False Start: A Football Romance (20 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Skila

Amryn . . .
Camryn
. . . was Kiptyn’s brother. How is that even possible? Camryn lived in Atlanta, two thousand miles away. Didn’t he? I didn’t really know. I didn’t know a damn thing about him. That was startlingly obvious, considering I didn’t even know his real name.
Why?
Why lie? I don’t get it.

Kiptyn tosses the cab driver a hundred dollars and waits for me to tell him my address. It rolls off my tongue as the tears roll off my cheeks. My heart hurts. I want to scream and yell and shout and cry
.
My emotions are all over the place. A piece of me is torn to bits knowing he was gone . . . like really gone, not just some dick who decided he’d had enough of fucking me, but really gone, dead, and then, following up on the tail end of that pain is . . . relief.

I can’t explain it, but knowing he hadn’t just vanished, that there was a reason he didn’t show up and didn’t call, made me feel good. Obviously, I didn’t want him dead. I’d never wish that on anyone. Kiptyn stands rooted to the same spot. The look on his face tears at my resolve. I want to jump from the cab and run back up his drive, throw my arms around him, and make all his pain go away, but I can’t. He was Camryn's
brother.
Whatever could have been between us is over. Gone.

My heart shatters. I rub the heel of my palm against my chest to push the pain away, but it doesn’t work. My breath catches in the base of my throat. I push it out, and a pain-filled cry echoes the interior of the cab. The driver glances back at me, pity clear in the hard lines of his face. No doubt, he thinks we had a spat. Or worse, maybe he’s a regular at Kiptyn’s and thinks I’m another of his discarded women. The answer to my unspoken question comes a second later.

“Don’t cry, miss. He ain't worth it. Plenty more in the sea . . . maybe not so rich, but still.” His choppy English does nothing to soften the blow his words deal. I want to tell him to mind his own fucking business. I want to scream at him and tell him to go to fucking hell and leave me alone, that it isn’t like that, but the words won’t come. Pulling my legs up on the seat, I curl in around myself, letting the pain of his loss crash over me.

It isn’t until I’m sitting on the couch, going over everything with Lisa, that I realize that the loss I cried over wasn’t for Camryn. I'd miss him, of course, and I hate to think that he will never get the chance to live his life, to fall in love and have a family.

No, the loss I feel is for Kiptyn. I’ve known him less than a week—if you don’t count the run-in at the club—and already my heart has betrayed me, falling hard and fast for him. It has nothing to do with his money or fame. It’s so much more. The sweetness he carries inside of himself, the fact that he still looks out for people from his past and helps strangers in bars, the way he held me and touched me. The list goes on and on.

“It's going to be okay, Sky.” Lisa tries to calm me, but she can't. I’m not upset. I’m devastated.

“How, Lisa? How is it going to be ok? The man is dead.” My words are louder than I intend, but I need her to explain to me how she thinks it's going to be ok.

“I know that, but you had already let him go. You’ve already moved on. I don’t get why you’re so upset. Did you love him?” she asks, and now I understand. She thinks I’m hurting over Amryn . . . Camryn.

“It's not him, Lisa. No, I didn’t love him.” I let out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t even
know
him.”

“Then what’s wrong, babe?”

“It’s Kiptyn. I . . . I can't explain it. My heart hurts for him. It was his brother, Lisa. I can't imagine. What if I lost Devan or Jax? I’d die, right then and there.”

“Are you falling in love with him?”

The knowing look on her face mocks me. She’s always looking for love in someone’s actions. The poor girl sits around reading romance novels by the truckload, hoping one of the imaginary book boyfriends will magically come to life and sweep her off her feet.

Normally, I pity her. Normally, I laugh and joke back with her, telling her she reads too much or that true love doesn’t exist. Not today. Today, I sit silently on the couch a foot away from her, my head tucked into the crease of my elbow against the side arm, trying and failing to choke my sobs back down. I don’t have to say a word today, because she already knows.

I’m crazy about a man that I can't have. Even if I was willing to try to date the brother of my deceased ex . . .
boyfriend
? There is no way he would. I saw it in the look he gave me when he realized who I was. He would never touch me again. It’s over.

My stomach rolls with nausea. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I race to the bathroom, puking up everything I have inside of me. How on earth has my life become this? Maybe it’s time for me to admit defeat and move back to Atlanta.

No, screw that. I can do this. I'll find a way to make it work here in LA. First thing tomorrow, I'll start looking for a new job. There’s no way Mr. Ames is going to let me keep mine, especially if I didn’t produce that exclusive interview I had promised him, but I’m one hell of a reporter and I can land another job. It probably won’t be with a paper as large as the
Los Angeles Daily Home
, but as long as it pays the bills, I’m happy.

With some semblance of a game plan, I crawl in between the silky soft sheets covering my bed and beg the Sandman to come visit me soon. I need all the help I can get to forget tonight. If only his magical sand could make me forget Kiptyn Price, then I'd be in heaven.

