Trevor

Trevor

“No,” I say for probably the tenth time since Erica showed up on my doorstep.

“Please,” she begs again.

“No, absolutely fucking not.”

“Why not?” she huffs as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why not?” I laugh. “How about because she’s a raging bitch, and I don’t want her anywhere near me, let alone in my fucking house.”

“First off, don’t call my friend a bitch. Second, this isn’t a house, Trev. It’s a fucking mansion. You could give her the entire east wing, and you’d never even see her.”

I shake my head, refusing to budge on this.

“I’m sorry. You know I’d do anything for you, but it’s a no.”

She rolls her eyes at me like I’m the one being difficult. Glancing to the empty doorway, she lowers her voice as she takes a step closer, like Sage could hear her all the way outside from the car if she’s not careful.

“She’s really scared, Trev. You should have seen the place. I think she knows who did it, and she won’t tell anyone, not even the police. Her door doesn’t even shut. Please, just until Vi’s handyman makes the place safe.

I clench my jaw, hating how I can already feel myself wavering. Goddamn it. I hate that this woman is my fucking weakness. All it does is fucking hurt. Hurts me, hurts her. I know it hurts Seb. He just masks it with anger.

I need to get over her. I need to let her go. I just…can’t. Erica’s big green eyes look up at me, begging, pleading, and just like that, I fucking fold.

“Fine,” I bite out. “But if she’s in my way, she’s out on her ass. I don’t give a fuck if she sleeps on the street.”

Erica looks at me like I’m an alien as she cocks her head to the side.

“Why do you hate her so much?”

“She’s fucking rude. She gets under my skin and enjoys it. I’ve never met anyone more obnoxious in my life, and of course she has to be Aberton’s daughter. Of course she has to work for the Crusaders, and absolutely of course you of all people had to make friends with her.”

She shakes her head at me.

“Can you drop the shitty attitude at least for a minute? It was like trying to bathe a cat just to get her in the car to come over here.”

I can’t help but let out a dry chuckle at that. I could picture Sage like a feral cat experiencing water for the first time. Maybe if I dump a bucket of water on her while she sleeps she’ll voluntarily leave, and Erica won’t be mad at me. At least not too mad.

Not a bad idea.

“Fine, but I mean it, Erica. If she pisses me off, she’s out of here, your friend or not.”

“Thank you,” she says as she pulls me in for a quick hug before scurrying off toward the driveway.

I grab my protein shake and make my way into the living room, sitting down on the couch as I look out the floor-to-ceiling window where Erica is standing at the passenger side of her car, practically yelling. I can vaguely see Sage crossing her arms and shaking her head like a petulant toddler.

Scoffing to myself, I roll my eyes. At least she won’t be here long. She hates me as much as I hate her. Us in the same house for more than twenty-four hours is either going to end up with her moved out or one of us dead, preferably her.

When she steps inside, a sad single backpack slung over her shoulder, I expect her usual brand of snark to come immediately. But one look at her, and I know something is off. The air in the house suddenly shifts. Instead of the big, bold confidence she struts around with like it’s her second skin, she’s timid, her shoulders slumped down, her long sleek hair falling into her face as her eyes look around the room uncomfortably.

Something about it has me standing and crossing the room. The closer I get, the more I realize how off she looks. She’s shaking. You can’t really tell at first glance, but I see it in her fingertips. They are quaking uncontrollably, and when she meets my gaze, her normally bright and fiery purple eyes are left dim, deflated and practically emotionless.

“It won’t be for long. I’ll stay out of your way,” she says softly, like her throat is too tight to squeeze much more sound out of it.

I find my eyebrows knitting together as I watch her, crossing my arms over my chest so I don’t do something stupid like comfort her.

“You’re fine. C’mon, I’ll show you what room you can stay in.”

She glances back to Erica, an uneasiness radiating from her. For once since meeting her, she truly looks her age. A scared twenty-year-old who doesn’t know what to do or who to trust. I mean, she really shouldn’t trust anyone but herself with much, but the one thing she can trust is that while she’s here, she will be safe.

Erica nods at her with a kind smile that has Sage looking at me and nodding. I lead the way, letting the girls trail after me as we step up the glass staircase, walking across the hallway that overlooks the living room as I turn right and lead them to one of the spare rooms. There are plenty I could stick her in but this one is one of the only ones that doesn’t have a balcony attached, and something tells me she’d probably appreciate the security of not having one right now.

When I open the door, I step to the side and allow the girls to step in. Sage’s eyes look around the room carefully, appraisingly. I wonder what she sees when she looks at the place. Does she know I haven’t done a thing to it? That I bought it this way and haven’t cared to change anything. It’s just a house I plan on sleeping in and working out in when I’m not traveling or at practice. It’s not anywhere I’m rushing to get back to. I bought it because of the gated community, private driveway, and extensive security system. Some fans are fucking crazy. It also has a state of the art gym which I liked, though I won’t lie, I was sticker shocked when I saw how little money gets you up here compared to my house in San Antonio.

