Page 61 of Only Between Us

Keeping those pictures in her living room makes sense now.Memories of the places she probably never thought she’d see. Once-in-a-lifetime trips, she’d called them.

And now I’m fixated on the wild idea that maybe I could make thoseonce-in-a-lifetimesfifty-in-a-lifetimes. Make her world feel so big she’d need a trail of breadcrumbs to find her way home.

Siena gives a full-body yawn, arms tensing under the covers. She pulls her anchor necklace from under that T-shirt—Thomas fucking Ivers’s T-shirt—and fingers the charm. “Any more pressing questions?”

Yes, exactly how pissed off would you be if I caused irreparable damage to that shirt in the morning?

“Go to sleep, Pip. I’ll take first watch.” I know I’m taking advantage of her fatigue, but I smooth the hair off her cheek, lift the covers over her shoulder. Spin her anchor necklace around so that the clasp sits in the back. Her eyes close, face goes soft, and something twinges inside me. “What if you had it the wrong way, yesterday? What if everything went to hell for you with the shop and the rent so that you’d agree to date me?”

Siena gives a sleepy chuckle. “Fake-date you. I don’t date athletes anymore.”

My head lifts, hoping I heard her wrong. Siena pushes into her pillow as she finally drifts off.

I lie staring up at the ceiling long after she’s asleep.

Wondering what in the hell I did to deserve wanting a woman who struck down any chance I have with her, the very second I realized I wanted one.

Chapter20Siena

Eager hands dart out the moment my cheese platter hits the coffee table. Predictably, they aim right for the sharp cheddar in a battle of flicking wrists and prodding fingers. Meanwhile, I take the liberty of sampling the soft, stinky one I can’t remember the name of, but that looked intriguing enough at the market.

Cribbage night wouldn’t be cribbage night without sharp cheddar, but I like to throw in a wild card here and there. Help Mom, Carla, Evan, and Shy broaden their horizons a bit. Even in the cheese department.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to feed a child here,” Shy shout-whispers. She swats her mother’s hand, trying to get at the cheese first.

Carla swats her back. “Rosie is dead asleep. In a completely different room.”

I toss a cushion on the hardwood and settle into my seat, leaning my cheek against Mom’s leg who sits on the faded floral sofa with Shy. Evan and Carla have claimed their usual spots on the ground.

The room goes quiet and every ounce of focus falls to the cribbage board on the coffee table. When my phone chimes, interrupting the silence, the cribbage and cheddar fiends glare over their cards.

I flick my fingers at the coffee table. “Don’t give me that. I came bearing snacks.”

BRATTWOOD:We have a problem.

I barely have a moment to soak in my instant dread when a screenshot follows. Since Brooks’s injury on the Tigers’ field, I’ve been on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to tell me the knee is worse than we initially thought. That he’s been forced to give up on this dream of a comeback. It’d be unfortunate for me and my social media earnings, but knowing how badly Brooks needs this…

I recognize the picture he’s sent me at once. It’s the same one Josh has been thrilled about mere days ago, a photo posted to the Tigers’ social account of Brooks and I laughing, dressed to the nines at the gala. Except, unlike the last time I saw it, there’s a comment on the post from…

Lyndsay Brown. The woman who’d given us an odd look at the gala. I’d completely forgotten about her, given the… dancing that followed.So happy to see you back, Brooks! Hope your knee feels better after the scrimmage!

“Oh my God.” My stomach has sunk so low, it’s sitting on the floor with me. The comment seems innocuous enough, and yet I’ve been in these circles long enough to know how wrong—how utterlymaliciousit is for someone on the inside to publicly comment on a player’s health like this.

All because I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut.

Mom gives me a questioning look, but I shake my head at her, forcing a smile as I scramble to call Brooks. He sends my call to voicemail, and the guilt inside me turns punishing, clogging up my throat until he follows up with a text.

BRATTWOOD:Sorry, Josh is talking my ear off on the phone.

SIENA:Brooks, I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.

BRATTWOOD:Sorry for what? You didn’t make her comment on anything.

SIENA:Except she heard it from me. How bad is it?

BRATTWOOD:Bad. He’s been on the phone all day trying to counter it, but the goddamn rumor mill has taken off. The Rebels are concerned, and the Tigers don’t know what to believe. I don’t know how to fix this.

I picture Brooks at home, wearing the same defeat he’d worn after the scrimmage. It lights a furious, vengeful flame inside me, drowning out my guilt. I don’t know what game she’s playing or what she gets out of it, but this woman had to have known what she was doing with that comment. She’s officially messed with my team, and I’ve never been one to endure my grievances in silence.

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