Page 137 of Branded
Because I’d yelled.
Christ. I fucking hated that. My dad had been a yeller. I’d had plenty of coaches over the years who’d seemingly made it their life’s work to scream at their players.
I didn’t like it.
I took it because most of the time that was the way of my world.
I’d found a way to use that screaming and yelling, to internalize it and find the motivation in it.
But I didn’t yell.
I didn’t yell because the volume, the tone, the screaming always sent ice through my spine, froze every nerve. An instant—and thankfully, because I’d worked on it—short reaction. I bounced back, could focus it, could find that motivation…but I always always had that first reaction.
And I’d promised myself I would never ever be that guy.
Tonight…I’d been that guy.
“Fuck,” I hissed, fingers clenching the door handle of my car so fucking tight that it was a goddamned miracle I didn’t dent it or rip it clear off as I yanked it open.
But my car stayed in one piece as I dropped into the driver’s seat, jabbed at the button to start the ignition.
I should have hit the gas, got the fuck back to my empty house.
Forget the night.
Forget all the shit about spending time with Beth, how her smiles and conversation had made me feel, all the shit that just being with her and my subsequent acting like an asshole had dredged up.
Instead, I sat in my car, my gaze locked on the sliding glass doors, and waited.
For Marcel to come out.
For Marcel to pull the car around.
For Beth to be wheeled out in a chair, right up to the passenger’s side door. For Pru to help her into the seat, something that ended up with me clenching something else—the steering wheel this time so I didn’t go over and help her get Beth safely into the car.
For the door to shut.
For Marcel to pull away.
And stupidly, I put my car into gear and followed Marcel. All the way to Beth’s house.
The trio had gone inside.
A long time later, Pru and Marcel came out, moving to their car, Marcel’s arm around Pru’s shoulders, keeping her close to my body.
They both looked exhausted and worried.
“Fuck,” I muttered, their expressions not helping to ease that knot in my stomach.
But they were leaving, so I knew that Beth must be okay.
Otherwise they would still be inside that house.
Logically, I understood that.
Inside, that knot hadn’t gone away.
So I sat in my dark car, waited until they’d walked away, and then I went up to the hide-a-key—the location of which I knew because I’d gone with Marcel to feed Beth’s cat when she, Pru, and Hazel had gone on a girl’s weekend. I didn’t think about the fact that Monica had never been interested in spending time with Pru, Hazel, or the other guys’ girls, even though she’d been invited. Nor did I think about the bitching she’d given me when I’d encouraged her to go and she hadn’t had fun. I didn’t think about any of that, or Monica, even, or the other women close to the team and their various activities as I extracted the key.
