Page 41 of Heartbreaker
Savannah rolls her eyes and offers me a brief, sympathetic look. “I’m sorry if they’ve been bothering you. I told them to stay out of the way, but—”
“They’re fine,” I say. “It’s good to see everyone.”
“Yes, it was good to see you since you couldn’t join us for the holiday this year.” Laine turns her stare from me to her daughter, but she ignores her mother.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. I was spending it with my sister and her boyfriend.”
When Ari heard I didn’t have plans to ring in the new year, she insisted I join her and Samuel in our hometown of Ravenswood, Indiana. We compromised—they’d come down to my house in Florida, and could invite some friends to tag along. Their guests included Samuel’s sister and brother-in-law, and one of his sister’s girl friends, and let’s say the third wheels did not hit it off the way the other two couples had hoped.
“Well, I expect to see you there next year. Bring your sister along, we have plenty of room,” Laine says.
“Mamá, you can’t just order him to show up,” Savannah says, looking between us in disbelief. “What if he—”
“I’d love to,” I interrupt. Her brown eyes meet mine for the first time all night, and I smile. “If that’s okay with you, Sav.”
After a moment, Savannah nods.
“How’s that shoulder, SJ?” Wes asks.
“Doc wants me to get evaluated further. He thinks I might have dislocated it,” she says.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I say. “Looked like it hurt.”
Her gaze returns to me with a look of surprise. “You saw?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” That makes her smile, and I do the same in return. “Well, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get going. I want to get to Houston before it gets too late.”
“You stay in touch, you hear?” Laine pulls me into a tight hug before Wes extends his hand. Each of the siblings pulls me into a quick embrace, too, except Crew, who only offers a nod.
“I’ll see you around,” I whisper to Savannah, doing my best to ignore that familiar pull between us, and I have a feeling she’s doing the same by the way her arms cross over her chest. A twinge of pain crosses her face before she catches herself and offers a tight smile. “Please get that looked at.”
Savannah rolls her eyes. “I’ll live.”
“Sweetheart, please. The sooner you do, the sooner you come back.” The nickname rolls off my tongue with such ease, and it catches more than her attention. I notice the look shared between her parents and excuse myself before I can say something else I shouldn’t.
Halfway down the hall, I can hear her mother say something in Spanish that I can’t understand, but Savannah’s response tells me everything I needed to know.
“Ay, Mamá.” She sighs. “Would you just drop it already?”
Brody and I finally arrived at our hotel in Houston twenty minutes ago and agreed to one drink before we go to bed. We don’t typically indulge the night before a show anymore, but my best friend was feeling spontaneous tonight, and I decided to go along for the ride.
The moment we walk into the bar, I immediately regret that decision.
We’re beckoned to the table in the corner where Miles Drake, better known asDamian“The Anarchist”Drake, Grady, Spencer, and one of the show’s announcers, Scott Harrington, sit. And from the looks of it, they’re in the middle of welcoming the new kid, Colin Montgomery, orColin Ryker, by making him pay for whatever tab they’ve racked up. Stupid hazing ritual. I thought we left that shit in 2010.
“Well, well, well,” Drake says when we reach the table. “Look who finally decided to be one of the guys for a change.” Miles Drake is known for being the backstage asshole, always inserting his two cents where it doesn’t belong. Most of the time, he takes the title of “Anarchist” a little too literally, blurring the lines of reality and fiction. He and I have never gotten along; I can’t remember a single time we have. Keeping our distance backstage is our version of being civil.
I roll my eyes. I stopped going out with the guys after shows when it became boring; I was tired of the same old thing. Not to mention getting drunk the night before a match wasn’t very conducive to getting up at five in the morning and going to the gym before having to get in the ring in front of thousands of people.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Drake asks.
“We felt like having a drink,” Brody answers. “Figured we’d join you boys since you’re here.” And because if we ignored them, it would have caused an even bigger scene than the one they’ve probably already caused.
“Pull up a chair, boys!” Grady yells, half drunk, moving his chair over to make room between him and Austin. Brody pulls two chairs from a nearby table and ignores my glare.
“Alright,” Drake says once everyone is finally settled. “We have something else we need to discuss.” He pauses when the waitress appears with a fresh round of drinks and two beers for me and Brody, smacking her on the ass when she walks by him. She winks at him, and the whole display makes me roll my eyes. Something tells me that if he were some normal guy, she’d have him thrown out for the action, but because he’s a “celebrity,” she feeds into it. Once she’s gone, Drake turns back to the table with a serious expression. “Savvy Skye.”
My stomach drops. What the fuck is he talking about? When I meet his stare, a devilish grin spreads across his face.
