Page 105 of A Wreck, You Make Me
And I know it’s because of him, isn’t it? It’s because the situation is bad between them.
I can’t watch this. I can’t watch him stand there all alone any longer. I don’t know what my intention is when I excuse myself from the table and get up. Maybe to go get some fresh air or something. So I can think of a solution. Somehow to give him what he wants and also to protect Snow. And my new family.
I keep my eyes on him though, and I can tell that he’s gone alert. I walk through the tables and the crowd of people mingling and servers going up and down with their heavy trays. I have a purpose in my steps, a determination, a destination. And when I come upon a group of tux-wearing guys huddled together in the middle of my winding path, preventing me from passing through, I know it’s him. I know I was going to him to tell him that I was his.
Before I can ask them to move, they turn toward me, and I realize they’re all his teammates. So maybe I should be less impatient with them and more polite. I’m afraid to say that even though I’ve watched all his games, multiple times, I don’t really remember their names except what position they play.
“Hey,” one of them with dark hair and brown eyes, the goalkeeper, says.
I smile politely. “Hi.”
“You’re Jupiter, right?” the second one with blond hair and a really tall body with a slight European accent, one of the defenders, says.
“Yes,” I confirm, smiling at him too.
“The new sister.” This comes from the third guy in the group. A Black guy who I think is called Isaiah, but I could be wrong.
I flinch even though I know he hasn’t said it in a bad way. It’s just that too many complicated feelings are tangled up in the word ‘sister.’ On the surface, I manage to keep my cool though and smile, about to say something, but Isiah isn’t done. “Tell me why our captain always gets so riled up even at the slightest mention of you.”
“What?”
Before Isaiah can explain, the goalkeeper guy speaks. “He gets riled up becauseyoutry to rile him up.”
He throws his hands up. “What, that’s bullshit right there. I can’t even ask how his new little sister’s doing?”
“Not when the man is ready to throw punches.”
He points his finger at the goalkeeper. “Hey, this is a family. We treat each other like family. All I’m doing is asking about his own and…”
I tune them out. I know their ribbing is good-natured and friendly. There’s no malice in it, but my heart clenches. He obviously never talks about his practice, but I didn’t know he was going through an additional stressor like that. I look away from them and watch him make his way over to me. In fact, he’s only a few paces away, and thank God I saw that because he looks like he’s on a mission. To beat someone up. Quite possibly Isiah, because of the way Shepard’s eyes are glued to him.
I excuse myself then. I may have even pushed Isaiah out of the way, but I don’t care. All I care about is him and intercepting him before he gets here. So I practically run in my favorite heelsand make it to him in time. I put my hand on his abs and stop him only a few short steps away from the group.
“Shepard, let’s go,” I tell him, looking up at his hard face. His eyes are locked on the group over my shoulders though, not budging. So I try again. “Shepard, come on. Let’s go. We have to go.”
There’s a pulse in his jaw and he’s still staring his teammates down when I hear Isaiah say, “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean no disrespect. To you or to your sister.”
Even though his apology sounds genuine with no snark in his tone, Shepard doesn’t like that. At all. Because he inches forward a step and I can feel the growl vibrating his chest as he says, “She’s not my fucking sister.”
At this, I push at him. I have to, because not only does he need to get away to cool down, but also because people have started to notice the tension. I can see them turn around in their chairs, looking at the captain of the team, facing off with his teammates. The only consolation is that there’s no media allowed at the event because of all the relentless and bad publicity for the last few months. Not only do I push him back but also say, fisting his shirt, “Please, Shepard. For me. Let’s go. Now.”
I said the same words to him the night he showed at the club for revenge and stopped. This time too, he hears me. His chest jerks with a sharp breath and his fists clench at his sides. As if he’s putting the brakes on whatever is going on inside of him. Then with a large breath that swells his chest up and down, he finally looks down at me. His stare is dark and thick with violence, but again, I don’t care. I’m not afraid of him. In fact, I push him again and when he gives in easily and backs up a step, I let go of his shirt to grab his hand, and then I’m pulling him away from his teammates. I’m pulling him away from the crowd andthe ballroom. I’m taking the same hallway, the same path I took that night months and months ago, and I take him to the exit.
We come out into the crisp but starry night, and as soon as we do, I lose all control. Because he’s in charge now. He pulls at my hand and stops me in my tracks. He pulls me back, and as I go crashing into his hard body, he spins me around and puts me up against the wall.
As soon as he situates me though, I grab hold of him. I grab the lapels of his jacket and even go so far as to widen my thighs so he can settle between them and wrap my leg around his waist. He’s not going anywhere. I won’t let him make a bad situation even worse. Plus, I have something to say to him.
He frames my face with both his hands and growls, “Were they bothering you?”
I pull at his jacket. “No, they were not bothering me, Shepard.”
His chest moves with his shallow breaths, pushing into mine. “They looked like they were bothering you.”
I squeeze my thigh around his waist, pulling him even closer to me. “No, they were not.”
“I—”
“No, stop,” I tell him, my voice stern, my heart aching and aching for him. “You have to stop. You have to stop losing your shit and acting crazy every time a guy comes near me.”
