Page 78 of Craving the Player

Chapter Thirty-Four

BRADEN

“Who’shanging aGoddamn picture?” Igrumble, my tongue dry as all shit.

The incessant knocking reverberates through the apartment, yanking me from my restless sleep. My hands press to my eyes until Isee static.

When the knocking shows no signs of stopping, Igrind my teeth together and slowly open my left eye, ignoring the blasting burn in my retina.

“Clayton!” Iyell before athrob in my forehead scolds me. Atingle in my arm makes me attempt to shake it out from underneath my head, and Icringe at the pain that shoots through my shoulder at the movement.

It’snot hard to tell the more Iwake up that I’mnot laying in my bed. And as my vision becomes less and less blurred, Imake note of the bathtub and toilet. With ahumourless, dark laugh, Idrag ahand down my face.

Ididn’teven make it to my room last night. What afucking accomplishment.

My short temper—my favourite side effect of drinking myself into avomiting mess—begins sparking as the knocking continues. With ahiss, Ipush myself up off the floor and stand with aslight wobble, my jaw aching as Igrip onto the counter for balance.

Ripping the bathroom door open, Ishrink away at the brightly lit apartment with an immediate scowl. My attention moves to the front door when Irealize the knocking is coming from behind it. With ahuff, Ilook down to double-check to make sure I’mnot stark naked and stalk to the door.

“Relax already! Jesus Christ,” Igrunt and unlock the door.

Idon’teven have the door pulled open an inch before ared-faced blonde is shouldering her way inside and pushing at my chest. She shoves me for asecond time, and Itake it, not lucky enough to have forgotten the reason that she’shere.

Sierra. It’salways Sierra.

Iforce myself to stand tall, even when Iwant to collapse to my knees and beg her to help me go get my girl. My head is pounding, and my thoughts look alot like scrambled eggs, but the picture of Sierra, so broken and helpless, remains untouched, standing among the mess like aprized possession. It makes me sick, so beyond disgusted with myself.

Instead of doing what every fibre of my being wants and needs me to, Iharden my features and with my tone like ice, say, “Get out of my house, Sophie.”

My words seem to piss her off even more, just like Iknew they would. With alook that probably could have tossed me six-feet under had Inot already felt like death, she stabs afinger into my sternum. “You have some nerve, jackass.”

“What the hell did Ido to you?” Iswallow past the bile in my throat and move away from her, closing the apartment door with more force than necessary. My fingers curl into fists that Iwant to throw through awall, but Ichoose to bang them against my thighs instead.

“You did everything!” she spits, glaring so hard that it wouldn’tsurprise me if she burst ablood vessel in her temple. “Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? Or do you just not care?”

“How Ifeel isn’tany of your concern. Now get out.” Igesture to the door with as much arrogance as Ican muster up through the growing knot in my stomach. If only Sierra could see me now. She would have wished that she kept those pretty words inside her mouth and saved them for somebody deserving of them.

“Isn’tany of my concern? Sierra is the only person Igive ashit about in this world. And Iwas the one who took her home crying last night after you shattered her to pieces. I’ve never seen her that way before. So fucking lifeless, like the light was snatched right out of her soul.”

Ipush back the wall of guilt rising in my chest before forcing myself to shrug. My insides are screaming for mercy as they’re torn apart by the reality of what happened last night. Of what I did. My next words sound as weak as they feel. “Sierra is strong. She’ll be fine.”

Sophie barks out ahumourless laugh and takes abrave step closer to me. “You’re even dumber than Ithought you were, you know that? Ihoped you were more than just apretty face, but turns out you’re even less.”

“Idon’tcare what you think of me.” Ican’teven keep eye-contact with her. She wears her disgust for me with pride, and it carves into my back deep enough to scar. Sophie doesn’tknow me, and Idon’tknow her, but we used to share something so fucking deep, something that made us connected on some weird, spiritual level.

We don’tlike each other—I’mpretty sure she would volunteer my name as Tribute if given the chance—but we did respect each other. Now, though? There’sno respect there, not on her end. And Ican’tblame her for that.

“What kind of person walks away from someone when they tell them they love them? You can’thonestly want me to believe that you don’tlove her too. I’ve seen it!” She ridicules me fearlessly, not backing down an inch. There’sawarrior inside of this tiny girl. One that doesn’tknow how to tell when the battle has already been lost.

“Idon’tgive ashit what you believe, trust me.” Isnort, crossing my arms across my bare chest and digging my nails into my biceps.

“You keep saying that but somehow, Idon’tbelieve you,” she nearly sings, acockiness flooding her confident tone that has the same effect on me as nails on achalkboard. “We both know that you could have easily thrown me out by now if you didn’twant to hear what Ihad to say somewhere very deep in that bitter, frozen chest of yours.”

Inarrow my sharp gaze. “Get out. This is the last time I’mgoing to say it.”

“She’sleaving in four hours. There’sstill time to tell her how you feel before she’sgone.”

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly before Ishake my head shutting down the thoughts before they come tumbling in. “She’ll have fun in Toronto.”

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