Page 107 of Daring the Hockey Player
She scoffs at my words. Maybe she didn't hear as much as I thought in the locker room. There's no sense in burying myself deeper when she's already pissed at me.
"That would be really classy of you to take money from your brother to cover the rent that I'm already paying you. I realize it's not a lot compared to the share you pay, but I-I-I hate you," she spits out.
"You don't mean that," I say. If she hated me, she'd have hung up already. She's still on the line, her breathing growing louder.
There's movement and commotion on the other side of the phone. I can only imagine that she's packing up her belongings, which will take seconds, considering that she doesn't have much.
The train pulls up at the station, and I hurry off, jogging up the subway station stairs and down the street, racing for the apartment. I need to see her, to stop her, to keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life.
"I love you," I say, the words slipping out before I can even take them back, not that I'd want to do that, either.
"You don't. You only love yourself, Jasper." She hangs up the phone, and I want to scream. She doesn't understand. She doesn't know the whole story.
I'm running down the street, one of the benefits of being an athlete in top shape. I hurry to the apartment and inside, repeatedly hitting the elevator button. I hope that it's not too late. I didn't see her leave, but she could have taken a cab before I made it inside the building. She had a head start on me.
Charlotte comes stalking in through the front entrance and for the elevator as I'm waiting to head upstairs. "You," she says, glancing at me, jaw tense. She folds her arms across her chest and glances me up and down. "Real charming, pretending that you wanted her to live with you when it was your brother's idea all along."
I exhale a sigh. "She heard that."
"Wow. You don't even deny it," Charlotte says. She's loud, making a scene, and a few gazes are making it over to us.
The elevator dings, and I hurry inside. Charlotte is right on my heel.
"Don't think you're going upstairs without me."
Even if I wanted to close the elevator door on her, it wouldn't help my case. Charlotte is Amber's best friend. If I can't get through to Amber, maybe Charlotte can be my advocate.
"I wouldn't dream of it," I say. I press the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
"I need you to convince Amber to give me ten minutes to talk to her."
Charlotte shakes her head, unconvinced. "Why? You've already broken her heart. She doesn't need you trying to convince her that you're the victim in all of this—" She waves her hand between us. "As far as I'm concerned, you're a jackass for taking money from your brother while she's paying the rent. Who the hell does that?"
"I didn't take a cent from Kyler," I say. "And yes, he begged me to have her move in with me, but I didn't agree to it because of him. I did it for my own selfish reasons because I wanted to have her around."
Charlotte presses her lips together.
"I love her, Charlotte. And if she walks away, I don't want her going to that jackass, Atlas, just to get even with me."
She tilts her head, staring up at me. "Atlas Storm, you mean the guy from the party?"
My breath catches in my throat. "Did he do something to her?" My hands ball into fists at my side as we reach the floor, and the double doors open. I wouldn't put it past him for being the reason that she left in such a rush and called me on her way to the subway that night.
Charlotte hurries out first, not that she has a key, but Amber apparently is waiting and opens the door for her the minute we're on the floor.
But her eyes widen when she sees me. "You let him up?" she asks, staring at Charlotte.
"Itishis place," Charlotte says. "Do you have everything packed?"
Charlotte invites herself inside, and I'm right behind them, shutting the door and locking it. Not that I can stop Amber from leaving, nor would I force her to stay. But I would like her to hear the entire story, not just bits and pieces that she overheard from the locker room.
"Can we talk?" I ask.
She's still in my jersey. That's a good sign.
Or she's been too busy packing to realize that she's wearing my clothes. Which is a more likely scenario, knowing Amber. Distracted.
"I've said everything that I need to," Amber says and grabs the black trash bag with her belongings.