Sage doesn’t comment on the room, though. She doesn’t speak for a while. Instead, she just stares at me, embarrassment clear in her features along with a million different emotions that I can’t even begin to name. I can feel the questions I have for her practically bubbling on the tip of my tongue. Like why didn’t she go to her dad for a place to stay? Or a friend? Who broke into her house? What kind of enemies does she have, and why the hell is she trying to protect them if they ruined her place? It feels too out of place to voice any of those things, but the discomfort at having her in my space has me clearing my throat.

“Erica can write down the gate code for you, and I’ll get your fingerprint added to the biometric scanner for the door.”

Sage nods as I turn to head out.

“Thanks,” she says softly, so softly I barely register it.

I choose to act like I didn’t hear it, because what else do I say to it? Despite this being a clear violation of rule number three, I’m not as irritated as I probably should be. She’s scared and doesn’t feel safe. Erica has taken her under her wing, which means she obviously cares about her, and if Erica cares about her, then I guess I care enough to make sure she can sleep in a house where the doors lock. At least for a little while.

Later that night, I push the door open, surprised to see Sage in the kitchen. I would have thought she would have holed up in the room for the rest of the night. Instead, she’s bobbing her head to Bad Omens as she stirs the mixing bowl that she’s holding in her hands.

Her usual spunk looks to have returned as her body gyrates to the music, giving me flashes of her in that club. Fuck, the girl knows how to move her body and is unapologetic about it. She’s currently wearing a slouchy black sweatshirt that is slipping off one shoulder and a pair of black yoga shorts. I’m not sure if the woman has a single color in her closet, outside of the Crusaders gear she wears, and even those clothes are black and Crusader green.

My eyes run down her body, stopping on that perfect peach-shaped ass as it moves around in my kitchen. She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s definitely a hot pain in the ass. Too bad I don’t do repeats, I wouldn’t mind killing some time with her again. As long as I could tape her mouth shut or something.

When she turns to face me, she nearly jumps out of her skin, letting out a high-pitched shriek that has me wincing as she reaches over for her phone, turning the music almost all the way down as she glares at me.

“You couldn’t have announced yourself?” she snaps.

I raise my eyebrows at her in surprise.

“In my own house? Oh, my mistake. I’ll be sure to let you know. Hey, I gotta take a piss, is that okay with you?” I snark.

She doesn’t skip a beat as she sets the bowl down.

“As a matter of fact, it’s not. Don’t you know dogs go outside? I saw a lovely bush with your name written all over it out front.” She smiles so sweetly it’s venomous.

“I see you’re back to being your bratty self,” I say pointedly.

“And you’re back to your ‘I’m hot shit’ attitude.”

“Raven, you were at the game. I am hot shit.”

“Oh, like you played every position by yourself in that game? Must have missed that part. God, you’re such an egotistical narcissist.”

“At least I’m not a jaded little girl with daddy issues,” I toss out, almost regretting it when I see the flinch that passes through her body at my words.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that Aberton doesn’t have a great relationship with his daughter. All of the times I’ve seen them in the same room, they hardly look at each other and something tells me that the same lack of interaction extends off the field.

I expect her to lash out, to shout at me, call me an asshole or something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she seems to shed the hurt off like an unwanted coat, setting the bowl in her hands down onto the counter, as she smooths out her hair and points a daggered look my way.

“You’re right, Trevor. I do have daddy issues. Do you enjoy throwing people’s obvious trauma in their face? Is that why Erica doesn’t love you? Is that why she left you for Sebastian? Because she saw the real you? The one you try to hide behind that golden boy façade? She realized that you were less than what she deserved, and she found what she had wanted all along in your friend?”

Blinding rage rips through me at her words, and my stomach turns. My pulse is thundering, my breathing labored. I’m ready to wrap my hand around her fucking hair and drag her ass out of the house when she scoffs at me, throwing the bowl of whatever the fuck she was mixing into the fridge before stomping away.

I want to drag her ass back here, but I do my best to stay rooted in place because I’m definitely not in control of my emotions right now. My eyes look around to see several other bowls and dishes scattered around the kitchen and what looks like flour smeared across the marble counter.

“Hey! Come clean up your fucking mess!” I shout out to her.

I watch as she leans her head over the banister to look down at me as she rolls her eyes.

“Get your maid to do it.”

Two seconds later, I hear a loud slam of her bedroom door shutting before I mutter out a string of curse words and begin cleaning up after her.

Fucking. Brat.

I literally opened my house up to her, begrudgingly so, and not three hours later, she’s already crossed the fucking line. I don’t care how much she means to Erica. I’m not putting up with this shit.

My hands angrily scrub at the dishes in the sink, rinsing them off before putting them into the dishwasher. I used to be a slob when I was a teenager, always having someone to pick up after me, and I do have a maid that comes twice a week, but that’s to do the deep cleaning stuff like the bathrooms and mopping the floors. Clutter didn’t used to bother me, but as I’ve gotten older, it has become a huge pet peeve of mine.

I’ll let her stay the night, mainly because I don’t want to see her fucking face right now, but tomorrow she’s gone.