Hendrix: A Raleigh Raptor Novel Read online

  Who was I to risk his career?

  Who was I to risk his livelihood and take that away from him just for loving him?

  For loving somebody that I knew in the depths of my soul I couldn't hold onto anyway. So he may as well have his career.

  "Let's just call it," I said, marveling at the way I was able to be so calm and cold. When something was truly important to me, I could do just about anything. Always had been. And nothing was more important to me than Hendrix, he just didn’t need to know that.

  "Savannah," his voice was a shocked whisper. And I got to see another wave of disappointment flash in another pair of eyes.

  And I hated it.

  I hated the look I put there. But I knew it was necessary, and I knew he would be better off in the end. So I just tipped my chin in the air, and shrugged again.

  "It's over, Hendrix," I said. "It was fun, but it's not worth your career."

  I turned on my heels as fast as I could, knowing if I stood in that locker room and looked at him for one more second, I would break and betray the truth.

  Betray that he was everything to me. That he’d become the partner I'd always wanted in life, and that the unfairness of my father's rules had been the culprit to rip us apart.

  But I would do it. I would shred myself to bits if it meant keeping Hendrix and his spot on the team. If it meant he continued to play the game he loved and for the money he needed.

  "You're serious?" Hendrix asked just as I'd reached the door.

  "Absolutely," I said, barely holding back tears as I pushed through the locker room door and let it slam home behind me.

  I all but sprinted out of the arena and to my car. Broke speed limits to get home. I barely made it through the door before I yanked out my phone and dialed London. Crying and spilling my guts to her over in a near incoherent tone.

  She listened with silent understanding and cried with me as she let me spill my buckets over the phone. As I sank to the floor of my living room and felt my heart slice into pieces.

  And I’d been the one holding the knife.

  "Tell me I did the right thing," I sobbed into the phone after I'd told her the entire story. "Tell me I didn't just make the biggest mistake of my life."

  London remained quiet for so long I almost thought the line went dead. But then she sucked in a sharp breath. "You're making the only choice you feel you can, Savannah," she said sweetly. "Your father put you in an impossible position. And you're being incredibly selfless. I've never seen you be so protective over a person who wasn’t me."

  I choked out a dark laugh, nodding even though she couldn't see me. I was only wildly protective of the people I loved. Cherish. Those in my tight knit circle. The ones I trusted who were my true friends, not those who just wanted me for my name.

  Hendrix had so quickly become one of those people. Shooting straight to the top of my priority list. Because he was the fire that lit up my soul. The thunder that made my heart skip.

  And I had just burned him to ash because of one dumb rule.

  Spending two days and two nights crying certainly hadn't done anything for my first-day-of-work appearance. But I’d done my best to hide the dark circles under my eyes with a little bit of concealer.

  I did everything I could to hold my head up high as I walked back into the arena. Today would simply be an orientation day with Weston, but I was ready to be distracted by anything that wasn't wallowing in my apartment in misery. A misery I'd created and built and sharpened all on my own.

  I stopped short when I heard a familiar voice coming around the hallway, and I nearly stamped my foot. I’d known there was a chance I could run into Hendrix, but I hadn’t realized it’d be so fucking quickly. Another voice joined him, and I froze. Froze as Weston came around the corner with Hendrix, who carried a giant box with him.

  A box of mementos from his personal locker.

  The pair of them stopped short at the sight of me standing there looking like a zombie most likely—a confused one at that. My eyes darted from the box back up to Hendrix’s face. He looked more ragged than I'd ever seen him in my life.

  But his eyes? They were locked on me, and there was such rage dripping from them that I flinched.

  "What's going on?" I asked, my voice hoarse from crying so much.

  Weston straightened his immaculate suit, his eyes darting awkwardly between us as he realized Hendrix wasn’t going to answer my question.

  "I felt the need to escort Hendrix out myself," he said. "A homage of sorts."

  I gaped at the two of them. "Out?"

  "Yes," Weston said, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Hendrix, who continued to stare at me with such betrayal and anger that I felt like I might burn from it. "He's been traded to South Carolina."

  I gaped at the two of them again. "What? That's not possible —"

  "Your father made sure it was," Weston said, a slight pity in his eyes.

  "But I broke up with you," I said, more in my own head as I tried to calculate my way out of this problem. "I broke up with you so he wouldn't trade you. I —"

  "I got traded anyway," Hendrix finally spoke, and the sound of his voice was both like ice and a breath of fresh air. "Isn't it easier this way?" he asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. He shifted that box in his arms, stopping next to me. "Use me and lose me, right? Just like everyone else."

  The words sank like daggers into the center of my chest. Weston pretended like he hadn’t heard as he followed Hendrix down the hallway. Until they were out of sight, out of the building, out of my life.

  Nothing.

  I’d torn us apart for nothing.

  I felt my entire world shatter around me, in the one place where I’d thought I’d finally found my home.

  17

  Hendrix

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Roman said as we watched my last two suitcases being loaded onto Weston’s private jet.

  My best friends looked as stunned as I felt. It had all happened so fast. If not for the stifling August heat reflecting off the tarmac, I would have thought this was all a dream. It was that surreal.

