CHAPTER NINE
CAYDEN
I’m paying way too much attention to my bowl of oats when something collects me on the back of the head. I spin and swat Colton’s lacrosse stick away. “Get that fucking thing out of my face, will you?”
“Hey,” he says, “someone’s got to knock some sense into that fat head of yours. She doesn’t want you, bro. Move on.”
I hold up my spoon, shaking it for emphasis. “She does, but…” I can’t finish the sentence because I still have no clue why she fled the other night.
“I see. Very insightful,” teases Colton, scooping up an apple from the fruit bowl with his stick. “Dad’s secretary rang, by the way.”
I turn back to my oats, ladling up a spoonful and tilting the spoon, watching it all spill back in. “Did he? And what, pray tell, did Father Dearest want today?”
Colton plucks the apple out of the stick’s scoop and bites down, talking while he chews. “He wants us at his wedding, of course.”
“And what number is this woman? The flight attendant, right? Bazooka boobs, bad hair?”
“Number five,” says Colton, “but to be precise he never married the last one, only engaged her, which means Bazooka Boobs is number four.”
I lean on my hand. “It gives me a fucking headache trying to keep up with it all.”
“Hey, at least he’s got a spare ring up his sleeve. What was the last one? Like, five mil?”
“Seven,” I correct. “She got lucky.”
Colton slaps me on the back. “I guess we know where our commitment issues come from, right?”
“Who’s having a wedding?”
We both face Hunter, who’s walking into the room. He looks like hell.
“And he is arisen! You look like shit, by the way,” says Colton, tossing his stick Hunter’s way.
Colton—always telling it like it is.
Hunter reaches to catch the stick, but he’s way off. It goes clattering to the floor.
Colton and I exchange a look, his eyes saying it all: What the fuck is up with Hunter?
I’ve never seen Hunter so lethargic, so out of it. He takes a seat beside me, clutching his stomach.
“You should see a doctor,” I suggest.
Colton stands in front of us. “Who was that blonde you went to for the clap? Legs for days.” He brings his hands up. “Ass you just wanted to—”
“Dr. Charmer,” smiles Hunter, “and that I did”.
Colton winks. “I bet she has the medicine you need to get over this, whatever the fuck this is.”
Hunter stands and breathes out. “I’m fine. Indigestion or some shit. Besides, it’s game night, and I’m not about to lay down and let those Cardinal bitches stomp all over the hallowed ground of Troy, right, Cay?”
I reach up to fist-bump him. “Fuck, no, brother.”
*
My mind should be on the game. The Cardinals aren’t going to be easy to take down, but I cannot shake Indy from my head. She hasn’t been in class, hasn’t returned my calls, and even though I know she’s at The Lab working, I can’t bring myself to go down there. Why? Hell if I know.
Because she’s in your head, messing you up. You promised no girl would ever do that, ever mess you up like Mom did to Dad.
The great Beckett legacy—What a fucking joke.
I decide to use the gym on the other side of campus, the quiet one with weights from a 1930s sports catalogue. I prefer the feel of them, the idea they’ve helped sculpt legends, that they are worn, all purpose. Besides, I need to clear my head, and I sure as hell can’t do it with the rest of the Trojans talking about whatever ass they picked up last night in the free-weight room back at the stadium.
I’m almost there when I see her.
Indy.
She’s standing in the shade beside the gymnasium.
She’s not alone.
I pull back around the corner and watch, feeling like I’ve suddenly been teleported into an episode of Catfished, but no. She wouldn’t go for this guy, no girl here would. He’s old enough to be her father, with salt and pepper hair and a suit jacket. What kind of guy wears a suit jacket when it’s so hot and humid out?
He could be a teacher, I think, but I know the staff here. I pride myself on my ability to remember names and faces, and this guy? I haven’t seen him on campus before.
Whatever they’re talking about, Indy seems upset. She walks away shaking her head, coming back and speaking again.
He puts a hand out, trying to calm her down, to reason with her, and she listens, nodding with understanding.
What the fuck? Who is this guy?
Maybe he is her father, but then I assumed she was raised by her aunty, something about foster parents?
