Page 36 of Crossed Up

I’m sure Aidan can handle himself, but Sebastian is a nightmare and I can’t let Aid be romantically linked to me unless I can guarantee that he and Crew will be safe.

Several texts arrived this morning while Aidan was in the shower. I think he could tell something was up when he came back in the room and I freaked out and almost tossed my phone. All the texts came from different numbers, each scarier than the last.

Unknown

It’s cute that you thought running would save you, little bunny. If you think I’ll let some other man touch what’s mine, you’re in for a rude awakening.

Unknown

I can’t wait to see my marks on your creamy white throat again, Lyla. Diamonds don’t hold a candle when you’ve got a necklace of bruises in the shape of my hand.

I’ll be seeing you soon, future wife.

Shudders wrack my body as I once again block the numbers, but this time, I save screenshots of the messages just in case.

The fear that would have sent me spiraling only a few weeks ago is at a manageable level even after reading the texts, and I can’t help but think it’s partially because of the family I’ve found here in Charleston. Or the strength I feel every day from Aidan.

Honestly, I should have said no to this whole weekend trial he suggested in the first place, but clearly, I’m a weak woman when it comes to pretty blond men because one smile had me brushing aside every reason there was to say no. Okay, that’s not entirely fair. I wasn’t weak for Sebastian. I was naive and afraid of disappointing my father.

My stomach churns with guilt thinking about my dad. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in nearly a year, and the more time passes, the worse I feel.

When I left Maryland, I wasn’t just running from Sebastian. I was running from my life as Lyla Kingsley. Growing up and only being known as Colin Kingsley’s talentless daughter was incredibly isolating, and he never once seemed to notice or care.

South Carolina was my chance to start over and be known as Lyla Taylor and nothing more, but I can’t help but wonder if I should reach out to my dad. Does he even care that I’m gone? Or will he be angry I messed up his business deal with Sebastian Senior?

I pull out my phone, discreetly making sure I’m still alone in the friends and family box before unlocking it. I’m pleasantly surprised to see I don’t have any new messages, either.

Taking advantage of the first moment alone I’ve had all weekend before the box fills up for this afternoon’s game, I make sure my number is blocked before quickly dialing my father’s personal line. Anticipation makes my hands shake so hard I have to try multiple times to get the number right.

My heart is in my throat, but as each ring passes with no answer, sadness begins to eclipse any hope I had of hearing his voice. When a robotic voice picks up letting me know his voicemail box is full, my eyes burn with tears. I know he likely ignored it because I blocked my number, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“What’s up, Ly-bear!” Wren’s hand on my shoulder startles me so bad I nearly fall off the high stool I’d taken up for my failed attempt at reconciliation. I look up in time to see alarm flash in her bright blue eyes as she grips my wrist to pull me upright. “Woah there, killer. You okay?”

The innocent nickname is the last straw on the camel’s proverbial back, and I lose it, a harsh sob breaking free. My panicked best friend pulls me into the private bathroom and flips the lock before whirling around to sweep me into a tight hug. Her sweet apple and honey perfume tickles my nose where it’s pressed into her collarbone.

“Lyla, I need you to breathe, babe. If you pass out on this disgusting floor, I’ll be forced to spray you with bleach before I let you in the rental car.”

Her ridiculous threat has a choked laugh escaping me between sobs, but with a little effort, I do manage to pull in a full breath. It’s only after I do that I realize my vision is spotty, and I’m lightheaded. A hard knock on the door sends a choked squeak from my aching throat.

“Wren? Lyla? You guys in there?” Copeland’s deep voice has both relief and anxiety flowing through my tense frame, and I sag back against the concrete counter.

Wren’s worried gaze tracks the movement but with my nod of assent, she lets him in the small bathroom. Copeland Hawthorne cuts an intimidating figure.

At maybe an inch taller than Aidan, Copeland towers over me, and every inch of his visible skin is covered in colorful tattoos from his fingertips to the top of his neck. Toss in the piercings in his ears, eyebrow, and apparently, his tongue, and he looks like someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

In other words, he’s kind of scary.

Everyone has assured me he’s really a giant marshmallow underneath his rough exterior, but I don’t know him well enough to tell one way or the other. I think if Wren weren’t here, I’d be on the verge of running out the door.

As soon as the door slams shut behind him, Copeland’s eyes lock on mine. I cringe knowing how red and puffy I probably am from crying so hard.

“What the fuck happened?” he demands gruffly.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be warming up?” Wren scolds him.

He shrugs, holding his palms up. “I came to find you. Rhodes wouldn’t shut the hell up about his pre-game kiss. But don’t change the subject. Why is Lyla crying?” He turns to me. “Did something happen?”

Wren already gave him Sebastian’s name and some of the basics, so I decide to come clean about everything. The sooner this is taken care of, the sooner I can beg Aidan for a second chance after shutting him down yesterday. Heaving a breath, I hold up a finger so I can step into one of the two stalls and grab some toilet paper to blow my nose.

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