Page 56 of The Comeback Pact

Taking a step back, he gives me even more space, and I have to carefully school my features so I don’t self-combust here on the spot.

I don’t think this man knows what he’s capable of.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

West

I runa hand down my face, peeking at her out of the corner of my eye. Talking is usually difficult for me. No guy likes to open up. At least, that’s what I used to think.

I’d been battling the rising fear inside me. What I imagined when I was outside Kenna’s apartment doesn’t happen, though. She doesn’t run. She doesn’t tell me I’m not worth it.

She actually listens. She goes from hugging her legs to herself to stretching out over her bed, her head propped up in her hands. I lie next to her, acutely aware that I take up most of the single bed. The proximity makes it easier. Outside, the stars can easily be seen through the blanket of darkness, like light at the end of a tunnel, and in Kenna’s bedroom, I feel the same. Like she’s my light.

“Sorry,” I say, hiding my face.

She lifts her hand to grab my own, pulling it away. “Don’t be.”

She doesn’t let it go, holding on to it between us on the bed, her fingers pressing into mine. A ghost of a smile appears on her lips.

“I think your past… Don’t get me wrong, it’s awful,” she says, peering up at me. “But it’s given you a hell of a lot of reasons to be who you are now. I know I don’t know everything about stupid football.” She rolls her eyes for good measure, and I grin. “But I do know you’re going places. West—” She shakes her head, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and my heart breaks a little. “You’re like the perfect comeback story. Everything you just told me about how you grew up, and everyone says you’re a shoo in for the NFL. Holy shit.”

My stomach squeezes. I still have a long way to get to the NFL, but it’s been my goal. I’ve already been scouted, but nothing is certain. Life is funny. I could get injured. I could—

“Woah,” she says, pinching my fingers. “You just went someplace bad.”

I take a deep breath. “What if I don’t do it? What if—”

She blinks. “West, that’s crazy talk. I only hear things from around campus, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard your name and the NFL in the same sentence since we were freshmen. Couldn’t you have gone into the draft last year? And this is me not knowing anything. What if I were to Google you right now?”

My heart leaps in my chest. “Don’t. Please.”

She bites her lip, giving me a sultry, playful gaze. “Oh, I’m doing it now.”

Pulling just enough away to reach onto her desk to grab her phone, she returns with a sly smile. She taps away on the screen, then uses her thumb to scroll. I wish I could say I hadn’t Googled myself before but that would be an outright lie.

“Ha,” she says, as if she’s just found a missing clue. “Let’s see, Sports Illustrated has ranked you the number one player that could’ve gone to the draft last year but didn’t.” She peers up at me, expression guarded. “Why didn’t you go into the draft?”

I shrug, stomach clenching. “I wanted a degree.”

“That’s it?”

My mind swirls. “Yeah.”

She watches me a little longer before she focuses back on the screen. “Let’s see, draft prospect rankings: number three.” Her eyes pop out of her head. “West, number three?”

“Those rankings change all the time.” Actually, I’m a little chuffed. I was four before the game earlier. Not that I look…a lot. I look a normal amount.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re too cool to hang out with me.”

She’s joking, but it lands like a lead weight inside me. “None of that stuff means anything.”

“Are you kidding? It means everything. West, you’re going to do it. You’re going to show your dad and your mom, and—”

I lean over, pressing my lips to hers. From the decision to the moment our lips touch was merely a second, but it was still too long. She’s surprised at first, stilling, but I keep my lips on hers, cupping her cheek in my hand. No one that mattered has ever believed in me, and I’m filled with the need to show her what that means.

She’s like a delicate fine art painting, and the things I want to do to her are rough and uncultured.

I’m at war with myself. The need to have her is pulsing through me. My hands start to shake with the effort to hold back when she groans.

---