Page 52 of Hold Me Closer
Butterfly: Jesus. The things I'm thinking about doing to you right now…
"Fuck," I growl, my goddamn cup damn near cutting off circulation to my cock as he immediately turns to steel.
Butterfly: Congratulations, Teo. You did so great out there. I'll reward you when you get home.
I drop my head back against the locker, groaning. She's killing me here. The little minx probably knows it, too.
Me: You better be naked in bed, waiting for me when I get home tomorrow, butterfly. You can't tease a man in a cup and not expect to pay for it.
Butterfly: OMG. I forgot about the cup!
Me: It's all good. I miss you.
Butterfly: I miss you too. Are you okay? That was a brutal game.
Me: I'm perfect, baby. Hitting the showers and then heading to the hotel. I'll call you when I get there.
Butterfly: Okay. I love you.
I run my thumb over those three little words, my heart in my throat. Every time she says them, my chest gets tight. I want to fall to my damn knees and thank God.
If this is forgiveness, it's more beauty than a motherfucker like me deserves. But hell, I'm going to work to deserve it anyway. I'm going to work to believe I deserve it.
Knowing she doesn't blame me for the accident helps. But I feel like there are pieces I'm missing. Important pieces. It's the look in her eyes when we talk about the past, sometimes, like she's holding something back. She was never a very good liar. Hell, she was always terrible at it.
There's still something she hasn't said. I'm trying to wait her out. She'll come to me with it when she's ready to tell me her truths. But I feel like I'm in limbo until then, stuck between guilt and the desperate desire to move forward. I want to move forward, to let the past go, and heal together. But I fucking can't let it go when I know she's keeping pieces back, things she's trying to protect me from.
How do you forgive yourself when you don't even know the depths of what you caused? I know she struggled. But whatever she doesn't want to say—I have a feeling it's a lot more than that. And I'm fucking worried that whatever it is might just break us. That, yet again,I'llbreak us. She's been through enough. I've puther through enough. If I fuck it up again now…how the fuck do I ever come back from that?
"Teo Kirby."
I spin around halfway to the bus to find a reporter leaning against the wall, his brown eyes locked on my face, a press badge clipped to the lapel of his coat.
"Sorry, man, I don't have time for an interview," I mutter, inching toward the bus.
"This will only take a minute," he says, stepping toward me.
"I said I don't have time."
"You're going to want to make time for this."
I stop walking, narrowing my eyes on him. "What the fuck does that mean?" I growl, shoving my hands into my pockets.
"I have a story," he says quietly. "A damn good story."
"What story?" I grit out.
"One about a young couple torn apart by a horrific car accident." He holds my gaze, unblinking. "He goes on to play college football. She ends up admitted to rehab for PTSD."
I freeze, not even breathing as the world shakes beneath my feet.
Is he saying…? Fuck. Nadia was in rehab for PTSD?
"And two weeks after he's drafted to the league, she ends up back in treatment," he says. "She gets out, runs off to California, and becomes a pop star. Six years later, with his career on the line, they get back together." He meets my gaze. "Or at leastthat's what they want everyone to think. You wouldn't happen to know anything about this story, would you?"
I shake my head, unable to find words. My mind is spinning. Nadia was in rehab. That's what she's been keeping from me. She fucking…
Jesus. I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.
