Surviving Us (37 page)

My breath hitches as he closes the gap between us. “But I’d be the luckiest man in the world if you’d give me a second chance to be a part of your life,” he whispers hoarsely. Lowering his forehead down to rest on mine, a shiver runs down my spine as he lifts a hand to cup my neck, my body on high alert. “I’m sorry I was such a dick yesterday. I was way out of line.”

As if someone just dumped a bucket of water on my head, images from the previous day flood my memory, bringing with them incensed rage and humiliation. Raising my hands up to his chest, I push him back hard. “Get off me,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “What in the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Bristol, please.” He drops his arms and backs off a few feet, giving me a little breathing room. “I’m here to explain and apologize. Mo and Alyvia let me stay here last night so we could talk in the morning.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I snap, finally opening the refrigerator for my bottle of water. “The way you treated me yesterday after all this time sure made it crystal clear how you feel about me.”

His fingers steeple in front of his nose and mouth as his eyes plead with mine. “I know you’re mad at me, but please
—I’m begging you—just let me try to explain. If you never want to see me again after that, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

With the soft light from the fridge illuminating the narrow galley-style kitchen, I get a good look at his face for the first time. Momentarily forgetting my irritation, I set my bottle down on the counter and bring my hand up to the left side of his cheek, lightly tracing the swollen bruise up to his temple. “What happened to you? Who did this?”

He shrugs his shoulders and waves the question off. “I got exactly what I deserved, and it doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is you giving me a chance to talk.” His hands grasp my hips and my body responds to his touch yet again, the intensity in his eyes penetrating mine. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

I open my mouth to tell him no, but something completely different comes out. “Tomorrow,” I concede with a long exhale of breath. “My head hurts too bad to do this right now and I’d rather we not have an audience.”

“Whenever you want, Trouble.” He cringes in pain as he attempts to smile. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

“’Kay, I’m gonna go lay back down. Are you sleeping on the couch?” I ask as I grab my water, not sure why I even care.

He nods and releases his grasp on me. “You’re more than welcome to join me.” He cocks his eyebrow in a playful smirk, still being his same old cocky self I fell so hard for.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply as I walk past him, reminding myself I’m supposed to be upset with him. “See you in the morning, Davis.”

“Night, Bristol.”

It takes every single ounce of self-control I have to stay in my bed for the rest of the night. Knowing we’re under the same roof and not going to curl up in his arms is pure torture, but I keep reminding myself of the nasty and heartless things he said to me yesterday.

Finding it impossible to fall back asleep, I alternate back and forth between replaying the fun-loving, tender-hearted, often panty-melting memories from St. Lucia and the lonely, sleepless nights of tear-stained pillows I’ve spent since being back. It’s a delicate game of push and pull I’m playing with my emotions, and when the sun comes up several hours later, I’m more confused than I was when I laid down. Now, I’m no longer worried about my head shattering into a million different pieces, but my heart is in danger yet again.

“Bristol, you awake?” Mo’s croaky morning voice asks as I lie there staring at the ceiling, willing everyone else in the apartment to wake up and leave so I can finally talk to Davis.

“Yeah, I’m up.” I roll over onto my side to peer down at him, flashing a small smile. “Why in the world did you sleep on my floor?”

“I didn’t want you to be freaked out if you woke up next to someone in your bed, and not realizing it was me, like . . . hit me or something.”

“Like you punched Davis?” I’m not for sure he’s the one who did it, but my gut normally isn’t wrong.

Chuckling, he sits up and runs his fingers through his dark hair. “How do you know about that?”

“I got up in the middle of the night to purge my stomach of the obnoxious amounts of alcohol I decided to drown myself in and take some medicine for my head, and I ran into Davis in the kitchen. He didn’t tell me what
—or rather
who
—happened; I just kind of assumed,” I admit.

“If you don’t want him here, I can see to it he’s gone in a matter of minutes. I’d offered to give him a place to stay before I knew who he was to you, and then Lyv didn’t want either you or him to be alone since you were so fucked up and his face was so swollen,” he explains, standing up and rolling up the sleeping bag he’d used.