  In the span of twenty-four hours, I’d lost the respect of a man I admired, my relationship with the first woman I’d ever loved, and my spot on the Raptors.

  Out of all of that, the loss of Savannah hurt the worst. I wasn’t even sure this debilitating, crushing pain in my chest that made it hard to breathe could even be reasonably called hurt. It was more like…excruciating and terminal. I wasn’t sure how there was any real chance of long-term survival.

  “Did you talk to Coach?” Nixon asked, shoving his sunglasses up his nose.

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?” Roman damn near shouted, throwing his hands up before lacing his fingers behind his neck. “Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe he doesn’t realize—like the rest of us—” he stared me down, “—that you’re in love with Savannah.”

  “Not sure there’s much to misunderstand.” I folded my arms across my chest as Weston and Brynn chatted with the pilot. “His first rule was to not touch his daughter. I definitely touched his daughter.” There wasn’t an inch of her skin I hadn’t touched, kissed, or licked. And now she was gone…and I was no longer a Raptor.

  “Shit, this is all my fault,” Nixon snapped. “If I had stuck around after the game, I could have found you before the cake did.”

  I huffed a laugh. “Not everything is your fault, Nix. I knew the risk. This is on me.”

  “I just…” Roman shook his head. “I can’t reconcile myself with the idea that this is how this ends.” His brow furrowed.

  “It’s okay,” I shrugged and forced a smile. “It’s life. People get traded. Relationships end. I’m just not one of the guys who gets the white picket fence and the happily ever after. And let’s all be honest, it’s not like I deserve that, anyway. I never deserved her.” And yet it hadn’t stopped me.

  It hadn’t stopped her from trampling all over my heart, either.<
br />
  “Hendrix, are you ready?” Brynn asked, touching my elbow gently.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I offered her a smile, but she saw straight through it—I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t out me, though, just nodded and gave me a quick squeeze.

  “This is bullshit,” Roman hissed.

  “We should at least be the ones taking you,” Nixon grumbled.

  “You two are supposed to be on a plane in a few hours for the Cleveland game,” Weston lectured, cleaning the lenses of his sunglasses as he walked over. Had to give it to the guy—he somehow managed to look unfazed in a three-piece-suit and hundred-degree heat. “He’s in good hands.”

  “He’s our best friend,” Roman argued.

  “He’s my best friend,” Weston countered with a grin.

  Both Roman and Nixon looked at Weston like he’d lost his mind.

  “Since high school,” I agreed, coming to stand at Weston’s side. “We just kept it quiet so no one thought I didn’t earn my spot on the team.”

  Weston scoffed. “Anyone who’s seen you play knows you earned your own spot. We kept it quiet so people couldn’t use him to get to me. Sorry. I was the one who insisted. He would have told you, I promise.”

  “This week just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Roman muttered.

  “As long as you’re in good hands,” Nixon said slowly.

  They weren’t the hands I wanted, but it wasn’t like hers were an option, anyway.

  “He is,” Weston answered for me.

  “And don’t stress. I’ll be back up. I still have to sell my house.” That was the best I could do without falling apart.

  We said goodbye with the required back slaps, and I made it a point to get the hell out of there before I let my emotions get the best of me.

  We’d been in the air for ten minutes before Weston broke the silence.

  “I never should have given him management control,” he muttered, looking out the window.

  “It’s not his fault.” I leaned back in my chair and stared across the small table at him. Brynn was a few seats up, and the flight attendants had already delivered drinks, so we had relative privacy.

  “That day, when you asked about risk?” He turned his gaze on me, propping his chin on his fist. “You were talking about Savannah.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Was she worth it?”

  “That’s not a simple answer.” My chest tightened. “You said you never fuck someone you can’t live without, and that’s exactly what she became…someone I can’t live without, and now I have to. Somehow.” I let my head fall back against the rich leather of the seat. “But when I think about before—before I kissed her, before any of this started, I can’t imagine not knowing what it felt like to be with her. And I’m not just talking about sex.” I snapped my gaze to his.

  “I didn’t think you were,” he said softly, his focus drifting a few rows up for the span of a few heartbeats. “And now that you know how it’s ended?”

  I winced. The pain was too raw to be explored, too fresh to autopsy, and yet I knew the answer. “I wouldn’t take it back.”

  His eyebrows raised. “You’ve been traded away from your friends—including me, I might add—lost the woman you loved, and are moving to an entirely different state, and you still don’t regret it? The price wasn’t too steep?”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” I joked, forcing a smile.

  “I’m serious.” His expression tightened.

  “I am in love with a woman who doesn’t give a shit about me.” I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on the table. “A woman who willingly broke my heart over a fucking contract, and yet I wouldn’t change it. Wouldn’t give up one goddamned memory.”

  Two lines appeared between his eyebrows. “She said she broke up with you so you wouldn’t be traded. That has to mean something.”

  “Yeah, that she values my stats for her team more than she values our relationship.” I shook my head. “If we even had a relationship. Fuck. Maybe it was all about the sex for her. Maybe I read the whole thing wrong. But I sure as hell know that I wouldn’t let her go willingly. Not for anything. I would have fought to the death to keep her if she’d given me the chance, but she didn’t. She walked away without so much as a backward glance.” That was the real kicker. I was wallowing in misery while everything in her world was sunny-side up. “I was the one who fell in love. Not her.”

