Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(14)

Somewhere else in the apartment, a phone rings.

“Hello?” Grant’s voice comes from the other room as he answers the call.

I set down my cell phone on the duvet and tread carefully back to the living room. When I enter the room again, Grant is pacing back and forth, one hand clenched tightly around his cell phone and the other shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans.

“Yeah. I became involved yesterday.”

I strain to hear the other side of the conversation, but it’s just a low buzz. Who is he talking to?

“She’s somewhere safe.”

A little ball of tension in my chest unravels. Grant didn’t tell this mystery person where I am . . . that I’m staying at his condo. And I appreciate that more than he probably realizes.

“She’s a fighter. She has bruises, sir.”

Sir?

Grant’s gaze locks with mine, and softens for a moment. I don’t have enough time to read it before he turns away again. A lump sits heavy in my throat, threatening to choke me with emotion.

Am I really a fighter? Or am I just a survivor?

“I think that’s for the best. Thanks for the heads-up,” Grant says, his voice gruff. He exchanges good-byes and hangs up, shoving his phone deep into his back pocket.

“That was Coach,” he says, answering my unasked question.

“Oh.” I let out a relieved breath. “What did he say?”

“They were working out a trade to New England for Kress—for your—for Jason,” Grant says, seemingly trying to pick the least damaging words to say. “I’m not sure if you knew that.”

I shake my head. Jason never said anything.

“But with this morning’s news, that’s fallen through. And now they’re talking about suspension.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods gravely. “The league takes this kind of thing very seriously.”

A pregnant pause hovers between us, except for the scuffling of my dog’s feet on the tile floor of the kitchen. Poor Hobbes has no idea what’s going on, and he’s as cheerful as ever.

I pick up our uneaten plates of French toast and take them back to the kitchen, setting them neatly on the counter before I pick up Hobbes and carry him to the guest room with me. Grant follows, leaning against the door frame with one arm above his head.

“What are you doing?” he asks when I begin stuffing what little I brought with me back into my suitcase, and Hobbes circles my feet anxiously.

“I’m leaving. Thank you so much for your hospitality, but I should really pack up and move to my friend Georgia’s place for now.”

It’s the only thing I can do. I don’t want to complicate things for Grant. He’s been so nice to me. Maybe there’s a reason why he couldn’t tell his coach where I am. Maybe me being here will cause a problem for him. I can’t have that.

“Are you going to go to work today?” he asks, his voice disapproving.

“Maybe.” I shrug, feigning a casual posture in the midst of all the craziness I’ve landed in.

“You can’t,” he says, his voice low and firm. “Jason knows where you work. Does he know where your friend lives?”

I sigh. Grant’s right. I just don’t want to admit it.

“Yeah, he does. He went there this morning.” My hands pause on the zipper when I hear Grant move into the room. With one step toward me, the whole room seems to shift, suddenly growing so much smaller.

“Don’t you think he’ll try again? He knows where to look for you. I don’t want to scare you, but he’s going to be volatile even more so now that the video has been broadcast. And when he gets word of the suspension, he’ll be a ticking bomb.”

I chew on my lip.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Ana, and I don’t want him getting anywhere near you. I think it’s best if you stay here.”

I meet Grant’s eyes, and for once, he doesn’t look away from me immediately. Instead, he holds my gaze, and I hold his.

As much as I’d like to pretend I’ve got all of this under control, I really don’t. I am that rag doll of a woman on the television screen, propped up by only a fragile self-esteem and a faltering sense of direction.

“Okay.” My voice comes out as a hushed whisper.

Grant lets go of a breath he’s been holding.

Oh my God, he’s relieved. Grant is relieved that I’m staying with him. He wants to protect me. These thoughts barrel through the noise banging around in my head, clear and resonant among the rest.

“Good,” he says with a grunt. “Should we eat first, or do you want to go and get your car?”

I remember the now-cold breakfast I’d been so excited about. Now with my stomach still tied in a knot, I doubt I could eat a bite. “Let’s just get it over with and get my car.”

He nods. “You got it. Come on.”

Grant leaves the room, but an outline of his shape in the doorway remains, imprinted on my eyes. The world suddenly feels larger again, unfamiliar and wild, but also safer than it has in days.

I pick up my purse and shove my phone in it, then follow him to the front door, where he’s putting on his coat. He holds out my cardigan, and arm by arm, I slip into its warmth. I meet his eyes, giving him a genuine smile for the first time today.