Page 107 of The Pass Protection
Tapping the phone against my chin, I ponder his thoughts. Giving Grant space seems like the best option. However, I have to deal with him every day, and we leave for the conference championship game tomorrow. I want to win Saturday, and I don’t want the animosity I caused seeping onto the field. This is what Bret’s biggest fear was with our relationship, and it’s come to full fruition.
Commotion from the living room snaps me from where I’m lost in my head. Raised voices and shouts have my feet hitting the ground as the terror that Bret’s ex has stumbled upon our apartment. Ripping open the door hard enough to feel like I pulled from the hinges, I face a heated Grant.
His attention turns from Bret to where I’m standing. I barely have time to recognize the anger—and hurt—in his eyes before he storms toward me. His steps are quick, like a bull chasing a matador’s waving red flag. Refusing to back down, I wait for the verbal lashing. Only the verbal spars never come. Grant’s fist flies through the air, slamminginto my jaw like a freight train. My head snaps back at the jarring, unexpected hit as I stumble backward. Pain erupts across my face.
Gasps fly from Bret’s mouth as curses come from Harris and JP from where they’re standing a few feet away. Their sounds barely register as the shock causes my brain to delay for a few seconds. The bitter and metallic taste hits my taste buds as blood coats my tongue from running over the spot where he cracked open on my lip.
Wiping the blood off my lip with the back of my hand, I stare at the man in front of me, stunned. My teammate. My friend. My brother.
Grant’s chest heaves as his fists remain clenched at his sides. His eyes stare back at me, and it’s then that I see more than anger. This punch wasn’t intended to hurt me. It was the final display of how he felt. Betrayed.
Everything my brother said was right. Since I’ve known him, Grant has done nothing but try to protect his sister. He’s lost sleep worrying about her, missing her, and wanting to watch over her, hating that she was hundreds of miles away. He warned us, wanting her off limits to his teammates who have only shown him our fuckboy ways time and time again. Even if I wasn’t one of the guys who hooked up with every girl under the sun, I still laughed and joked around with the guys. I’m not saying I’ve been a saint by any means.
As crimson blood drips from my lip, I realize that I have to prove myself to him. I have to show him that Bret was never another notch on my bedpost. While she was supposed to be off limits, her heart called to mine, and she stole it from my chest.
On the field, my job has always been to provide the pass protection, but in loving her, my job is protecting her and keeping her safe. She’s the end for me.
Bret’s sliding in between the two of us, tears streaming down her face. The sight has my knees quaking. “Stop,” she pleads, but his eyes never leave mine. “Grant, please.”
The glare he sends would have a lesser man cowering in the corner, but I refuse to back down. I know he’s pissed, but I’m all in with her. “I love her, man.”
Grant’s body thrums as his fists clench again. He takes a step toward me, which causes Bret to place her hands on his chest. Harris comes between us, and JP moves behind Grant. “C’mon, man,” Harris says. “Go cool off. You need to get ice on your hand, or you won’t be worth shit Saturday.”
“Fuck the game,” Grant hisses. This entire season is imploding, and I can’t help but feel like the catalyst.
JP pushes Grant, encouraging him to move toward the door. “Enough. Harris is right. You need to chill the fuck out.”
Jerking his arm free, Grant casts one last look over his shoulder as he stares at Bret. With a disappointed head shake, he leaves our apartment. Bret breaks down, sobs ripping from her chest as I pull her into my arms. Tears soak through my shirt, and I feel her heartbreak.
Is this going to be the end of us?
Are we going to withstand this storm?
“Here.” Harris stands before me, holding an ice pack in his hand. “Put this on your face before you bruise.”
Taking the cold gel pack, I place it on my jaw and rub circles on Bret’s back. Her sniffles quiet as her red-rimmed eyes stare up at me. With tentative fingers, she traces the cut on my lip.
“I can’t believe he punched you.”
“You understand how much your brother cares about you.”
“Listen,” JP sympathetically says as he returns to the living room. “You need to fix this. I’m not going out like this.”
Queasiness covers Harris’s features as he nods in agreement. One thing Tyler doesn’t do well is conflict. He’s the peacekeeper, and I can tell he’s struggling with everything. I nod at JP, and he moves past us to his room.
Harris’s eyes scan over to where I’m consoling Bret, and I can feel the storm raging battle in his mind. With wide eyes, he gives me a look to confirm what JP had said.
“Let’s go to bed, Rebel.” She nods as I lead her to my room.
We both quietly strip out of our clothes as we climb into bed. Sliding under the covers, we lie skin-to-skin. No words are said as she curls against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, cocooning her to my body. Our thoughts swirl around the room as no words are spoken.
Why does it feel like we’ve taken five steps backward?
Ishouldn’t be here alone. A part of me knows that deep in my soul. It’s not safe, not when four days ago, I received a threatening text message promising that he’d find me.
Especially after the scathing letter Grant sent him, threatening to report him to the dean and campus police. Hopefully, with the threat, Chad will back off. The letter was only the first step in our plan. We hope it will buy us some time until we can gather all of the evidence. A friend of Grant’s is a pre-law major and is helping us formulate a plan. She gave us tips on what documentation authorities would need to proceed with legal actions.
We were able to comb through my phone storage and find enough damning evidence from text messages, voicemails, and photos of unwanted gifts Liv had sent whenever she found items on our front rug to present a case if need be. Grant is hoping the letter will be enough to have the small dick asswipe—his words, not mine—shaking in his boots.
