Page 94 of Too Safe

She was poise and grace. She knew just what to do, what to say, how to act.

She’s been my rock for hours. Calm and steady. Comforting and kind.

Fuck.

She had the opportunity to make a clean break, and she’s smart enough to know it. But she didn’t run.

My prognosis is good. There was nothing of note on the CT scan. Tylenol, good nutrition and hydration, and rest are all I need.

Since I used an alias and didn’t expound on the details of my injury, there was no mention of returning to practice. That’ll be on me.

I have every intention of disclosing my health status to my coach. But only to my coach. Face to face. In the privacy of his office. And we’ll go from there.

It’s unconventional, but it’s necessary, given the circumstances.

There are very few people in this world I can trust. Try as he might to keep things locked down, Kylian still hasn’t been able to ensure our texts and emails are completely encrypted. More than once, information from a private conversation has been leaked to the media. Hell, pictures of the X-rays of my ankle found their way online when I was twelve.Twelve.

I stopped reacting to it years ago. After Mom, there’s no fucking point. I’m not human in their eyes. There’s no decency or concern for football protégés. Most people assume my life is charmed and easy, that I owe my fans and the general public their due. They have no problem taking their payment in private moments and personal information.

This week is a bye week—one of two this season—so although the situation is shitty, the timing couldn’t be better.

I’m grateful for it. Almost as grateful as I am for her.

I peer over at where she’s perched in the driver’s seat, letting myself drink her in. Her beauty hit me full force the moment we met in the parking lot, but I haven’t allowed myself the privilege of really seeing her until now.

Her hair is a warm halo of brown and cinnamon, loose down her back. She’s still dolled up from the game, impossibly long lashes framing her gorgeous blue eyes, and her nails are a different color today: Crusaders red. I’m almost certain her custom Walsh jersey is under the hoodie I let her borrow.

Can’t say it doesn’t irk me every time I see my best friend’s name across her back. But tonight, she’s wearing something of mine, too. Something she asked for. A hoodie she’s practically drowning in because it’s so big.

My focus shifts to her legs, where her shorts are hidden by the hem of my sweatshirt. Those little white shorts make me feral. Every time I look over at the bench during a game, I’m distracted. In a sea of players, coaches, interns, trainers, and Kylian, there’s Josephine. Long, tan legs crossed in front of her. Eyes set on the field, or sometimes on Kylian, as she takes it all in.

She must feel my eyes on her now, because she peeks over with a small smile that quickly morphs into concern.

“You okay? Do you need me to stop?” she offers.

Despite the pain that intensifies with every movement, I shake my head. I just want to get home. Get in my bed. Get her back to the mansion. Feel the sense of calm and ease that only comes when I know everyone I care about is warm, safe, and happy under my roof.

“Thank you,” I grit out, clearing my throat when the words come out gravelly.

I close my eyes as the headlights of a semitruck going the opposite direction light up the night.

“For everything,” I continue when the truck has passed. “For being cool about this. For helping me. For treating me with far more decency and respect than what I’ve shown you.”

Her sharp intake of breath gives me pause.

She glances my way again, then quickly refocuses on the road. I didn’t plan to recite a grand speech or make a big deal out of this, but now that I’ve started down this path, I need her to know just how much this means to me.

“Josephine, I—”

“Don’t. Not tonight, Cap.” She taps the brakes, slowing the SUV slightly. “Whatever you want to say, it’ll keep. We’re less than an hour from home. Just sit back and relax. You need rest.”

Frustrated, I recline my seat even farther and blow out a big breath. I don’t understand her dismissal. I don’t understand a lot of things about this girl.

It’s not worth arguing with her. Not tonight.

My thoughts are a jumbled mess anyway. I’m certain of how I feel—certain of what I want and what feels inevitable between us—but I don’t know how to explain it. It’s better she shut me down. She’d probably misconstrue my words as a side effect of the concussion.

Things have changed. I need her to believe me when I tell her my truth.

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