The Trade(128)

Very classy.

Very simple.

With the darkest expression, he gives me a slow once-over, his eyes trailing from my slippers, up my legs, to my breasts and then my face. His deep black lashes frame his icy-blue eyes, making them stand out like beacons of light in a dark abyss.

“Can I come in?”

I look behind me, as if I have company, and say, “Uh . . . sure.”

I open the door wider and quickly swipe at my eyes, hoping there are no remnants of tears. When he steps into my apartment, it feels like the walls shrink around us, his broad stature soaking up all the air. I shut the door and lean against it, wondering what the hell he’s doing here and trying not to let my mind run away from me.

Instead of looking around my apartment, his eyes are fixed on me. “Were you crying?” he asks.

Shit.

I swipe at my eyes again, and say, “No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Pretty sure you don’t have any right to tell me what to do or not do,” I say before I can stop myself.

He lowers his head and nods.

Well, this is off to a fabulous start.

Just when I think he might leave from the awkward silence, he takes off his jacket, revealing the tight button-up he’s wearing underneath. No joke, the fabric outlines his pecs, defining them perfectly, leaving me breathless and staring.

He drapes his jacket over his arm, his sculpted arm, and then walks into my living space without another word. He takes a seat on the couch and looks at my TV, where I’m watching highlights of the game.

Crap.

I turn the TV off with the remote as quickly as I can, and say, “Is there a reason you’re here?”

“You saw the game?” he asks, still staring at the blank screen.

“Yes. My brother is on your team, after all.”

He looks at me and takes in my shirt.

“And you’re wearing a Rebels shirt?”

“Yes, because of my brother.”

“And you were crying.”

I run my tongue over my teeth and take a deep breath. “What’s your point, Cory?”

Hands clasped together in front of him, he looks up at me and says, “Jason showed me your text messages.”

Shit. How many? Which ones?

Wow . . . just . . .

You know, I’ve never known what it feels like to want to murder someone, but here it is, plain as day, an overwhelming urge to murder. Knife slaughtering to the chest kind of “reet, reet” murder.

Because I have no other defense, I say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cory stands from the couch and comes to me, eyes fixed on mine. “Asking if I’m okay, checking in on me, scared to talk to me . . .”

Murder, so much murder.

“Cory, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly and then grabs the back of his neck. “I’m so fucking sorry, Natalie. Asking for a break, for a pause, it was by far the most monumental mistake of my entire life because the minute you walked out of that hotel room, I knew I needed you. I knew life was going to be exponentially harder without you in it. And fuck, it has been. I’ve been living in a goddamn nightmare and not because of the media and all the bullshit that came with the team, but because I didn’t get to come home to your beautiful smile or your comforting arms. Because I couldn’t get lost in your scent, in your body, in your heart. Since I pushed you away, it was like I pushed a piece of me away as well, and I haven’t been whole without you.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I truly can’t believe after seven months, he’s here, standing in front of me, apologizing. Why so long? Why now?

“It’s been seven months, Cory.”

“I know.” He dips his head down. “I fucking know.”

“Then why now?”

“Because I was lost,” he answers without skipping a beat. “Even though I knew pushing you away was a big mistake, I thought that if I could just get the other half of my life under control, then I could come back to you, beg and plead for your forgiveness, but with each passing month, it was as if my life kept getting worse and worse—”

“Until you passed out in the locker room.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a heavy breath. “It’s been a rough road.”

“Cory, you have put your body through hell, all for what? To prove something to a bunch of fans that you could have told to fuck off months ago and would have earned their respect?”

He licks his lips and says, “I know. I just . . . fuck.” He grips the back of his neck with both hands and stares at me. “I’ve never done this before, Natalie. And that’s no excuse, because I’ve had good examples of what a relationship is like, but the added pressure of the media and protecting you—fuck, Natalie, you could have been seriously hurt during spring training and that scared the living shit out of me. Something had to change, at least that’s what I thought was necessary. But I was stupid, because the one thing I needed the most was you.” Eyes watering, he says, “I still need you. Desperately.”

Oh God. A tear falls down his cheek, and it’s my undoing. I can feel my wall start to crumble.

“You’re the goddamn love of my life, the person I want to call mine. The girl I want to come home to. My heart. My fucking soul. I didn’t know you were something I even wanted until you walked into my life with a smile that lit me up inside. I didn’t know you were going to rock my world in St. Croix. Challenge me, make me a better goddamn human. I had no idea that when I pushed you away, I was slowly killing a piece of my soul, the piece that made me a better person.” He takes a step forward and I freeze in place.