Page 18 of Cross the Line
I nod, even though his remark leaves me perplexed. I’m so confused by what’s happening. It’s like I missed a whole fucking chapter in our story.
“I promised you I would remind you of what I told you last night, but I can’t do that before I explain those photos to you.” His fingers trail from my jaw, and the ghost of the touch skims down my spine. “I need you to have a clear head for that, because I won’t have that conversation with you ever again.”
He drops his gaze, like contact is suddenly too much. The vulnerability that’s been naked on him since I woke tightens, sharp enough to make me queasy.
“Shower, freshen up, and then we’ll talk. Okay?” He snags his brush and a hair tie and slips out.
The urge to go after him is a physical ache. The dread of what’s coming grows by the second as I force myself to do as he instructed.
Steam fogs the room instantly when I flip the shower on. When I test it with my hand, I pull back with a hiss.
“Fuck.” How does he do it? How can he shower like this?
As soon as the water cools, I make quick work of rinsing myself. Pausing only when I reach for my body wash and realize that the cap is already flipped open.
A smile forces itself onto my lips when I study Eli’s toiletries. His body wash is closed and partly hidden behind his shampoo. It hits me in a dumb, aching way—he used mine.
I finish sudsing my hair and body, giving the soap a few minutes to neutralize the stale smell of liquor that has lingered in my pores while I scrub my face with Eli’s minty face wash and then grab my toothbrush so that I can wrap up quickly.
By the time I towel off, the headache has dulled, and my stomach is staying. The weight on my sternum hasn’t moved an inch.
The room is still dark when I leave the bathroom. Eli’s sitting at the small dining table in the far right corner of the room.
Breathing in the subtle hint of coffee tinging the air, I find my suitcase on the bed, packed exactly how I do it. I pull on navy chinos and my Comets polo and dress right there. Eli’s seen me naked enough times that, at this point, it doesn’t matter, and I don’t want to be out of his sight a second longer.
“I know you probably don’t have an appetite, but you didn’t eat after the game, and you’ve been sick…” Eli stands, pulls my chair out. His hands shake as he lifts a cloche and reveals toast. “There’s coffee, too. I asked them to brew it the way you like.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I rasp, sitting.
Eli points out warm milk like we’re defusing a bomb. “There’s orange juice with no pulp, and?—”
“Eli.” I catch his hand before he can list the cereal like a menu. “Relax, please.”
He nods, but stays on his feet, gripping the chair back until his knuckles blanch. The fear in his eyes is a blade, and shame sits behind it like a shadow.
It’s how I know what’s coming is bad.
“JJ,” he whispers with a quiver as the whites of his eyes tinge pink. “What I’m about to tell you…”
Eli shakes his head, like the words won’t pass his teeth, and cold moves into my bones.
“Just spit it out.” My voice frays at the lonesome tear that slips down his cheek.
Fuck, I’m not ready for this. The way he’s acting is more like a breakup than clearing up a misunderstanding or explaining a mistake.
My heart is ramming into my ribs so hard that all my breaths are bruised out before they’ve reached my lungs.
“Promise me you won’t look at me differently after this,” he says, leaning on the chair so hard it tips. “Please.”
“Okay.” I don’t know what he’s about to tell me, but I know there’s nothing in this world that could alter the way I see him. The way I love him. Even if it gutted me to the ends of my soul. “I promise.”
“Those photos were taken seven years ago,” he says, reaching for his iPad.
Eli swipes and sets it in front of me. The worst shot—Ryker’s mouth on his—glares up at me.
When I look up, Eli’s disgusted sadness greets me.
“I didn’t know they existed until yesterday. I keep going over that night in my head and trying to remember if the other guys had their phones out, but everything blurs.”