  Silence stretched between us as the miles passed in a blur of clouds.

  “Then I guess all we can do is move you forward.”

  I nodded, but my soul screamed that everything I wanted was behind me.

  Two hours later, I stood in the main office of the South Carolina Cougars as the scariest man I’d ever seen slid a contract across his massive desk. Gareth Maxfield was six-five, with an intense stare, tats that extended past the white cuffs of his Armani shirt, and wore a suit like a weapon. It was easy to see why the guy had rumors swirling about possible ties to the mob.

  He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Tarantino movie.

  “You regretting that whole let him keep managerial control move you made when you took over the Raptors?” he asked Weston with a slow drawl.

  “Is that your not-so-subtle way of saying I told you so?” Weston cocked his head to the side.

  A corner of Gareth’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “Hey, your loss is my gain. I’m just the lucky one getting him.”

  “I’d say so. Getting one of the best wide receivers in the NFL because I play poker with you once a month seems pretty damned lucky.” Weston leaned back in his chair.

  “What is this?” I asked, scanning over the contract. “I thought I already signed—”

  “Those are the regulations for my team. We run a tighter ship than the Raptors.” He shrugged. “Show up on time or you're fined. We drug test every week, and I don’t tolerate that shit. You put a hand on a woman, you’re off the team. That kind of thing. Read it over.”

  I scanned through and nodded. It was all stuff I did normally, anyways. I signed it, then slid it back across his desk. He grinned and offered his hand, then shook mine with a firm grip, respectful of the millions of dollars my hands were worth to him, but strong enough to let me know he was in charge.

  “You’ll like it here, Malone. We take care of each other, we win, and most importantly, I don’t have a daughter for you to fuck.” He lifted a black brow over a pale green eye.

  “Noted,” I quipped. It wasn’t exactly a secret why I’d been traded, and I had the feeling he was testing me.

  He studied me for a second, then let my hand go with a slow nod. “Good. Listen, unlike the Raptors, I don’t give a shit who you fuck as long as she’s legal and willing. I prefer if you stay away from anyone with a ring on her finger, especially if she’s married to another Cougar, but I also think a man should keep his wife satisfied enough to stay in his bed. But that’s just me.” He shrugged. “You have a place to stay?”

  “Yes.” It hit me then, just how real this was.

  “Good. Practice tomorrow.” He turned and shook Weston’s hand. “Thanks for the call about this one, but it’s not going to save you at this month’s game. I’m still taking you for all you’re worth.”

  “It’s never fun to take your money if you don’t put up a fight,” Weston replied with a grin. “Treat him right, would you? He’s one of my oldest friends.” He nodded toward me.

  Gareth looked out the wall of glass that made up a quarter of his office to the hallway beyond, where Brynn paced, talking on the phone. “Funny, I was always hoping you’d say the same thing about that one.”

  My eyebrows shot up, and Weston straightened to all six-three of his height, going visibly tense.

  “And we’re leaving,” I said quickly.

  “See you in a couple weeks.” Maxfield gave Weston a shit-eating grin, knowing he’d rattled him.

  Weston was way more obvious about his weakness than he thought he was. Glarin
gly obvious. Fuck, I bet the guys on the international space station could see it from up there.

  “I’ll be the one taking your money,” Weston said as we walked away.

  Maxfield just laughed. “Welcome to the Cougars, Hendrix.”

  “Thanks for having me,” I called back but kept walking for the good of both men in the room. Maxfield might be rattling Weston just to tease him, but the guy was downright dangerous when it came to Brynn. “How often do you lose to him?” I teased as we made our way into the hallway of the brand-new stadium.

  “Never. Why?” Weston’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “Your poker face is shit.” I laughed.

  “What?” Brynn asked, hearing the last of our conversation.

  “Nothing,” Weston rushed. “Let’s get Hendrix settled at his new place so we can get up to Cleveland.” He put a hand possessively on her lower back.

  Cleveland. Because he was still the owner of the Raptors…and I was now a Cougar.

  * * *

  A little over a week later, I found myself entrenched in the corner booth of a bar near the Reapers’ arena called Scythe, the name of which probably had something to do not only with it being in Reaper territory, but the long, bladed weapon that hung above the pristine ebony bar. Not that I was any good for company.

  The Raptors had posted a picture of Coach and Savannah today on their official Instagram, all smiles and congratulations for the family atmosphere of the team. She’d looked happy—maybe a little paler, maybe darker circles under her eyes, but smiling. She had the exact life she’d wanted.

  I’d been exiled.

  “So let me get this straight. None of you are drinking, and yet you brought me to a bar?” I asked Nathan Noble, Nixon’s twin, who happened to play hockey for the Reapers.

  The guy was also permanently engaged to the owner’s sister.

  “Nixon told me you aren’t allowed to wallow, and we have practice in the morning,” Nathan said with a shrug and threw back a bottle of water from his seat next to me, where he watched his fiancée at the bar with a few other women.