“Shit, I have to go. But yeah,” his voice heats. “Post season. We should talk about it…”
“If you earn another ring, I’ll consider it.”
“More motivation,” he utters softly, cupping the back of my head before he dips, pausing for a second before pressing a tentative kiss to my lips. He pulls away before I get a chance to register the feel of it. Licking his lower lip, he goes to speak, but whatever words he was about to say are cut off when he’s approached in every direction—one by a teammate just coming out of a closed door behind him, the other a staff member. Tye eyes me apologetically as I give him the out that I, myself, am becoming desperate for.
“Go. Go win the Super Bowl.” With my order, I flash him a smile and do an about-face, ready to seek refuge in my getaway cart. Instead, I’m met by one of life’s cruelest moments when I see two sets of hazel eyes fixed on me. Easton stands in the middle of the bustling hall with Reid by his side, Reid’s palm flattened on Easton’s stomach as if to protect him from me.
The Kill
Thirty Seconds to Mars
Natalie
My smile dissolves as the wrecking ball that is my husband crashes into me full force. I have no idea how many seconds pass, but it’s not nearly enough for me as Easton averts his blistering gaze and resumes his footing. Reid follows his lead, his cutting eyes damning me a few seconds longer. Both Crowne men breeze past me, and I turn to follow their progress just as Reid stops and introduces himself to Tye. Seemingly unphased, Easton does the same. The cordial handshake between Easton and Tye feels a lot like lighter fluid dumped on the flames raging inside my chest. Easton goes so far as to wish Tye luck before he stalks away in the opposite direction of me. Tye’s eyes start to drift my way as I quickly turn, bypassing the golf cart altogether before stalking forward, directionless.
Screw you, life.
It was a fool’s plan. I knew better.
What are the odds I’d start a flirtation of dating an NFC championship-winning quarterback weeks before the Super Bowl?
Slim to none.
But I knew going in they were stacking consistently against me when he asked for this particular second date, because tonight, the Dead Sergeants are performing the Super Bowl halftime show.
Despite my attempt to keep my presence completely under wraps, my plan, like all recent others I’ve made, just exploded in my face.
I tempted fate, and it delivered in spades.
Which brings me back to the question that’s been haunting me daily for the past week.
Sitting at the intersection of ‘Fuck My Life Avenue’ and ‘Devastation Road’ sits the Crownes and the Butlers, who have been the butt of the galaxy’s jokes for three decades…but why?
My feet ache as I glance up at the time clock in the hall, of which there seems to be no shortage of. It’s fifteen minutes until game time, and I’m not where I need to be. I’m supposed to be in the box with my dad, and I know it’s him texting now as my phone vibrates in my jeans pocket. While Dad’s prompt for my ETA rushes my steps, Tye’s jersey number burns a hole in my back—a reminder that I’m not displaying supportive new girlfriend behavior.
But I’m not his, nor will I ever be.
“To your right, miss!” The whirr of another golf cart motor whizzes by just after I plaster myself against the wall allowing it to pass. Feeling paralyzed and knowing I’m nowhere near ready to put on the airs needed to get through the rest of the night, I close my eyes and suck in a steadying breath.
Before today I was breathing a little easier because I was back home, with my family, my friends, and at my desk at the paper. At the very least, I’d resumed my role as a contributing member of society and was growing motivated to reclaim some semblance of my old future.
Now?
I can’t see a second past the one I’m living in.
The roar in the stadium has me pausing briefly before I wipe the sweat beading on my forehead. I continue my walk in search of the nearest restroom to assess my appearance for the possibility of pulling myself back to presentable. The second I spot a restroom door, I recognize Benji’s outline where he lingers just outside of it. He stands with his back to me opposite Easton, who’s currently shoulder to shoulder with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on.
She’s tall, her body the perfect mix of thin and curvy, her long, long, dark hair thick and wavy. It takes me a second to realize it’s not Misty and a second longer not to care as I drink in their cozy posture. Feet from where they congregate, I contemplate my next step, as a landmine is sure to go off the instant I make a decision. Easton spots me over Benji’s shoulder just before he also looks over to see me standing frozen in the hall. Heart thundering, I shift my focus from Benji to the woman who lifts an inquisitive brow Easton’s way when she recognizes me. With a parting whisper I’m deprived of hearing, the woman kisses Easton’s cheek, and he nods his head in reply.
Instead of cowering away, I force myself to walk the eight or so feet toward the door as Benji ushers the woman away without so much as glancing back at me.
Stopping at the threshold of the door where Easton leans against the jamb, I turn my head as the landmine goes off.
Boom.
Even if the scenario’s imagined, this pain is the worst I’ve ever felt in my twenty-three years on earth.
His gaze travels from the tip of my sweaty forehead to my throbbing pinched toes before he turns and begins striding away.
“You’re not going to say a word to me?” I call to his back.
Easton stops before whipping his head back in my direction. “Seems like a nice guy. Good for you, Beauty. I’m sure Daddy approves.”
“Go to hell,” I snap with a shaking voice as he reaches Benji, who’s standing outside a closed door, his eyes flicking between us before opening it for Easton. Inside, I catch a flash of the Crownes’ camp, spotting Ben and Lexi before it’s forced shut with Easton and Benji safely on the other side.
Slapping the bathroom door open with my palms, I walk over to the sink before bracing my hands on either side of it. Studying my reflection, I’m surprised to see that, for the most part, I’m still well put together. Though slightly fuzzy around my hairline, my ringlets are still intact, my makeup artfully in place with glam team magic. A go get ‘em gift from Mom in support over her purposeful absence. She decided not to come, refusing to let any of Dad’s leaking past into their present. A decision I will forever respect her for. When we left her, she didn’t at all look concerned. Addison Butler is a much stronger woman than me, but unlike me, she’s confident in her marriage.
Pandemonium erupts in the stadium as I gaze into the mirror while my phone rattles in my pocket.
Dad: Everything okay? I’m three beers in and trying to pace myself. Hurry up.
I shoot a quick text to him before giving my reflection a pep talk.
“Get it together, Butler,” I say, the name a reminder my father survived a similar fate, his strength during that time spurring me on as I mentally prepare myself for the hours to come while still reeling from the one prior.
The door swings open as I run my fingers through a few tangled curls, resigned to complete today’s lie and bury myself in work the second I get back to Austin. It’s when I catch the dark and deadly reflection of Easton Crowne standing behind me that my heart plummets. Refusing to look away, I brace myself for more impact.
“Go to hell?” He repeats, his velvet tone replaced with a mix of irony and feigned amusement.
“It’s only fair. I’ve been there since Arizona, and you sure helped to pave the way.”
“Seems to me you’ve bounced back,” he quips, the change in his tone caustic. It’s then I prepare for war, though I can’t bring myself to fully face him because of the lingering explosion ringing throughout my being.