Chapter Fifteen

Kiptyn

I should have never let her leave. I should have demanded she sit there on the couch and talk all this shit out. Fuck. Now what do I do? I’m on edge. My whole body is swarming with nerves. How it is possible that the one fucking woman I want is already taken by my fucking dead brother? Fate is playing some fucked up joke on me. It has to be. I picture him, her, them—what the fuck ever—rolling in the floor, laughing their ass off at me right now. Well, I’ve got news for you, bastard.

I.

Don’t.

Lose.

I’ll play your sick, twisted game, and I'll kick your ass at it.

Running my hands through my hair, I stomp up the drive. I need a fucking drink and a cold shower. I had her in my fucking arms, my lips on her delicate chocolate skin, and I fucking let her get away. Well, technically, she ran away. Again.

When I pass my slick, blue Audi R8, I hear a ringing noise. I stop, listening. There is definitely something ringing inside my car. Opening the driver’s door, I spot Skila’s heels and handbag. I smile. She’ll have to see me now. Her phone is ringing again. I open her handbag and pull it out. Lisa is calling. Swiping left on the screen, I answer.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hey. Sky left her bag here.”

I don’t say anything else. I don’t know what to say. I wait to see what her best friend has to say, knowing that will tell me more than anything else whether I still have a chance.

“Oh,” she pauses, thinking. I hear a door shut and imagine her walking outside so she can let loose on me without Skila hearing. “I’ll tell her I found her phone . . . when you bring it over tomorrow. Bring coffee,” she says and hangs up.

I want to fist bump whatever god is on my side tonight, but I hold it back, not wanting to rub my small victory in the face of the fates. At least now, I know there is still a chance, no matter how small. I’ll win her back if it's the last thing I do. It’s funny how much my life has changed over the course of the last three weeks. I don’t even remember the last time I went out or the last bitch I brought home. None of the countless women across the country matter to me anymore. Only one.

My Midnight Sky.

Walking back inside, I feel lighter, happier. I have hope for a brighter future. I toss Skila’s handbag on the counter next to her heels and head to the refrigerator to grab a beer, but I don’t make it. A strange voice fills my kitchen, startling me. I whip back around, wondering who the hell is here, before I realize its coming from Skila’s phone. I must have bumped someone’s number when I set it down. Picking it up, I glance down to see who I accidentally called, but its connected to voicemail. About that time, the words coming across the line register and I’m stuck standing there, dumbfounded.

“Miss Parker. This is Rachael with Dr. Banks. I’ve got your blood results in, and I’m happy to inform you that you do not have the flu. You’re pregnant. Congratulations. Call the office as soon as possible to set up a prenatal appointment.”

I press replay three times, and I can't fucking believe it.

She’s pregnant.

I have no doubt exactly whose baby it is. If Camryn were here, I'd punch his fucking lights out for making her go through this shit alone. She deserves better, but no, he had to go off and get himself fucking killed, the bastard. I can't imagine how she’s going to feel when she hears the news. Her world already came crashing in around her tonight. This is just the fucking icing on the cake. I hate the idea of her hurt, afraid and alone. I don’t understand it, but over the last few weeks, this woman has completely invaded me. She has conquered my restless soul and made me feel, for once, that there is more to life than playing ball and fucking bitches.

I'll be there for her. I'll be there for her
and
her unborn child. It's the least I can do. Hell, it’s all I want to do. Now that I know she’s pregnant, no other thought has room in my mind. Clouds overhead part, letting the moon shine down on me, and I imagine it’s Camryn offering me his blessing from his place high in the heavens. I’ve got this. I can do this. How hard will it be to raise a kid? Shit, I make enough money that I can pay someone to do it for me—not that I would. My brother’s baby deserves better than that. Skila deserves more than that. I’ll be the best fucking daddy in the world.

Walking back in my front door, another thought suddenly hits me. So out of the blue, I almost double over with the pain the thought alone causes me. What if she decides to abort? What if she doesn’t want kids, or what if she just doesn’t want Camryn's kid? I can’t blame her if she doesn’t. The father is dead. As far as she knows, she’ll be going at it all alone.

No. I won’t let her.

I don’t care what it takes. I refuse to let her abort the baby. I'll do and say whatever it fucking takes to make sure she follows through with the pregnancy. I’ll let her know that I want it. I’ll make a great fucking daddy. I know it's going to be hard, but I’ve got a plan.
We're family, whether she likes it or not, and I’m going to be there, no matter what.

Chapter Sixteen

Skila

Someone is knocking on my front door. I cover my head with my pillow and try to shut out the incessant banging. Go the fuck away.
Tap, tap, tap.
I swear on all that’s holy that if someone isn’t dying, they're about to be. I've got two more hours that I can sleep before I've got to get up and get ready for my walk of shame into the office. I wasn’t going to go in at all today, but I didn’t see any point in delaying the inevitable any longer. I plan to march in Ames’s office and let him know the article was a bust. I'm already prepared for his disappointed look and the sad news that he can’t keep me.

