Page 9 of Hold Me Closer
"I handle my shit."
"Really? Is that why you've been in the same city as your girl all season and haven't even attempted to see her?"
I snarl a wordless warning at him, not in the mood for this shit. "Fuck off, Tyson."
"Nah, I'm a talkative motherfucker," he says cheerfully. "And I feel like talking, so you're going to listen."
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, scowling daggers at him. "You realize you're the only veteran on this team stressing about me, right? Everyone else washed their hands of me before the ink dried on my contract. But here you are, pissing me off every day anyway, thinking you're doing God's work or some shit."
"Nah, brother," he says, his hazel eyes shining as he chuckles. "I'm not doing God's work. Not even he has the patience for your crabby-ass attitude. I'm just trying to keep you from making the same mistakes half of us have already made. You're too smart to do the same shit we did."
I grunt instead of responding, cutting down a hallway leading toward the lot where we keep our cars. A janitor at the end of the hall glances in our direction, nods, and then drags his mop bucket out of the way, earbuds firmly lodged in his ears.
"Your girl is playing at theRhinestonetonight. Go see her, man."
Tyson had me pegged about two seconds after I stepped off the plane. Guess it wasn't hard to do when I've got tattoos of her all over me. So when he asked who she was to me, I told himthe truth—she was everything to me. It was the only time we've spoken about her since I don't make a habit of discussing her. In fact, I don't speak about her at all. It's better that way.
But fucking Aldersgate loves to run his mouth. I don't think there's anyone left in the league who doesn't know that I'm hung up on the biggest goddamn pop star in the country.
"She doesn't want to see me," I mutter.
"And you're still listening?" He hits me with a look that tells me to cut the bullshit. "How many more years are you going to keep making yourself miserable because you fucked up when you were a kid, man? Either nut up and go get the girl or stop letting people like Aldersgate press you about it. Because from where I'm standing, those are the only options you've got left if you still want to be standing on that field come next season."
"You don't know what you're talking about," I growl. She'd be in my arms right now if it were that easy. But I didn't just break her heart. I fucking brokeher. She stopped breathing in my arms.
"Maybe I don't," Tyson agrees as we step out into the cool night air. "But maybe you don't, either. You ever think of that?"
"What does that even mean?"
"It means shit isn't always what it looks like, motherfucker," he says. "If anyone should know that, you should. Because you may act like the world's biggest asshole, but we both know you aren't that. Not even close."
Chapter Two
Nadia
"You look beautiful, Nadia,"Zoya says, grinning at me in the mirror as she finishes my hair. "The crowd out there is going to love you."
"Thanks," I mutter, eyeing myself critically. My jeans are practically painted on, lifting my round ass. My shirt skims my curves, highlighting my full breasts instead of my round belly. The flowy sleeves hide the size of my arms. I don't have a problem with them. I happen to love my body, scars and all. But I learned quickly that it's easier to carefully conceal parts of it from the world than it is to listen to the whole world critique it. And in this business, everyone has an opinion.
One day, I'm too fat. The next, I look like I've lost weight, and I'm no longer an advocate for body positivity. It's exhausting. Hell, everything about this is exhausting. But with my hair and makeup done, you can't even tell that I've barely slept all week.
My manager, Olive Mumsen, has me burning the candle at both ends. When I'm not on stage, I'm in the studio. When I'm not in the studio, I'm doing interviews, photoshoots, or one of the nine thousand other things that come with being a pop star. The list is never-ending.
I can't remember the last time I had a day off. I don't mind so much, though. The more I have to do, the less time I have to think. Thinking hasn't ever been kind to me. Not since…well, that doesn't matter. The point is I stay busy, and I prefer it that way. Even when it's exhausting.
"Do you know what you're opening with yet?" my sister asks, pinning a wayward strand of hair down with a bobby pin.
"We're doingGetawayfirst."
Her lips compress into a line. "I hate that song."
"So you've said. Loudly and often," I tease her.
She doesn't laugh. Instead, her hazel eyes search mine. "It's about Teo."
My heart trembles at the mention of his name…just like it always does. It's been six years, and my damn heart still aches every single time someone mentions him to me. Hearing his name hurts far more than it should. Thinking about him hurtsmore than I'd like to admit. I should be over him by now. He's not even the same boy I knew.
Back then, he was sweet and loving. He was gentle. The man people talk about now—the one who gets into fights on and off the field, drinks heavily and has his face splashed all over the news—well, I don't even know that man. He's a stranger wearing my former best friend's face.
