Page 52 of Broken Breath
I scowl. “It’s aneveryone-who-acts-like-youproblem.”
He leans back, settling in, and I suspect he enjoys fighting more than peace. “Most people love me.”
I jerk my chin toward the door. “Then go findthem.”
He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t.
Instead, he leans over, opens the tiny refrigerator beside the table, and pulls out one of my energy drinks.
What is it with pro athletes and stealing my shit?
“Really, Delacroix?” I say as he cracks open the can. “You can leave now. I won’t tell a soul. Not even Dane, okay? So you don’t have to worry about him coming after you.”
That makes him laugh. A soft,realkind of laugh, like the idea of Dane Crews kicking his ass is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard all week, then takes a sip like we’re just two friends having a chill conversation.
“We can go back to how it was before today,” I offer, hoping that’s the last nail in whatever this is.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, still sipping. “And how exactlywasit before? Because honestly, you’ve been a cocky little shit to me since day one, and I have no idea why.”
That makes me pause.
Because it’s true. Ihavebeen like that.
“Is it me taking first place?” He sets the can down, and it sounds half-empty already. “Because, sorry to break it to you,Petit, but that’s not gonna change.”
“No,” I say, more quietly than I mean to.
“Then what?” He tilts his head. “Why don’t you like me even though you don’t know me?”
All the teasing drops away. He’s not grinning now, justwatching me with these sky-blue, tired eyes that seem older than he is.
“Why didyoupush me down a mountain even though you don’t knowme? I haven’t done anything to provoke that.”
Well, except mouthing off, but that’s not a crime.
“I know.” Luc sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, okay? I’m not proud of it. I have a temper, and it just…” he shrugs helplessly, “… takes me places.”
It’s the first thing he’s said that doesn’t sound like a joke. My legs are stiff as I slide into the seat across from him. He glances up, probably surprised I came closer instead of trying to kick him out again.
My hip throbs under the table, but I ignore it. We regard each other, and it seems he wants to say more but doesn’t know how, and it makes me soften toward him, just a little.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Luc doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks away from mine, but then back again.
“Doyouwant to talk about it?” he counters, holding my gaze steady, and his eyes tell me that he hopes I say yes. That he needs me tocare.
And that throws me.Why me?
We don’t know each other, and we don’t owe each other anything. He’sLuc-fucking-Delacroix.He’s got a pit full of people who follow him like it’s their religion. Teammates, fans, girls. Hell, even half the juniors would kill for two minutes of his time, but he’s sitting here, in my bus, on my tiny bench, looking at me like I’m the only person on the planet who mightget it. Whateveritis.
“I want tolisten,” I say finally. “If you want to tell me.”
The words settle between us, softer than I meant them, but heavier too.
And maybe it’s selfish, but I mean them more than I should, because part of me wants him to say yes. Not just so he’ll open up, but so he’ll stay. So I won’t be alone in this shitty little bus with nothing but my pain, my plans, and the silence pressing in.
Luc huffs a sound that’s almost a laugh, but it’s too quiet. He glances down at his hands, running a nail over the edge of his thumb.
