Page 16 of Broken Saint

My breath catches when a familiar house comes into view, and I sit back.

“Just here is great,” I tell the driver, forcing down any of my rising emotions so I can get the words out.

Sitting here, unable to move or do anything, I feel like a can of soda ready to blow. And I fear that it’s going to happen in just a few minutes’ time.

One look at Letty and…

Sucking in a deep breath, I pay the driver and finally climb out.

He’s as helpful as he was when he picked me up, staying in his seat and letting me drag my own bags from the trunk.

Feminism is great and all, but a sweet gentlemanly act can go a long way. Especially when one is hanging on to the very last thread of their sanity.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I whisper to myself as I stand at the end of the long driveway that leads to the house.

It’s set back, private. Perfect.

A shiver rips down my spine as a breeze rushes over my skin.

It’s a beautiful day here. The sky is clear, the sun shining. But while it might be warm, it’s not Texas warm.

Movement in one of the windows drags me from my pointless thoughts about the weather.

Despite the war of emotions raging inside me, something settles into place as I step up to Letty’s black and chrome front door and lift my hand to ring the bell.

My heart pounds, my hand trembles, and my knees are weak, as if I’m about to hit the deck. But I don’t, and I’m so freaking glad I manage to stay strong because not two seconds later do I hear screaming from inside the house. And not the bad kind. The barely-able-to-contain-your-excitement kind.

Three seconds later, the door before me is wrenched open and I’m dragged into an eager pair of arms.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she squeals. “You’re here. You’re here.”

She bounces before me, her excitement fully unleashed, and while it might be reciprocated in some way, it’s not enough to stem everything else and a loud, ugly sob erupts from my throat.

“Oh fuck. Shit. I got you. I got you,” she says a little quieter as she holds me tighter and drags me into the house, kicking the door shut behind us. “This is really bad timing, El,” she says, making my blood turn to ice. If she sends me away now, then?—

“The guys can’t go and kick his ass during the season. Why couldn’t he have fucked up a few months ago?”

A sad laugh erupts from my lips at the image of a group of massive NFL players standing on Chad’s doorstep and the look on his face when he realizes exactly why they’re there.

He knows who my friends are, but he never took any interest. He was a baseball fan. That alone probably should have been enough warning. No offense to baseball or their players or fans, but it’s just not my thing. I’m a football girl through and through. Watching a guy, no matter how hot, waving a stick around trying to hit a ball just doesn’t quite get my engine revving like a guy holding a football. Even now, in the middle of this clusterfuck, the thought of a dark-haired, muscular guy with a ball tucked under his arm…yum.

I shake my head. “I’m not letting any of them risk their careers for me.”

“There wouldn’t be any stopping them and you know it.”

Taking my luggage from me, she wheels it over polished tiles to the stairs, leaving it against the wall.

“Let,” I breathe, finally blinking my tears away enough to look around. “This place is incredible.”

She looks around at her recently finished home. “It’s perfect.”

Her smile lights up her face, causing jealousy to eat at my insides.

“It is,” I agree. I can picture the three of them here being the happy family I’ve seen in the photos she sends me regularly.

“The tour can wait. You need a drink like, yesterday, by the looks of you.”

Threading her arm through mine, she tugs me toward the back of the house.

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