Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
"It doesn't feel that way."
"Yeah, well, that's because you don't know Montaque," she mutters. "He's pure evil in a pretty package."
"Speaking of pretty packages…River St. James, huh?"
"Don't know him," she says, making me smile for the first time all morning. "Definitely didn't sleep with him. And absolutely am not planning to do it again."
"Good for you," I whisper. "Be safe. Have fun."
"Oh, I plan on it." An evil laugh ripples down the line before she sobers. "Call me when you get to the airport. I'll have something for you by then."
"Thank you." I clear my throat, gratitude putting a lump in my throat. "I mean it, Alice. Thank you."
"You can thank me by making me your maid of honor when you marry that man," she says before hanging up on me.
I send up a prayer that we make it to that day. Right now, it doesn't feel like it's even a possibility. But…I'm not giving up. Not on this and not on Nash. Even if it costs me everything, I'm all in.
I just hope he's still all in, too.
Chapter Nine
Nash
"You good, man?" Archer asks, leaning across the aisle to look at me.
"Fucking perfect," I grunt in response, staring up at the ceiling of the plane as we touch down in San Jose.
Coach won't even look at me. Emilia is back in DC by herself. Montaque is writing God only knows what. This is the ninth circle of hell. And there isn't a fucking thing I can do about it.
I'm mad as hell that Montaque ambushed us. I'm mad as hell that Coach found out the way he did. And I'm mad as hell I didn't put an end to all of this bullshit long ago. Emilia looked like her entire fucking world was crumbling this morning. And it felt a whole lot like mine was too.
She never should have been put in that position, and I'm pissed that she was. I should have talked to Coach weeks ago, told him that I'm crazy about his daughter. Instead, I've let her stress and worry and carry it until it came to this.
I think some part of her broke this morning.
And I'm not fucking there to put her back together again.
My arms ache for her. My goddamn heart hurts for her.
I need to talk to Coach, explain this shit. She may not have been able to say anything this morning, but he knows the truth. I know he knows. And it's going to break her heart into little pieces if he follows through on his threat and sends me to Pennsylvania.
"If you want to talk…"
"I don't," I growl, shooting a hard look at Archer.
He sighs, shaking his head. "Then I'll do you the favor of getting out of your face," he says, hauling himself to his feet before grabbing his bag and his gear. And then he pauses, glancing back over at me. "Coach is always the last off the plane. He does a walk-through before he deplanes."
I inhale a sharp breath, gratitude pulsing in my chest. "Fuck. Thanks."
He jerks his chin in a nod before disappearing up the aisle.
I stay in my seat, my foot tapping restlessly against the floor as my teammates take their sweet time getting their shit together and getting off the plane. They're loud as fuck, fraying my nerves.
But within a few minutes, they're off the plane, leaving me in silence.
Coach appears at the head of the aisle a few minutes later, scanning. His face drops into a scowl when it lands on me. "Off the plane, Whatley," he barks.
"Can't do it, Coach."
"Son of a bitch." He charges down the aisle toward my seat, looking like he's brewing for a fight. Christ, I hope it doesn't come down to that. "I said off the plane, Whatley."
"I'm in love with your daughter, sir."
Coach grunts, his jaw pulsing.
"I should have told you that weeks ago."
"Yeah, you should have, kid." He leans against the seat across the aisle, his arms crossed. "But you didn't. I expected that shit from Emilia. She's always been too afraid of what I thought, but you?" He narrows his eyes on me, disappointment rolling through them. "Didn't expect a member of my team to be lying to me, Whatley."
"And I didn't expect my coach to threaten to make an example of me," I say, holding his gaze levelly. "Keeping our relationship from you was fucked up. I won't deny that. But you don't really have a moral high ground here, sir."
"She's my daughter, Whatley," he grits out.
"And she's the reason I breathe," I growl, gripping the arms of the chair. "You have no idea how I feel about her, and that's on me. But it's on you, too. She's spent her whole life worried she ruined your career. The last thing she wanted was to ruin mine too. And the first thing you did was give her a reason to fear that exact thing happening if we told you the truth. She's agonized over you finding out because she didn't want to be the reason I got booted from the team."