The Hearts We Break (The Alphaletes Book 3), page 6
“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend,” Scar laughs as she shakes her head and blushes in embarrassment.
“Oh, sorry. My mistake,” Bethany says with widened eyes.
“No worries,” I shrug. It isn’t the first time someone assumed Scar and I were together, probably won’t be the last.
We wander into the bottom floor spare bedroom where several boxes sit. This is the leftover room, also known as the room with stuff Nikki didn’t want to be displayed in our house. I hobble over to one of the boxes, opening it up and smiling as I pull out the pink and black skateboard before lifting it higher to show Scar.
“Remember this?”
Her mouth drops open as she looks from it to me.
“Oh my god. Where did you find that?”
I shrug. “I’ve had it for years. I bought it for this neighbor chick for her birthday, but she gave up trying after, what? Two days?”
She rolls her eyes as she walks over to the box and sifts through the dozens of skateboards I’ve collected over the years. I don’t ride anymore, obviously, but back in the day, Ezra and I used to tear up Manor Road.
“I wanted to keep up with you guys, but after too many bruises, I accepted my defeat and decided the skateboard life wasn’t for me,” she shrugs.
I nod sympathetically as I squeeze her shoulder.
“Hey, it’s alright. Not all of us can be as athletically gifted.”
She scoffs and shoves me to the side before picking up another skateboard. A look comes over her face before she walks over to Bethany and begins speaking in hushed tones, while I cruise down memory lane.
Once we are done going through the house, Bethany asks a few more questions and shows us a few inspo pictures, which I let Scar handle, before she is driving off with the promise to have a contractor out here tomorrow to put in new carpet and paint the walls. I couldn’t believe that she was able to put something together so quickly, but then again, money talks and I’m sure I’ll be paying a pretty penny for the rush. Doesn’t really matter, though. It’s just money.
I crashed at Scar’s house last night since Bethany had people working at my place literally around the clock since yesterday morning. I don’t know what Scar told her as far as the deadline, or what she promised to pay her, but whatever it was, it must have been good because Scar and I are walking into my freshly renovated house, and I hardly recognize it. We didn’t do anything structural to the house but changing the wall color, art on the walls, and furniture is enough to have me confused as to whether I walked into the right house.
At first, I didn’t get what Scar meant when she said warm colors make the room feel warmer, but I do now. The walls are a soft cream color, almost white but with a little color to them. I see greens, browns, and some reds nearly everywhere I turn. The crisp white couches that used to take up the living area have been replaced by plush chocolate brown couches that look like you’d melt into the furniture.
“What do you think?” Scar asks as we continue walking through the house, noticing how even the kitchen cabinets have been painted a dark brown as opposed to the stark white color from before.
“It’s really nice,” I smile as we make our way up the stairs.
Scar pushes the master bedroom door open first, and my pulse thuds a little harder as I step through, feeling like I’m standing in a brand new room that has been added to my house. The bed has been moved to the opposite side of the room as well as all of the furniture. Again, the colors are all completely different and the carpet is a thick fluffy beige as opposed to the short grey from before. Nik always insisted on short carpet since her heels would get caught up in longer carpet.
The makeup stand that used to be in the corner is gone, a mini fridge filled with sparkling waters and beer in its place. It’s surreal. It’s as if everywhere I look, every trace possible of Nikki is wiped clean. Instead of hurting at the thought, it brings me a small sense of peace. Like I can breathe for the first time in days. I’m starting to come to the realization that my pain from Nikki leaving wasn’t necessarily from losing her but more the fact that I was losing everything. My own life was becoming unrecognizable in front of my eyes, and I didn’t know how to cope with it.
“I have one more surprise for you,” Scar smiles as she pulls on my arm and leads me out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
She stops outside the downstairs spare bedroom before she looks at me excitedly as she pushes open the door.
I smile in anticipation, but it quickly falls when I see what she’s done. Mounted on the north wall are each of my skateboards, displayed like a museum. There is a lazy boy in the corner and a flat screen on the other wall which looks nice too, but I can’t help but admire all of the boards. A million memories rush to the forefront of my mind.
Ezra and I swore one day we’d make it to the X Games. Looking back, I’m not sure how much was actually talent versus confidence, but we had a good fucking time riding. Nikki never understood why I kept them if I wasn’t going to use them. She understood even less why I ever rode them in the first place.
I go to speak when something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. A framed picture is propped up on a side table in the corner of the room. I walk over to it, picking it up to see a gap toothed Scarlett smiling up at the camera wearing a helmet and elbow pads, while ten year old versions of Ezra and I have our arms slung over her shoulders, both grinning as Scarlett’s mom took the picture.
For some reason, my eyes begin to mist over. It’s not that I’m sad, but I’m not exactly happy either and I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why.
“You okay?” Scar asks softly.
I nod quickly before setting the picture down and turning to wrap my arms around her. I rest my head into her neck and lightly inhale. Cocoa butter. She always smells like cocoa butter. Ever since she was a little girl. It’s the lotion she uses. It was the same kind her mom used too.
