I shoot up into a sitting position. “Out!” I bellow. “Get the fuck out!”
“What the hell’s going on?” I hear a male voice and instantly know it’s Craig Danbury, the team’s manager.
“Oh, my God,” he swears under his breath, probably taking in the sight of my drunken disarray.
I don’t look up from my hands, but I see his shoes near the door.
“What the hell is wrong with him?”
“I don’t know,” Pasha says. “And I don’t know if he’s going to be okay tomorrow.”
I press my head between both hands, unable to concentrate on anything except her. She didn’t wait for me. Why didn’t she wait?
Anger charges through my body, and I want a fight. I want to hit someone.
“He better be okay,” Craig snaps. “I don’t care what you have to do. Get him a girl or a pill . . . just get him back to one hundred percent by morning.”
I hear him leave, and I shake my head. I’m losing control, and I hate this feeling. I never wanted to feel this again.
Pasha’s hands land on my forearms as she kneels in front of me.
“Jared,” she pleads, “tell me what the hell happened.”
I close my eyes, feeling like my body is swaying. “I lost Tate,” I whisper, my eyes burning.
“Who’s Tate?” she questions. “Is he a friend of yours?”
I let out a bitter laugh, kind of liking the sound of that. I wish our new neighbors ten years ago had had a boy instead of a girl. I wish Tate was a guy I’d gone to school with instead of the girl I liked, bullied, and then fell in love with.
I wish my world had never revolved around her. Maybe we both would’ve been happier.
“Drink this,” Pasha orders, handing me a bottle of water.
I grab it lazily and unscrew the cap, downing the bottle. When I finish, she pushes another one at me.
I shake my head. “Enough. Just leave me alone.”
“No,” she pushes. “You have a race tomorrow. A responsibility to me and your team. Drink this and then go get in the shower, while I go rustle up some aspirin and food. We need to get the alcohol out of you.”
She leaves, and I suck in air, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach that I know aren’t from the liquor. Gulping down the second bottle of water, I rise on shaky legs and tear off my jeans and boxers as I make my way to the bathroom.
I don’t want a life without Tate. I don’t want anything without her.
Stepping into the shower, I stumble as I turn on the water. I jerk when the heat hits my body, and even though I should be under a cold spray to sober me up, the hot rush eases my nerves.
I drop my head forward, letting the cascade run down my neck and back, and I suddenly feel the first drop of peace I’ve felt all night.
Tate’s been everything to me for so long, and somehow I thought she always would be. I never doubted it.
In fact, I’d gone to great lengths to stay in her life, be it for good or bad.
And that’s when I realize it. I had given her too much power over me.
My first instinct tonight when I saw her with another man was to hit someone, yell at her, confront them both, but something inside held me back.
I’d always crowded her, pushed her and fought with her, and I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I left in the first place so I could grow up.
I hear the bathroom door shut, and I pull back the curtain just an inch to see a young woman leaning against it.
She watches me, and I smooth my hair over the top of my head, trying to place her. She looks vaguely familiar.
“Who are you?” I ask, thinking she might be a groupie or someone’s assistant, but I hadn’t paid any attention to other women in a long time, so I wasn’t sure.
Her big brown eyes look shy. “Pasha thought you might need a backrub,” she replies, her voice sounding so innocent.
I narrow my eyes and watch as she slowly starts to take off her clothes, holding my gaze the whole time, as her meaning becomes clear.
I still, slowly releasing the air in my lungs.
Her light brown hair falls over her shoulder, and my heart rate picks up as piece by piece, everything comes off and she stands naked in front of me.
I whisper under my breath, willing myself to tell her to go.
Just tell her to go.
She’s quiet, but I catch the hint of playfulness in her eyes as she cocks her head at me, waiting for an invitation.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently, everything in her look telling me she knows I won’t.
I let my eyes trail down her body, and I can almost feel how warm she would be if I touched her.
How nice it would be to have someone in my bed.
I want her to leave, but I don’t want to be alone.
Tate’s smiles float through my mind, and I steel my jaw as the girl approaches, her presence making the hair on my arms stand up.
She looks up at me with a small smile, and I start to grow hard as I think about her open for me on the bed. I can close my eyes and go at her, get lost in the act and let go of my anger and pain and use her like I have so many other women, but . . .
But I never gain anything from it.
Tomorrow, I’ll hate myself and the cheap act, because nothing compares to fucking someone you love.
Needles prick the back of my throat, and I swallow the lump. “Yeah,” I rasp, looking down at her. “I want you to leave.”
Confusion and a hint of hurt flash through her eyes as she shifts her gaze, probably trying to make sense of why I don’t want her.