Page 8 of The Pass Protection
“She better not get us a noise complaint,” he mutters, pushing his way into the apartment.
I follow behind him and add, “It’s mid-morning, Grandpa. I think she’ll be fine.”
Tyler Harris is one of my closest friends here at CTU. And while I value his leadership on the field, sometimes he forgets that he’s a college-aged student with his constant need to parent us.
Last year, Quinton, our running back who was drafted into the NFL, took me under his wing and helped morph me into the friend group. Harris and I are in the same year, and while he’s the starting quarterback, I was on rotation with the other tight ends. His leadership on and off the field has really helped me improve and take the game more seriously.
And since we are roommates this year, I’m hoping my never-too-serious personality rubs off on him so he can have some fun. The dude needs to relax. He lives a high-pressure life between being a quarterback and a kinesiology major.
If we thought the boxes outside the door were terrible, it’s even worse on the inside. Cage the Elephant is blaring from a Bluetooth speaker, the patio door stands wide open, half-open boxes scatter around, and Bret is nowhere to be seen. Tyler doesn’t let her lack of appearance detour him. He marches straight to her bedroom door, which is cracked open.
I’m right on his heels as he barges into her room. She’s lying on a makeshift bed of blankets on her floor in what looks like a bird’s nest. Headphones are in her hair, and she appears to be on a FaceTime call.
Glancing to her left, she practically jumps out of her skin at the sight of a steaming Harris.
She screams, clutching her heart and nearly dropping her phone on her face. “Yeah, Liv, I’m fine. My roommate just scared the shit out of me.”
Bret tells whoever she’s talking to that she’ll call them back and hangs up, turning her glare toward us as she gets to her feet. “What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem is this entire apartment is full of your shit, and you’re sitting on your ass with all the doors open and music blaring,” Tyler shouts. Her body language shifts at his raised tone, and I instantly want to step in. It seems like anything that has to do with Bret Campbell has me wanting to step up and be a protector.
“They literally just dropped my shit off, and I was on the phone with my friend thanking her for getting everything organized and sent my way. But fuck it, maybe I’ll let it sit a little while longer.” Bret shrugs and goes to turn away, but Tyler’s following words have her freezing.
“Or maybe you should find another place to stay.” With a long sigh, Tyler pauses. “I-I don’t think this is going to work out.”
Fear streaks across her face. I see it, and so does Tyler. “Guys, c’mon. Let’s just take a deep breath. Everyone’s tired, everyone’s overwhelmed.”
“Sis?” Grant calls from behind us. We all turn to see him standing in our hallway, twirling his keys. He eyes the mess before him before rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a lot of stuff.”
A soft chuckle escapes, but I watch Bret’s facial expressions morph again. “Yeah, Liv is moving into the studio above the tattoo shop, so she sent me some stuff she no longer needs. Do you have room for some of the furniture? Or can you at least let me store some stuff in your spare bedroom until I can get it to Mom and Dad’s?”
Grant looks around the space again. “Or you can just move in with me?”
“Grant,” Bret groans as she places her hands on her slender hips.
With a frustrated sigh, he runs his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I’ll store some of your shit, but you can’t keep it there for long.”
Bret’s shoulders relax as I speak up. “All right, roomie, now that that is settled. Make us your bitches and tell us which boxes to haul to his truck.”
Tyler groans, but the small smile that curls the end of Bret’s luscious lips makes the additional workout worth it.
It’s officially been forty-eight hours since Bret moved in. To say things in the apartment are tense is an understatement. JP has barely been home, but much of that is due to the shifts at the bar he’s been squeezing in between practices. Tyler is still worried about the fact that Coach’s daughter is living with us. And I’m trying to keep the peace.
Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t had Coach call us out on living with his daughter. There’s no way he wouldn’t have a conversation with us if he knew where she was living. Hell, maybe she fed him a line about where she was staying. Bret’s clearly hiding something. What’s one more thing? For the past day, I haven’t seen her leave her room. Grant took all the extra furniture and boxes she didn’t need, and since then, Bret has been avoiding everyone.
This morning, I passed her on the steps as I was coming home from practice, and she was leaving in workout clothes with her basketball. I tried looking her up on social media to see if there’d be any clues on what she’s up to, but since being here, she’s deactivated everything except her Facebook page. Her last post was a post she shared from the college basketball tournament.
Unable to take the tension any longer, I reach inside my pocket and pull out my cell phone.
Me: When will you be back?
JP: Heading home now.
Me: Cool. We are having a video game tourney.
JP: ??
Closing out of my messaging app, I pull up the Cousin Jimmy app and order two Jimmy specials and an additional large pizza. I have no idea what kind of pizza Bret likes, but she doesn’t seem like a weirdo who would put pineapple on pizza or anything.