You assumed she liked punk too, remember?
How could I forget…
Eventually Indy nods one final time and begins to walk away. I could approach her, it would be easy, but now doesn’t seem like the right time. I’ll catch up with her later, whatever it takes, even if I have to pull out the ol’ serenade-by-the-window routine. She needs help. What kind, I don’t know, but she needs me and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she’s safe and happy.
I reaffirm myself.
Becketts don’t give up this easily.
I don’t give up this easily.
She heads in the other direction, but I stay glued to the man. He gets on his cell. It’s a short call.
Who the hell are you?
Against better judgement, I follow him, making sure to keep my distance.
He makes a beeline for the dormitories. I stick to the shadows, telling a group of freshman to shut the fuck up when they scream “Damage!” passing by.
The man continues past the dormitories heading to the visitor’s parking lot. A girl heads up beside him and the two stop in the middle of the path.
I look closer, recognizing her. She’s Indy roommate.
If I was confused before, now I’m completely lost. What does she have to do with this?
The two break apart and the man disappears into the parking lot, lost in the sunlight.
I rush over to the girl. “Hey.”
She turns, looks surprised.
“You’re Indy’s roommate, right?” I start.
“Naomi,” she says, cautious. “You’re Cayden.”
“Yeah, how is she?”
She steps up to me like she owns the place. “Look, why don’t you do us all a favor Cay-den, and stay the fuck away from her?”
I’m so shocked I struggle to get a reply out. “Sorry?”
She stands right in front of me, right in my face. “I said, you’re going to leave her the hell alone.”
“Or what?”
She smiles. “Or there will be consequences.”
She turns and walks away.
I’ve met defensive roommates before… fellow sisters, ex-boyfriends, even the odd husband, but this is something else.
And it’s not good.
Not fucking good at all.
*
I shoulder-check Dwayne on the way out of the players’ tunnel. “Keep the bench warm for me, asshole.”
He flips me the bird. “You’re hanging by a thread, Beckett. Remember that.”
I shouldn’t pay his words any attention, but they’re ringing loud and clear as I take the field, the cheer rising up in a tidal wave of sound.
“Da-mage, Da-mage, Da-mage!”
I scan the stands quickly, but finding Indy up there is going to take me all night.
No, it’s game time, Cay. Forget her for now and do what you do best.
So I do. I focus.
You’ve got this.
Hunter pulls up beside me shaking his head at the opposition. “How can you take a team with a fucking Christmas tree for a mascot seriously?”
I look at their Cardinals mascot and laugh. “I think it’s supposed to be a redwood.”
Hunter jogs away into position. “Oh, they’re going to see red alright. Let’s do this.”
I take position, the band playing on.
This is my domain, my kingdom.
On the green, I am God.
We manage to force the Cardinals into two early fumbles. I seize on it early, putting in the yards for the first touchdown. After that, it’s all downhill, an easy ride to a solid 24-10 victory.
I’m burning, but in a good way as I head to the sidelines. People crowd around me in a tight crush. I sign what I can, thank them all for coming up—the usual jazz.
When they start to clear, Hunter charges into me. He played a fine game tonight, no doubt, back to his best.
Coach claps us both on the shoulder from behind, pulling us into a huddle. “My boys. Keep that shit up and I’ll be seeing you at the Super Bowl.”
“I don’t know if they have wheelchair access,” jokes Hunter.
Coach slaps him on the ass. “You forget, I was your age once—neck deep in pussy, too.”
Hunter gags. “And there goes my lunch.”
Coach pushes himself away. “So be it, but seriously, boys, good work.”
He saunters off to talk to the college press.
Hunter starts to jog off. “I’m hitting the showers… or one of those Christmas tree cheerleaders, whatever comes first.”
“Just make sure you’re wearing a rubber when you do,” I shout after him. “It’s way too early for baby Becketts yet.”
There’s a tap on my shoulder.
I turn expecting another fan, but it’s Indy.
She’s wearing the jersey I gave her. “Indy.”
She holds up the hem of the jersey. “Can you sign this for me?”
