Page 65 of Score to Settle
HARPER:It’s late and you’re due at practice first thing.
JAKE:We could go to the barn.
HARPER:Goodnight, Jake.
It’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep. I refuse to sneak around the ranch with Mama and Dylan home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for Jake’s hands on me. The knowledge that he’s lying in his bed in the room next to mine—the bed we slept in together last night—is thrumming through my body. I flop against my pillows, but it’s no use. I’m too wound up, my mind racing with thoughts of Jake and everything that’s happening between us. And the email I sent Tim with my novel attached. As if telling him Jake and I are now seeing each other wasn’t bad enough, I’ve just sent him a very spicy novel about vampires having all the sex.He won’t read it, I tell myself. And yet, I’m still dying inside.
With a sigh, I throw off the covers. Maybe a glass of water will help settle my nerves. There’s been no more snow yet, but the cold has permeated the ranch and I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I pad softly down the stairs, the old wooden floorboards creaking under my feet as I make my way through the house. Buck is lying by the dying embers of the fire in the living room. His tail thumps gently on the floor as I pass by, but he doesn’t get up and I don’t blame him. As I reach the kitchen, I’m surprised to find the light is already on. I pause in the doorway, finding Dylan sitting at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him. He looks up as I enter, his expression unreadable. He’s seemed more sullen than usual since he returned from LA earlier.
I imagine Jake being injured. Having his career ripped away from him by a split-second tackle. A pang of sympathy hits my chest.
“Just getting a glass of water,” I say.
“Can’t sleep, either?” he asks, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
I shake my head, glad for the extra clothes I’ve thrown on.
“How was the treatment center?” I ask, filling a glass and taking a sip.
He grimaces. “Painful.”
“Will it help?”
A spark of hope flashes in his eyes. “They think I might have a shot at getting back to football for next season.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah. But it means another op and another month sitting on my ass.”
“But if it works…”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, turning his attention back to his cereal. “So, you and Jake, huh?” Dylan asks and I don’t miss the not-so-subtle change of subject.
Heat creeps over my face. Is it that obvious? I think of the way Jake and I were over dinner tonight. Unable to stop staring at each other. His foot resting against mine beneath the table. I don’t know what to say, so I shrug and sip my water.
“Just be careful, Harper. Jake has a way of hurting those he loves.”
My head shoots up in surprise. Dylan’s remark is sweeping, just like Coach Allen’s after the game.Trouble always finds that boy.It feels like they’ve both got Jake wrong.
I lean against the counter. “You don’t have to worry.”
Dylan pushes his empty bowl away. “If you say so. As long as you’re not making the mistake of thinking you’re special, you’llbe fine. Jake can turn on the charm when he wants to, but he’s only out for himself.”
A flash of hurt cuts across my chest, but I push it aside and set my glass on the counter with too much force. I trust the man I’ve got to know in the last four weeks. The one I’m falling for. And I’m sick of everyone else thinking shit about Jake without bothering to see the truth.
“Are we talking about me being hurt or you?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.
He shakes his head. “This isn’t about me.”
“Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s lashing out and hurting the people that love you.”
“How do you figure that?” He sits back, giving me a look like I’m full of shit. It only makes me more determined to defend Jake.
“You’re so busy being angry with Jake about your knee injury, you can’t see how much you’re pushing him and everyone else away. I think you need to ask yourself if it’s really him you’re mad at or the situation.”
He huffs but it’s not a laugh. “You a psychologist now? For your information, I have every right to be mad at Jake. If he’d been playing that game like he’d been supposed to instead of thinking with his dick, he’d have protected me from the tackle. I don’t know how the hell he didn’t get dropped, but my whole life is over because of him.”
Anger flashes through me, making my fists curl, as much for Dylan and his misguided fury as it is for what happened last year to him and Jake. The unfairness of it all. “And you haven’t stopped to ask yourself why Jake didn’t get dropped, even though you’re saying he should’ve been?”