When I pull back I smile before brushing some of the loose hair from her ponytail away from her face.
“Thank you for doing all of this. It really means a lot.”
She furrows her brows as she smiles and shakes her head.
“Slate, it’s nothing. All I did was make a call and-”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “It’s everything. I don’t know how I could do any of this without you.”
“Any of what?” she asks curiously.
“Life,” I laugh dryly before shaking my head. “I’m so fucking glad you’re my best friend.”
She nods with a smile that seems a little tighter than before as she nods and pulls away.
“I’m gonna use the restroom. Be right back,” she says, her voice catching slightly.
I furrow my brows, confused why she is all of the sudden upset, but she is out of the room before I can even say anything.
“So, I hope this isn’t too forward,” Bethany says, coming seemingly out of nowhere as she stands beside me. “But working with you has been wonderful. I’d hate for that to end. If you ever want to grab a drink or something, call me,” she smiles beneath her eyelashes as she hands me a business card.
I take it from her to be respectful but her very obvious offer doesn’t intrigue me in the slightest. Maybe it’s because I’ve been so used to being in a relationship that I’ve forgotten what it was like to have someone flirt with me. No, that can’t be it. Married or not, women have been throwing themselves at me ever since my name was announced on the draft. Everyone wants to be tied to an NFL player, even if it’s just for a night. My lack of interest is also not because she isn’t pretty, she’s actually gorgeous. Blonde, tan, and tight in all the right places. She actually reminds me of Nikki a little bit. Maybe that is the ultimate thing working against her, though.
I never saw Nikki as a gold digger. We fell in love long before the money came, but what if she was just playing the long game? I can’t be naïve enough to not assume that wasn’t at least part of her interest in me. She knew I had a pro-career ahead of me, everyone did. Maybe I was just her meal ticket, and once the meals looked like they’d stop, she dined and dashed on me.
Fuck, if it wasn’t so depressing I’d probably laugh because that’s a good one.
“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” I say politely before stepping out of the bedroom to search for Scar.
When I walk down the hall, I run into her running a hand over her hair, a nervous habit of hers.
“What’s going on?” I ask bluntly.
She doesn’t look surprised, just gives me a soft shake of her head and a fake smile.
“Nothing. You should see what they did to your guest bathroom.”
“I don’t give a shit what was done to a bathroom. Are you okay? What did I say?”
“Slate, nothing. Please, just drop it,” she says as she reaches out and rests a hand on my bicep.
I frown but nod, knowing that when Scar is ready, she will talk about it. Holding out my hand to let her go first down the hall, she smiles and nods.
“So, what do you say? Should we christen this place with a good ole fashioned party with some of the guys? Beer, pizza, you in?” I ask.
She raises a brow in question as she cocks her head.
“If by beer and pizza, you mean water and boiled chicken with steamed broccoli, then yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Aw c’mon, Scar. You’re my PT, not my nutritionist.”
“Healthy diet and good sleep are key to recovery, and you know it. You just want to pack this place with a bunch of people to drown out the loud thoughts in your head.”
Fuck. She doesn’t have to call me out like that. Even if she is right.
“Fine. One Tree Hill reruns and whatever boring dinner you just suggested?” I say with a heavy eye roll.
She bites back a laugh and nods as she makes her way into the kitchen, and I start up the TV in the movie room. Scar used to have to practically pin Ezra and me down just so we would watch the garbage show with her. She told us that we secretly liked it, which we both vehemently denied. Until she came home early one day and found Ezra and me on the couch, catching up on episodes. He still denies that he likes it, but now, I’m a proud fan. Plus it makes my girl happy so even if it sucked, I’d tough it out for her.
Scarlett
“C’mon, Slate. You got this. Push yourself,” I encourage.
His brows are pinched, his face dotted with sweat as he slowly squats down for his last set. We’ve been working together five days a week for three months, and we are making good progress. Unfortunately, the progress isn’t as fast moving as Slater wants, and his frustrations at this point are interfering with his mind set.
His legs begin to shake as he drops down to the ground, more out of exhaustion than inability. Slowly, I make my way over to my phone before pausing Slater’s playlist. I bend down next to him, watching his chest heave as he stares at the mat. Staying silent, I let him work through whatever is going on in his head before he speaks.
“This is fucking pointless, Scar.”
I frown as I look at him. “What are you talking about? You’re doing great. You’re nearly back to your original warm up routine. That’s no small feat. Your knee is working its ass off for you, Slate. It just takes time.”
“I’m running out of time, Scar,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Slater, you can’t rush these things. Everybody is different, every injury unique. Considering you were just getting off crutches when we started, I’d say you are doing great.”
“Yeah, but will I be able to run a 4.56 second 40 in three months? Will I be able to stop, pivot, turn, and jump the way I need to in order to avoid defensemen while simultaneously catching the ball and gaining us yards and touchdowns?” he snaps.
I roll my lips together, choosing not to respond. Slater rarely raises his voice at anyone, let alone me. The fact that he is getting so defensive now just proves how not like himself he’s feeling. Slowly standing up, I walk across his gym before reaching for my purse. It only takes me a moment to find what I was looking for before I grab it and bring it over to him.
