Page 8 of Drop Three

I run frantically through a list of all the possible people who would be awake and at my door this late.

Sifting through my thoughts does me no good; I can’t think of anyone, and it’s likely because it’s too late for my tired brain to think straight.

“Who is it?” I call out to the unknown visitor.

“It’s me.” I can’t pinpoint the voice, but it sounds familiar. It’s too far in the distance to place.

It sounds feminine, though.

I shake my head before opening the front door, only to come face-to-face with the prettiest emerald green eyes and wild red curls.

Navy.

Fuck. Has it been that long since I’ve seen her? I’ve worked like hell to avoid her the last two months, and to say I’ve tried and failed many times would be an understatement. Navy is the lead sideline reporter for the Strikers, making keeping my distance from her nearly impossible, as if her beauty can’t draw me to her on its own. She travels with and interviews the team—she’s everywhere.

I gape at her, confused by what would cause her to come here this late and knock onmy doorof all doors.

I know I’m probably her last resort, but I’ll take it if it means she needs me for something.

I need to make sure she’s okay. “Navy, is everything alright?”

She sends me a small smile, and I instantly notice a rush of tears in her eyes. Fuck. Something happened, and she’s definitely not okay.

The suitcases at her feet are a clear indication.

I don’t give her a chance to respond before I take her bags from beside her distraught form, place them inside the house, and pull her into my arms. Navy’s body instantly softens in my embrace, and my heart shatters at the sound of her choked sobs.

She’s hurting. Someone hurt her.

What the hell happened?

“Shhh. Come inside and let’s get you settled. You can stay here.”

I usher her quietly into the house before closing the door behind us. I can’t help myself. Navy has a magnetic pull that makes me unable to resist comforting her. I don’t fucking comfort anyone, nor do I welcome someone in my home as quickly as I did Navy.

I feel protective over this woman.

It should be alarming because she’s so far out of my league it’s pitiful—so far off-limits as well.

My hands gently touch her face as I search her eyes. “Navy, look at me. You’re sleeping here tonight, okay? You should have been here to begin with.”

I’m fighting the urge to ask her a million questions until she tells me everything. It’s either that or hug her and refuse to let her go.

She nods softly before raising her eyes to meet mine. “I know, I know, it’s just that he?—”

I cut her off before she can finish her sentence. I don’t have it in me tonight to rage like a fucking maniac at whatever she’s about to tell me. My concern right now is that she’s safe and can get some rest.

It looks like she could use it.

But she’s crazy if she thinks I’ll let this go.

“Don’t. It’s alright. You’re safe here. Let’s get you settled in Cal’s old room and we can talk in the morning. Talking is the last thing you need right now.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it’s evident how mentally and physically exhausted she is because she doesn’t put up a fight.

“Okay.”

Okay.I sigh in relief before guiding Navy to sit on the sectional sofa while I bring her suitcases upstairs. I gather as many extra blankets and pillows as possible to set her up to sleep comfortably. It’s November in Atlanta, and the temperatures get nearly freezing at night.

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