Page 133 of Leave Me Broken

“Well”—I sit up—“let’s make the most out of it.”

Valerie wasn’t kidding when she mentioned mixing, but I figured I’d at least have one other female on my team. Instead, I’m in a sausage fest. The only good thing about this is I feel like I’m getting in the best workout. Their hits are harder, quicker, and I’m having to dig constantly but I’ve only let three balls total get by me and even the guys seem impressed. That means a lot coming from the number two team.

They set the Outside Hitter up and I get into position. The Middle Blocker fakes but it’s so obvious how the outside is positioned that it will be his hit. Being the Outside on the number one team is not surprising because his hits leave my arms burning for legit minutes. I’m waiting for the hit so when he tips it, I jump up and bound over for the save. It’s coming down fast and I’m the closest but I’m not as quick as I once was. I dive for it, flattening my hand and praying for the best. Must have someone on my side because the ball smacks right onto my hand and bounces up. I roll out of the way to let the guys save it, and they do. The Setter is right next to me setting the ball so perfectly for the Back Hitter. The ball smacks the floor on the opposite side.

Next thing I know, I’m being lifted from the ground and sitting on top of two guys’ shoulders. Pride blooms in my stomach. They congratulate me, and I them. I look around the gym at the other teams for a set of gray eyes but come up empty-handed. He was just here watching the entire thing.

The guys set me down and more crowd around, throwing their arms around my shoulders, and shake me. They say things in their native language or in broken English that I’m not able to understand but their smiles are big, and that makes me feel good.

“Good games, American,” someone with a thick Russian accent says.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say to the Libero of the other team. “Not as good as me,” I joke.

He rolls his light eyes playfully.

“Maybe if we had Payson on our team, we would be number one.” The guy with the best English on my team wraps an arm around my shoulders and grins.

“Do not give her so much credit.” The Outside Hitter from the Russian team saunters our way. “I bet she is crying on the inside from some of my hits.”

“I think she is tougher than she looks, Igor.”

“I am,” I agree, the guy wraps around my shoulder tightens his grip. “See?”

Igor steps forward and grabs my wrist. My heart picks up speed even more than it already was from the game. “Let us see the damage I have caused.”

I attempt to rip his hand off but he has my spandex sleeve pushed up before I get the chance. The guys around me go quiet as they all take in the bloodiness hiding under my shirt. I knew cuts had broken open, but I didn’t imagine it would look like someone took an axe to my arms. I didn’t even feel it. I still don’t and I’m staring at several open cuts. My arms are red and angry, which makes it look even worse.

His blue eyes shoot up to mine and he drops my arm. I quickly tug my sleeve back down and wrap my arms around my stomach.

“I am so sorry,” Igor mutters, he steps backward like I’m diseased.

Some other guys step away and more when Igor looks at his hand that was holding my wrist and it’s tinted red. I quickly pull my arms from my body and cringe when I see the blood on my pink shirt.

“Here.” Another Russian player rips his shirt over his head and passes it to me. I don’t want to wear his shirt, it’s obvious Ash left because he didn’t like what he was seeing, so seeing me in another guy’s shirt might push him over the edge, if he’s not already. But I can’t walk around with blood on mine. “Thank you.”

The guys turn their backs and create a dressing room around me. I quickly rip my shirts off and replace them with his. It’s way too big but I just need to get a spare shirt. They are selling them in the lobby, I just need to get someone to buy one for me while I clean my arms. I wrap my soiled clothes around my arms, shielding them from people seeing. I don’t know how much attention we drew but the less, the better.

Luca stops me on my hurry to the front to buy a shirt. He eyes the scene at hand and the shirtless guy behind me before narrowing his eyes.

“Luca,” I beg, pulling my arms away just enough to show him the problem.

More curses in Italian before he’s dragging me under his arm and out the doors.

“I thought you stopped cutting.” His voice is low.

I tilt my head to look up at him. “Ash didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

I swallow and lower my voice even more. “I don’t cut anymore . . . he, uh, he does it for me.”

Luca pauses. “He cuts you?” He follows with a string of Italian I don’t even attempt to understand.

I leave him behind and hurry for the lobby. The sooner I can get a new shirt, the sooner I can get out of this sweaty one before Ash can see me, hopefully.

Someone catches me by the elbow. “I will get you a new shirt. Go clean up and just toss the others.”

“What about a long sleeve? I can’t walk around like this.”

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