“I thought you were avoiding me.”
She looks away for a moment. “You know, I was, but then everyone started telling me to stay away from you, so…”
“And you don’t like being told what to do.” I smile.
“I do not.”
“You are a rebellions punk rocker. It makes total sense.”
She smiles at that, and fuck me is it good to see.
I try not to let the excitement get the better of me. “So it’s on?”
“I have conditions.”
“Name them,” I say, knowing I’ll do anything to taste her again, have her in my arms.
“If we’re going to be together, it has to be a secret. No one can know.”
“Can I at least ask why?”
She shakes her head. “You have to take my word for it.”
I’m this close. Don’t fuck it up now. “Done. Anything else?”
“You promise me you’re not going to ditch me the moment we… you know.”
I’m going to leave this field with the world’s biggest hard-on at this rate. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But you’ve done it before.”
“That was different. They were different.” I step closer to her, helmet under my arm.
“How do you know?”
I reach up to hold her face before I remember her first condition and let it drop. “Because I look at you and I can picture you there in the morning, picture myself making you pancakes and running my hand between your legs, because all I want to do is make you happy, Indy. And fuck it, I don’t really know why. All I know is that I want you—now, tomorrow, the next day. So, please, trust me.”
She breathes in, holds it. I see the heat building in her eyes, the need. “Let’s go.”
*
I know Hunter and Colton will be waiting for me at The Lab as per our usual post-game party, but not tonight.
I can’t get the key in the lock fast enough back home, shoving the door wide and pulling Indy into my arms as soon as we’re inside.
I kiss her, hard, and she returns, pinned against the wall while I lift my undershirt free, tossing it to the floor.
Her hands run down my arms, down the ink there, and I’m fucking electric.
God, I can’t get enough of her. She pants against my lips, groaning.
I fall to my knees and tug her jeans down, unhooking them off her ankles. I do the same with her panties, stripping her bare and taking in the sight of her perfect sex, the scent of her arousal, the heat.
Her hands fall onto my head. She’s breathing so hard I’m genuinely concerned for her wellbeing.
Not yet.
I stand and strip my pants and jockstrap away in one action, my rock-hard cock bobbing free.
Her eyes go wide.
“Wow, they weren’t kidding, were they?”
I take hold of it, stroke it. “He’s all yours.”
She reaches out tentatively and grips the base. “It’s so… hot.”
“Only for you,” I add, pulling her back into a kiss, hand and cock crushed between us, the root of it sitting against her sex.
I run my hands under her shirt and lift, popping her bra up on the way.
She pushes me away. “Wait.”
Fuck.
“Let me do it.”
I watch as she brings her shirt over her head and unclasps her bra from the back, leaning forward to let it fall away.
And now I see. Deep scarring is cross-hatched across her shoulders, reaching down her side to finish somewhere around the middle of her hips. I’ve seen this kind of scar tissue before, remembering when a five-year-old Colton learned what happens when you let your hand sit on the stovetop.
Indy blushes hard, covering the scars with her arm. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
I pull her hand away. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It’s disgusting. I am—”
I put a finger on her lips. “No. I’m in this for you, all of you. In fact, I think it’s kind of badass.”
Her eyes light again. “You do?”
My cock twitches, desperate to be inside her.
Wait.
To show her I’m serious, I run my fingers up her side slowly, run them over the leathery ridges of her scars, let them rest on her shoulder at the worst of it. “I don’t know where these came from, or what happened,” I tell her, “but I want you to know it’s never going to happen again. I’m going to keep you safe.”
A tear runs down her cheek. “You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.”
“Are you sure?” She looks to her shoulder. “It’s not exactly pretty.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “I can’t say I know many men who get off on the state of a woman’s shoulder.” My eyes drop down her body. “I, personally, like a nice ass, soft, well-weighted breasts.” I glide my hand up her side. “You’re killing it on those fronts, and your pussy? Jesus, don’t even get me started on your pussy.”
“You’re dirty,” she says in a whisper.
I take hold of a breast, thumbing the nipple back and forth until it firms. “Life’s pretty fucking boring clean.”