I hold out a hand, and after a long moment, Clay reaches into his pocket and passes over the fob.
I lead the way out of the hospital. Normally heading through a busy building would mean people snapping pics of Clay, but today, everyone we pass is either sick or working.
Fame can’t trump illness.
We reach the parking lot, and Clay nods toward the section holding his SUV.
“I can drive,” he says.
“I don’t care what you think you can do,” I bite out.
His eyes widen in surprise, but when I round to the driver's seat and get in, he shifts into the other side.
After sliding into his SUV, I move the seat forward a foot and adjust the mirrors.
“I’m sorry.” His voice fills the dark.
“Apologize to Coach when he wakes up.”
“I mean about the deal with Harlan. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you to choose for yourself.”
The words settle on me, seeping into my skin. I don’t have time to guard against them, and there’s no protection from the raw emotion in his voice.
“Tonight’s not about us.”
I drive him home.
The roads are dark and quiet. I don’t put on the radio.
When we pull up to the building, the garage door lifts automatically. From memory, I navigate to the spot right next to the elevator.
We ride up together, and I sneak a look at him in the fluorescent lights.
I’ve never seen him like this.
He’s always strong.
Now, he’s suffering.
I know what it’s like to have someone ripped from your life with zero notice. To be talking to them one moment, laughing or arguing or debating, and the next they’re gone.
That’s why I won’t let him face this alone, no matter what’s between us.
The wide hallway is lined with subtle, expensive lights. Clay takes his keys back and unlocks the door. The lights click on automatically to reveal the familiar, beautifully decorated space. The foyer leads into the white granite-swathed kitchen and, on the other side, the massive living room with low couches and a huge TV.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
He shakes his head.
I take in what he’s wearing. His knee looks swollen. “You should ice that.”
“Later.”
“At least have a shower.”
Clay pulls his sweatshirt off over his head, the jersey beneath coming with it.
An angry purple splotch has my breath catching. “What happened?”
“I dunno.”
I stroke a finger across it. He seems strong, but he’s human too.
I walk through his place to the master bedroom and bathroom. The light turns on when I step inside. I reach the shower and turn the handle.
Behind me, he stands stock still, his gaze fixed partway down the wall. I start to brush past him, but he grabs my wrist.
“Don’t go.” His thumb strokes my pulse point. His gorgeous dark eyes are full of fear and guilt and regret. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I can’t watch you leave. Not tonight.”
He wraps me in his arms, crushing me hard to his chest. My heart hammers between us, my eyes stinging with tears.
In the time we’ve been together, he’s never hugged me. If you can even call this a hug. It’s like he’s clinging to a rock to avoid being swept out to sea.
I know what it’s like to lose people and blame yourself. I want to hold him here for as long as I can.
“I care about you. So fucking much,” he rumbles into my neck. “You wanted your sister back and a fresh start. I’m a lightning rod and a mess. Your best shot was staying far away from me.”
His words gut me. I know he believes he was helping, even if that was a fucked-up way to do it.
The tattoos twining around his arms and chest could be ropes tying him down.
I’m not ready to let it go, but I can’t retreat from him either. It’s harder and harder to keep up my guard, even if my heart will get bruised.
“I didn’t want to stay away from you,” I whisper against his bare chest. My fingers dig into the smooth skin of his back.
Clay swallows hard enough that I feel it.
“Me either.”
It’s not your fault, I want to tell him.
I show him instead.
20
CLAY
I wake to the sun coming in the gap at the bottom of my curtains.
In a dark wave, it all comes rushing back.
Coach’s accident.
Pacing the hospital for hours.
Him hooked up to machines, silent and lifeless.
Cutting through the darkness, Nova driving me home.
She’s next to me, her skin warm and soft.
She’s my strength.
When I was drowning, it was her face that appeared over me.
She let me hold her for fucking hours, slept next to me while I tossed and turned.
I love her.
Thoroughly and fucking completely.
The realization isn’t a lightning bolt but a steady truth, one that’s been humming in my veins for longer than I knew.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table. I exhale when I see the caller ID. I shift out of bed and pull on gray sweatpants, taking the phone to the other room so I don’t wake Nova.
“Yeah,” I answer as I pull the door shut after me.
Harlan’s voice comes down the line. “Wade. I’ve talked with James, and we want you to address the team.”
“Why not Jayden?”
“We want Coach to have privacy at this time. Chloe’s issuing a statement to say that he’s out for personal reasons,” he goes on as though I didn’t ask. “But first, you need to talk to them.”
“And say what? They were there.”
“That our lead assistant coach will be taking over as head coach. Indefinitely.”
I stiffen. “Why not acting?” He doesn’t answer. “Whose fucking idea was this? Yours or James'?”
“It was mutual.”
“Bullshit.” I hear the truth in his voice. Parker gets off on moving pieces around, looking like a big boy. This is him doing that. “Coach will be back. It could be today.”
“I need you to put the team first right now.”
Nova comes out of the bedroom, my T-shirt clinging to her curves and ending at her knees.
She cocks her head.
"Harlan," I mouth.
Her lips press together.
Yeah, this situation isn’t resolved, but I need to resolve it.
She heads for the washroom, the door clicking behind her.
“Is that Nova?” Harlan asks. A lucky guess.
“Yeah, it is.” My grip tightens on the phone. “Make no mistake, I want her in my life, and I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make that happen. If you’ve got a problem with her or me or us, you can tell me right the fuck now. Because this is a fight you’re going to lose.”
Harlan exhales. “Not today.”
I cross my living room and hit the blinds. The morning sun is exposed an inch at a time.
“We need to talk about LA,” he says.
The light at the end of the tunnel.
The reason for every decision I made this past year.
“Not today.” I echo his words before clicking off.