Snatching the door open, I don’t know who I’m expecting, but it isn’t Kiptyn, standing there with a Venti Starbucks held out in front of him like he’s scared for his life before I've had my first sip. I take it from his hand, greedy for the hot ecstasy. He chuckles low, and all the parts of my body that the caffeine has missed awaken instantly. I look over the top of the cup at him. He looks like hell. His hair is a mess, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s still in the jeans from last night.

Dark circles line his eyes. I wonder what he’d been out doing all night. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept all night. I remember the state I left him in last night, with his cock as hard as a rock, poised and ready to take me. White-hot rage fills me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out exactly what he did last night. Who? Now that is the question. No doubt, any one of the hundreds of women in LA that would be more than happy to finish what I’d started. Stepping back into the warm confines of my apartment, I slam the door right in his face.

I'll be damned if he leaps straight from some other bitch’s bed and comes knocking on my door. Hell no. I don’t care if he did bring me Starbucks.

“Skila, open the door.”

Shit, why didn’t he take a hint and leave? I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to look at the evidence of where he went when I left. It’s so very obvious, and I feel that knife twist deep in my heart.

“Fuck, Sky, let me in. I haven’t slept a wink.”

I snatch the door back open, ready to lay into him, but the pitiful sight in front of me stops me in my tracks. I swallow my words, snapping my jaw shut tight, and look at the man standing in front of me. The man I’m so desperately in love with. He doesn’t look like a man who had a good night last night. He looks like shit. Well, as shitty as Kiptyn Price can look.

“What do you want, Kip?” I ask, hope building in my chest. Please let him want me. Please don’t let this be some cosmic joke at my expense.

“The interview?” he asks, and I can't help but laugh. Dry, humorless, the same laugh he gave me two days ago when I asked the same question. I thought it was funny then, but I don’t now.

“Yeah, the interview. Are you still willing to do it?” I ask.

“Of course. We shook on it. Remember?”

That damn hand shake. How could I forget? Well, if nothing else good comes out of this, at least I'll be able to keep my job. Not what I was hoping for when I asked him, but he wants to do it, and it’s still better than nothing.

“Come in.”

I turn and walk to my room and grab a small recorder, pen and paper. I had already made a list of questions I wanted to ask him, and I grab that too. I’ll just run down the list as quickly as possible and then see him on his way. I can't bear to spend any more time with him than that. My heart can't take it.

Already, I’m fighting every single instinct inside of me that wants to reach out and wrap my arms around him. I want to ask how he’s feeling. I want to tell him how sorry I am for his loss and kiss away the pain that I know simmers just below the surface, but I can't.

When I open my bedroom door to walk out, he’s standing right there. His sad eyes are cast down, but when I step out, he looks up. I see a thought cross his mind, and his head shakes slightly before he gives in and pulls me against his chest. Every muscle in my body relaxes in his embrace. This is where I want to be, in his arms forever, but it's not possible. I tense, and the defeated sigh that escapes his lips kills a little more of me.

“Just a second, please, Sky. Let me hold you for just a second, baby.”

I can't deny the torment I feel reflected in his voice. Leaning my head against his chest, I let him hold me. I tell myself I deserve this moment. It's probably the last time I'll ever be held by him, and I plan to soak in every single second of this. It doesn’t last long, and then he leads me over to the couch, where we sit next to each other.

I’m trying my best to not burst into tears as I run down the list of questions. Thank God I had the foresight to record the conversation. Otherwise, I'd never be able to remember his answers and my notes wouldn’t be any help. Chicken scratch looks better than this shit. I’m struggling to think of more questions, anything to keep him here for just a few more minutes. I’m not stupid. I know the minute we are finished, he’ll walk through the door and out of my life forever.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask, standing and walking into the kitchen. He follows closely behind me. My handbag is sitting on the counter next to my heels from last night. I wonder for a minute how they got there, but then I remember. I must have left them in his car, and he brought them up when he came this morning.

“Sure. Water is fine.”

I grab two bottles from the fridge and pass one to him. He takes it from me, running his fingers along my hand as he does. Chills travel up my arm, making me shiver. I don’t pull away. He sets his water on the counter next to my purse and tugs on my hand. I go willingly, my heart leading the way. He’s half-sitting, half-leaning on the barstool, legs spread wide. Never letting go of my right hand, he uses his other to softly run his fingers down the side of my face.

My eyes close and I stand there, unable to move, to breathe. Warm, soft lips touch mine, tentatively at first. I sigh at the pure pleasure his mouth against mine releases in me. He increases the pressure, and I part my lips, giving him open access. He releases my hand and lets it travel around to the back of his neck. I tug gently on the hair at the base of his neck, and he growls low in his throat. I’ve never heard anything so sexy in all my life.

Our kisses become heated, and in a matter of seconds, I’m tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor by my feet. He lifts me effortlessly and carries me straight to my bedroom. I don’t care that this is the worst thing I could be doing right now. The logical part of my mind knows he’s just hurting and needs an out for the pain, but the part of me that feels instead of thinks says,
Who fucking cares?

He wants me.

Me.

I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down on top of me. I refuse to let him go this time.