Now it’s the thought of losing him that scares the shit out of me.
He said I’m the only thing that matters to him. He made it sound like I mean more to him than football. Here’s hoping that’s still true after I finally come clean. It’s time. He needs to know all the details of my past if we’re going to have a future.
“Here’s what we know…” As if knowing I need an anchor, Mase gives my hand a gentle squeeze when Jordan starts again. “An arrest warrant has been issued for Liam, and officers will be executing it this morning.”
“That quickly?” Bette asks, linking her hand with E’s.
“Yes. With Penn State due to check out of their hotel, it makes this exponentially easier if they can get him before he crosses back over state lines,” Jordan explains.
“How big of a story do you think his arrest will be?” I voice one of my bigger fears.
“Unless there’s a leak, it shouldn’t even be a passing comment. These bigger schools don’t like unfavorable stories out there if they can help it.”
“It’s true,” E agrees with a nod, the tightness of his jaw giving away his frustration with this situation. “Unless approached directly, Penn won’t issue a formal statement. The closest they’ll come to saying anything is if they suspend him from whatever small bowl game the Nittany Lions get selected to play.”
“Do you really think they would suspend him?” My voice comes out a lot smaller than I would like.
“If E has anything to say about it, you know they will.” A conspiratorial smirk graces JT’s face as he takes the open chair near CK.
“Fucking A.” E reaches out a fist to bump. “I may not have been able to get that asshat’s scholarship pulled four years ago, but you bet my sweet ass I’ll be making a phone call to Coach Daniels to remind him of his own beliefs on violence toward women.”
“Bruh.” B snorts, running a hand over his face.
“What?” E eyes his best friend.
“The phrase is ‘you bet your sweet ass’, not my.”
“One”—E makes a fist and extends his forefinger—“that’s’’—he swings his finger around to point at me—“my sister. I’m not going to comment on her ass. And two”—he extends his middle finger, wiggling them both inches in front of B’s nose—“you’re just jelly my ass is better than yours.”
“Lies!” B shouts, shooting up from the couch and cupping his butt in both hands.
“Do we need to do a side-by-side comparison and put it up for a vote on our IG stories again?” E asks, finding a way to brag about his win as Best Crabs Ass from years ago.
“Bring it, Dennings. I’ve been doing my squats. Your ass is grass this time.” B cocks a hip to spank himself in front of E’s face.
“Are they always like this?” Mase asks, his light eyes sparkling with his first true hint of amusement since I was admitted. It takes me a moment to look away from the captivating sight to where B is now twerking.
“Pretty much. It’s actually a miracle E was able to lock himself in as one of Jordan’s first non-hockey-playing athletes with the company he keeps.”
Jordan barks out a laugh. “Puh-lease. At least they argue with real-life people. Do you have any idea how often I have to listen to my brother argue about having a better ass than a fictional character during book club?”
“Oh my god.” Bette chokes on a laugh. “You have to be talking about Jase. I live for Lyle’s stories about your squad’s book club.”
I have to agree. I love when I’m around for Lyle’s—the most fabulous barista in existence—hair appointments. I could so go for a coffee from his coffee shop, Espresso Patronum, right now too.
I honestly think, outside of Jordan’s business partner Skye, there’s no one more suited to handle our family’s dynamics than Jordan. She comes from her own mashed-up crew with the similar belief that you don’t have to be related by blood to be considered family.
“Best ass title aside…” I’m jealous of how easily Jordan schools her features. “We shouldn’t have to worry about Penn. U of J, though…” Her words trail off as she refers to the iPad again. “Have you heard anything from your coach at all?” she asks Mase.
The bed dips as he shifts to pull his phone from his pocket. “It’s dead.” The screen remains dark when he presses the side button. “I remember it being low earlier from all the notifications.” He tosses it down next to me. “What makes you think Coach Knight would be reaching out?”
Jordan pulls up the UofJ411 page, and post after post scrolls by with the drag of her finger, each one a snapshot of something I missed while unconscious.
“I know when I swam for BTU, our athletic director would have alerts set up to stay informed on anything related to Titan athletes. I imagine it’s the same for the Hawks, especially with you having a consistently trending hashtag.”
A flash of guilt streaks across Mason’s features, and this time I’m the one giving his hand a squeeze. This isn’t on him. It is 100% me. I used my determination to avoid all things social media as an excuse to not take him back when we broke up. I spent weeks wallowing in my heartbreak, too afraid to give us a shot, all on the chance that Mase would think I wasn’t good enough for him.
While I still hate the intrusive questioning of #CasanovaWatch and #CasanovasGirl, I hope having Mase create a hashtag out of our ship name Kaysonova will help prove I won’t let social media run me off. I also want him to know how proud I am to call him mine.
I just hope he can still say the same about me and won’t—as Liam insinuated—think I am my mother’s daughter when I spill the last of my secrets.
#Chapter12
Most people will allude to going to plan B when A doesn’t work as a figure of speech. The same can’t be said for Jordan Donovan. When she says she has thought through the first third of the alphabet, she damn well means it.
Holy hell, she’s sketched out a response to scenarios I didn’t even think were a possibility.
Kay lets out her ninth yawn, last night’s events clearly still taking their toll on her body. I’m shocked my little anti-morning person hasn’t made a demand for coffee. Then again, having experience with concussions, she knows caffeine is one of the things you should avoid. I wonder if I have to worry about her doing me physical harm if I get a cup for myself.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s been hours since I put anything substantial in it. As if it set off a chain reaction, everyone else’s follows suit.
Bette, taking on her mom role, pushes to her feet, arms rising overhead in a stretch and offering to grab breakfast sandwiches from the hospital’s cafeteria.
“I’ll go with you,” Em says through her own yawn. “Do you think I could convince one of the nice nurses to hook me up to an IV drip of coffee?”
“Don’t even think about it.” Bette spins and points the mom finger at Kay, who blinks innocently.
“Not as fun when the shoe is on the other foot, is it, Squirt?” E shoots a finger gun Kay’s way, exaggerated sound effect included.