Page 116 of Full Tilt
I heard a total of two words in that sentence—heandfamily.
A cold shiver chases down my spine, and I grip the handset tighter.
“Did the visitor give a name?” I ask cautiously.
“He did. Alex Schneider. I have verified his identity. Do I have your permission to allow him access to your apartment door, Tommy?”
All over again, it’s like I’m standing by my dad’s front door, bending down to untie the laces on my battered sneakers.
“Sir?” The security guard yanks me back to reality.
“Yes. Send him up, but please provide him with a onetime-only access code.”
“No problem. And sorry to disturb your morning.”
When the call cuts, I replace the handset and stalk back into my bedroom, ready to get Jenna out of my apartment. I have no idea why Alex is here, but I don’t want him to set eyes on her.Beyond my teammates and her friends, the next person to find out about whatever we are should be Holt.
Steam filters from under my en suite door, quickly followed by Jenna’s happy humming, and my heart swells and drops at the same time.
She’s in the shower, and there’s no time to get her out.
Grabbing a Dri-FIT from my dresser, I throw it on and quickly smooth my bedhead, pausing and taking a second to center myself.
I shouldn’t have let him upstairs. He has no right to be here.
By the time I reach the door, the smart doorbell is already ringing, and I pause for another second, drawing a deep breath into my lungs.
I’ve imagined this moment a lot since I was unceremoniously kicked out of his apartment at seventeen. Pent-up anger, hatred, and bitterness indulged my fantasies, to the point where I’d dream about a day similar to this one, where I finally got a chance at retribution.
But as I pull my door open, I’m not greeted with the same man who laughed in my face and humiliated me, all while playing his PlayStation.
From when I was a young kid and all the way through to the moment I opened this door, the image I’ve carried of Alex Schneider has been one of strength, brutality, and superiority. Everything I’ve tried to emulate throughout my career.
That’s not what’s staring back at me. This is a shadow of the man I had pinned to my bedroom ceiling when I was twelve years old. He’s a walking, breathing version of consequence and what happens when you burn every bridge you’ve ever had and tread all over those you’ve ever known.
Alex Schneider is his own retribution.
“Son.”
That’s all he says from my doorway. His voice is soft, a stark contrast to the rough edges of his beard. His hair is still dark, like mine, but I can tell he’s dyeing it, unlike Coach Morgan, who is a year younger than Alex and embracing his salt-and-pepper hair.
And while Alex’s clothes are obviously designer, his overall outfit screams of a man trying to project an image far more glamourous than the lines in his face reveal.
His red eyes tell me he’s traveled a distance to be here.
I drop my eyes down the length of his body, cocking my head to the side when I take in his dark sneakers. It’s almost Christmas, and winter has fully set in outside. I’d expect this guy to be wearing weather-appropriate boots and a coat, not a tan leather jacket that’s seen better days, along with his battered and rain-soaked sneakers.
Like a vampire, he’s waiting for me to invite him in, and I step to the side, offering him just enough room to squeeze past me and into the vast expanse of my open plan living area. From memory, my place is not unlike Alex’s, and I fight the urge to remind him that what goes around eventually comes around.
When he drops his black leather bag onto my gray tiled floor with a thud, I thank myself for being a neat freak. Just like I did when Jenna showed up unannounced last night, I look like I have my shit together, even if the truth couldn’t be more opposite.
To hide the tremors in my hands, I shove them into the pockets of my shorts and stride across to my corner couch, smiling that I don’t even own a gaming console anymore.
Throwing myself down on the couch in a faux casual manner, I cast a quick glance toward the hallway leading to my bedroom. Jenna generally takes the longest showers in history, but there’s no way Alex will be gone by the time she’s out. He came here with a purpose. I can tell by the way he sits down on the chair opposite me, crossing his leg over at the knee.
I point to his sneakers. “You’re leaving marks on my polished floor.”
Alex casts his gaze to them, shrugging a single shoulder. “You didn’t ask me to remove them.”