He watches me carefully, that frustrated scowl still on his face when I pull out the small white bottle.
“Bubbles? Really, Scar?”
I ignore his words as I untwist the cap and pull out the miniature wand, holding it out for him.
“Blow,” I say simply.
“Bubbles are your thing, not mine. Blowing on a soapy stick isn’t going to magically destress me or take my problems away.”
“Blow,” I repeat.
His eyes narrow on me as he leans forward and blows out a harsh breath that just sends the soap splattering across the floor.
“Satisfied?” he practically growls out.
“Not really, no,” I say as I re-dip the stick and hold it out for him wordlessly.
He is still glaring at me as he leans forward and blows into the bubble wand a little softer this time, but not soft enough. Only a few small bubbles come out before he looks back at me. Without saying a word, I re-dip it and hold it out again. Each time he seems to calm down more, his blowing becoming softer, until he is blowing one large bubble. I dip the wand one last time, holding it to myself before I speak.
“Now put everything into this one. Every frustration you are feeling, every pain, physical and mental, that you are struggling with. Slowly let it all blow out with this breath, and when the bubble pops, it’s time to let it go.”
His eyes gloss over, whether at the verbatim words my mother used to use with all of us kids or from all the emotions he’s feeling before he nods. I hold out the wand for him, and he blows out a slow and steady breath for several seconds. The bubble gets bigger, bigger, and bigger until finally, it pops.
We are silent for several seconds before he speaks.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps lowly. “I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. You don’t deserve that.”
I nod. “How do you feel now?”
He lets out a dry laugh as he rubs the back of his neck.
“Honestly, better. I never really understood why it helped you, just that it did. I kinda get it now.”
“Good. Do you want to call it a day? Try again tomorrow?”
He shakes his head as he pushes himself to stand.
“No. I gotta keep going. What’s up next, Doc?”
I smirk in pride before I nod towards his weight bench.
“Let’s switch gears for a bit. Make sure you don’t get string beans where your arms used to be,” I tease.
His mouth drops open at that before he charges me. I don’t expect it, especially when he blocks me in against the wall and begins mercilessly tickling my ribcage. It’s the only place on my entire body that is ticklish, a fact Slater has exploited for years since he discovered it.
“Oh my god! Stop!” I shriek as laughter rips through me.
“Not until you take it back, you little shit,” he says as his fingers quicken. “Do my arms look like string beans to you, Scar?” he asks as he pins me in place with one arm while flexing his other.
The ink covered bicep strains against the motion, and I have to physically force myself not to drool because Slater definitely has some of the nicest arms that I’ve ever seen. Not too bulky but not lean either. Enough muscle to have those sharp carved out lines, and the fact that they are covered in black and dark gray tattoos only makes them all the more entrancing.
Ripping my eyes away from his arm, I see a cocky smirk on Slater’s face, like he knows that I was checking him out. Asshole.
“Take it back,” he says lowly as he tilts forward until our noses practically brush against each other.
My breath hitches, my heart thundering in my chest at having Slater this close to me. In twenty years of friendship, I don’t think we’ve ever been this close. My eyes watch him carefully as his smirk begins to fall, a look of almost confusion seems to take over his face. I glance down to watch him run his tongue across his lower lip slowly before his eyes flick down to my mouth. I swear he moves forward, just half an inch, only millimeters separating our lips now. Something that I’ve thought about a million times over the years but never once thought could be a reality.
Suddenly, a sharp piercing noise rings through the air, effectively slicing the previously thick sexual tension like butter. Slater takes several large steps backwards, practically staggering back as if a haze has been lifted before he makes his way to the bench. It takes me several seconds to realize that the moment ruining noise was none other than my phone.
Slowly, I make my way over to my bag, reaching down to pull out my phone before seeing that it’s Erica.
“Hey, what’s up?” I answer.
“Hey, babe. I was just wondering if you were close?”
My mind is blank for several seconds before I remember. “Oh no! I’m so sorry. You guys have those art show tickets. I’m on my way now. I’m at Slater's. I'll be there in ten.”
“No worries. We will see you then,” she says before hanging up.
I look over to see Slater benching well over what he was doing at the beginning of the week. He’s breathing through the set heavily, but his muscles don’t appear to be straining too much.
“I’m sorry. I forgot that I promised to watch the girls tonight for Seb and Erica. We will pick this back up tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure,” he says, not looking at me as he continues pressing.
I pause, wondering if I should say something. Do I acknowledge what just happened between us? Or I guess what almost happened is a more accurate description. Though with the way Slater is avoiding my gaze as if I were Medusa, I’m gonna say that leaving is probably the best course of action for now. So, without another word, I grab my purse and slip out of the room and head to my car.
I had a blast with the girls. They are at that age where pretty much everything that comes out of their mouths is hilarious. Whether it was intended to be funny or not is irrelevant. After I apologized about a million times for showing up late, Seb and Erica left for a friend of Erica’s art show across town.
