my room too many times to count. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Shoes on, I grabbed my key, shoved my phone and ID in my back pocket, and I was out the door, headed toward the football house.

The walk helped. Not my nerves. Those were engaged in a battle fought in my stomach amidst rolling nausea. But my head was clear. It didn’t take long to get to the house. It was about five blocks from campus and closer to where the players practiced. They lived in a huge, old, three-story Victorian building that I was slightly jealous of. I loved the character with the wraparound porch, turrets, dormers, and decorative railings. It was a pretty yellow with white trim—not what I expected, but inviting nonetheless.

I climbed the three stairs to the porch leading to the front door, rang the bell, and waited. When no one answered, I pounded on the door, not that it was any louder, but maybe it would get someone’s attention. Several minutes later—because I wasn’t going anywhere—a huge guy answered. I craned my neck to meet his gaze. I shouldn’t be surprised. All the footballers were giants.

“Is Phoenix here?”Crap.I had no idea what his last name was. But with an unusual first name, only one should be living there.

“It’s Saturday.” The giant grunted.

“And that means…?” I had no clue.

His brows furrowed like what I’d said was foreign. “He had a game this afternoon and a fight this evening.”

“Oh.”A fight? And why does this feel like pulling teeth to get any information?

“Can you tell me where the fight is?” I refused to leave without an answer.

The guy rattled off an address. I thanked him and walked back to the dorm and the parking lot where I’d left my car. Once behind the wheel, I punched the location he’d given me into my GPS and headed to whatever the fight was.Why isn’t any of this easy?

By the time I arrived, the sun had gone down, and a sea of cars were parked outside the warehouse structure where the fight was supposed to be. I trailed a group of people to a side door where a bouncer collected the entrance fee. It was so strange. Reluctantly, I parted with the money I didn’t have to spare.

The door opened, and a large crowd yawned in front of me.

I hesitated. “Hey.” I turned to the bouncer. “Do you know where Phoenix is?”

The bouncer pointed in the general direction of the stage.

Okay, here goes.The air was dense, thick with sweat, perfume, and violence—both from the crowd and on stage. Herded inside, sandwiched between people, I followed blindly until I could break free and duck into an open pocket. I stood there, taking it all in, my heart pounding furiously in my chest. The place was packed. I shouldn’t be there. I ignored the stage and wrapped my arms around my stomach, uncomfortable with the voracious hunger coming from the mob.

You can do this.I pushed through, focusing on naming five things I could see—the girl jumping up and down in front of me, the silver rings on her fingers, her boyfriend’s red shirt, his dark hair, and the ring ahead of me. It calmed my anxiety enough to move another few steps. I searched the sea of faces for Phoenix. He was tall enough I should have spotted him. But I didn’t, and the crowd’s chant finally clued me in as to why.

My gaze swung to the stage, where a man made in the image of the gods threw one powerful punch after another, kicking ass and looking good doing it.It can’t be.But he seemed familiar, and I shoved my way through the tightly packed people for a closer look.

That same shaggy blond hair I’d run my fingers through and his mesmerizing silver eyes that burned as if he were Thor fromRagnarok. Okay, I was exaggerating about the glowing eyes, but still—he rained hell impressively in the ring, and the familiarity I’d sensed shifted into shock. That was Phoenix. I couldn’t believe it. As if a cord tethered us, I slipped between people in my way. An elbow here, smile and apology there, and I had a front-row view.

I leaned toward a girl jumping up and down, screaming his name. Tugging her arm, I shouted over the crowd, “How long has he been in the ring?”

“Seconds?” She shrugged. “He just got in there.”

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