“It’s okay, Mo. I’m not upset he’s here,” I assure him, “but he and I do need to talk a bit this morning. Do y’all have practice today?”

“No. Davis is supposed to be studying the playbook most of today, and I suppose I should be helping him, but I’m not sure I like him very much. He’s kind of a dick.”

I let out a hard laugh. “Yeah, it’s one of his best qualities.”

Mo looks at me like I’m crazy and shakes his head. “Don’t sell yourself short, Flaca. I know you’ve been hung up on this guy for a while, but you deserve a guy who will worship the ground you walk on. Make him earn it.”

“I promise I will.”

He bends down and kisses me on my cheek before turning to leave my room. “Give me a few minutes to get Lucky and Alyvia up and dressed, and then we’ll leave you two alone for a while. Text me when you’re ready for us to come back.”

I sit up straight in the bed as I hear the others shuffling about in the bathroom and living area, mentally pumping myself up to be strong and hold my ground. Alyvia stops in to check on me, making sure I’m okay, which I assure her multiple times I am; however, the minute I hear the front door shut behind them, my entire body begins to tremble with nerves.

This is what I’ve been waiting six weeks for.

WITH EACH FOOTSTEP I
hear coming down the hall, my pulse increases exponentially, eager yet scared to face Davis again. He raps lightly on my door and waits for me to respond.

“Come in,” I call out, my voice cracking with nerves.

The door opens and he walks in tentatively, briefly glancing around my room before his eyes land on me where I’m still sitting in my bed. Now that I can see him in full light, his face looks even worse than I originally thought—his left eye is nearly swollen shut, there’s a small cut on his cheekbone, and the entire area is bruised a painful shade of purple. But despite it all, he’s still insanely gorgeous.

“Hey, you,” he drawls as he stops a few feet inside the room, smiling with the unaffected half of his face. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Surprisingly, not as terrible as I thought I would. However, I’m sure I’ll feel much better after I take a shower,” I reply with a light chuckle. “I think the question is how are
you
feeling? That’s gotta hurt.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, but I’ll definitely be popping some ibuprofen later today.” He instinctively touches the battered part of his face, wincing slightly when his fingers drag across the gash. “If you’d feel better talking after a shower, please go ahead. I’ll just wait for you in the living room.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll take one in a bit. I just wouldn’t get too close to me if I were you.”

He laughs softly, still standing in the same place, obviously unsure of what to say or do. I hate this awkwardness between us, and more than anything, I just want to get this over with. I need to know where we go from here . . . if
we
go anywhere at all.

“You can sit down, Davis,” I say, pointing to the bed. “I promise I’m not going to bite.”

Relief washes over his face as he strides over to the bed and takes a seat near the foot, opposite from where I am. Along with a gray t-shirt, he’s wearing a pair of pajama pants I remember seeing on him in Ti Kaye, and I wonder if he wore them on purpose to make me remember. If so, it worked.

“Bristol, I’m not even sure where to start. I still can’t believe I’m sitting here in your bedroom with you. These last few days have been such a whirlwind . . . I’m overwhelmed,” he says, shaking his head with disbelief.

“How about starting with why you’re here?” I suggest. “I haven’t seen or heard from you since the day we said goodbye in the airport, and then all of a sudden . . .
SURPRISE!
You’re the team’s new quarterback.”

“Yeah, it’s all pretty crazy.” He anxiously runs his fingers through his tousled hair, which is now a little longer than when I last saw him. “Well, it all started when I got back home to Texas from our trip. Like I told you in the letter, you truly helped me realize I needed to get my shit together and make something of my life again. My dream as a kid was always to at least play college football, if not pro, and I knew I had the ability to do it if I put my mind to it. So almost immediately, I began training from sun up to sun down in order to get back in shape.”

Stopping to take a breath, he looks up at me as if to ask permission to continue. I nod my head, but say nothing.

“I knew it was too late to enroll here at OU for the fall semester, so I reapplied for the spring semester in hopes to be able to start in January, and planned to continue to work out and improve in the meantime,” he explains. “Realistically, I was hoping for a chance to either walk on or earn a scholarship for next football season, even though I’d probably be the oldest freshman football player in the history of forever.”