Chapter 6

6

Coach (Emmett)

It was too dark to see the ocean, but the house was close enough that the sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the night air. Stars speckled a sky that seemed to stretch on for miles.

California was a lot different from Virginia, not necessarily in a bad way, just not in the way I was accustomed to.

A set of keys clanked together, and a muffled curse floated over Bodhi’s shoulder as he tried to unlock the front door. They dropped from the lock onto the ground with a clatter, making him curse louder this time.

“I’ll do it,” Rush said, bending to scoop up the keys.

“It—”

“Sticks.” Rush cut him off. “I know.”

“You remember?”

“I got stabbed in the back by my best friend. I didn’t catch amnesia,” he snapped, shoving open the front door of the Malibu beach house.

Bodhi gave him a look, but Rush ignored it. “Go inside.”

Bodhi went without a single glance at me, flipping on a light in the marble-tiled entry. To the right, a staircase curved upward, and off to the left a wide hallway led into what I assumed were other rooms.

“I thought the ‘rents cut you off,” Rush said, gazing around.

Bodhi shrugged. “They don’t answer my calls. Told my lawyer not to answer them either. They basically just stopped talking to me like I don’t exist. I still have a key, though.”

“You’ve been here all summer?” Rush seemed surprised.

Bodhi made a face. “Hell no. I hardly ever come here.”

Where the hell has he been living?

“Then why are we here now?” Rush questioned.

“So I can pack my shit.”

“Flight leaves tomorrow at noon,” I told them. “Get your bags. We’ll get a hotel for the night.”

He glanced at Rush. “You aren’t staying with your parents?”

“My parents don’t know I’m here,” Rush answered. “We don’t have a hotel yet because we met the lawyer straight from the airport, then with the Cobalts, and then came to the prison.”

I watched Bodhi’s face pinch, and then he turned away. “We can just stay here tonight. It’s already late. Sleep where you want.” He went off down the hall, the sound of a door slamming closed echoing.

Rush glanced at me, then started up the stairs. I followed for lack of anything better to do, and the stairway spit us out into a massive great room with an entire wall of windows overlooking the beach.

Everything was white. The view, which was probably worth a million dollars, was basically just a black canvas because of the hour. The place smelled sort of stale, the air stagnant and giving off an abandoned vibe. An eerie feeling tapped on the back of my neck, its finger bony and cold.

Rush walked through the clearly familiar space, moving right to a large open kitchen with a massive island made of marble. Reaching down, he flipped a switch, and the stone lit up. Dark veins marked the entire piece, going all the way down to the floor like a waterfall. Around them, the white marble glowed warmly. Unimpressed by what seemed to me like a piece of art and not something to cook on, Rush turned away from it to flip on some under-cabinet lighting, illuminating more of the massive kitchen.

I noticed the dirty dishes stacked in the sink along with discarded pizza boxes and various other takeout sacks. Empty liquor bottles littered the counter, and the wine fridge door was ajar.

Rush pushed it closed on his way by and pulled open the fridge that I’d thought was just another cabinet. It glowed from within, and a foul odor puffed out, making me recoil.

“What the fuck died in there?”

Rush slammed it closed, his face pinched. “Everything.”

Crossing the room, he went to some fancy coffee bar with an espresso machine that looked like it belonged at Starbucks and sifted through the cabinet. He pulled out a bag of coffee and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t trust it.”

“Stop touching shit,” I warned him. “You’re going to need a tetanus shot.”

Dropping his hands at his sides, he turned to stare out to the living room where there was a tiled fireplace and a huge cream-colored sectional. “It didn’t used to be like this here.” His voice was subdued.

I glanced at the stairs. “Think we can trust him not to run?”

An alarmed look crossed his eyes, and he jogged to the stairs, disappearing to see if Bodhi was still there.

Moments later, Rush appeared, relief a cloud around him. “He’s in the shower.”

His announcement had salacious images bombarding my brain. Images that were so fucking tempting I couldn’t shove them away.

Rivulets of water sluicing over shoulders, creating a path down a lean torso and waist. Water drops gliding over hipbones and slipping between thighs. Long-fingered hands rubbing over pectorals as soap slipped and clung to everything it touched. And his hair… Those fucking sexy golden locks would be drenched and dragged down so the ends plastered against the base of his neck.

My depraved and currently very creative mind continued. Warm water hitting him just right, eliciting a low, appreciative grumble that built in his throat as he tipped his head beneath the spray, arching so his Adam’s apple protruded at the front of his throat. The water sliding over it.

Suddenly, I was severely dehydrated.

“Emmett?”

I snapped out of it, clearing my throat as tendrils of desire tried to lure me back. “I’ll order some food for delivery.”

Rush went to a nearby drawer and came over with a handful of takeout menus. Before handing them over, he rifled through, tugging one on top.

I glanced at it and made a face. “Sushi.”

“Sushi. It’s how I roll.”

I said nothing.

“Get it, Coach? How I roll? ‘Cause sushi is rolled up?”

“There’s no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”

“I want an Alaskan roll.” He went on.

I still wondered what the hell my daughter saw in him.

I made a rude sound. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, a kryptonite roll too.”

“What about the brat in the shower?”

Rush was quiet for a beat. Then, “He likes shrimp nigiri.”

“Do they have anything not raw on this menu?” I muttered, choosing not to make it a thing he still remembered. I didn’t give a shit, but he seemed to.

“Not all sushi is raw,” he pointed out just like the little shit he was.

To me sushi = raw. I gave him a hard look.

“Water,” he deadpanned.

“It’s scary to think that people like you are allowed to vote.”

He laughed. “Pretty sure they have noodles on the menu. You know, for the oldies who like soup.” He came over, flipped the paper, and pointed to a selection of ramen.

Fucking California. Where the hell was the steak?

“You know what?” Rush said, amusement running rampant in his tone. “I’m familiar with the place. I’ll order it.”

Plucking the menu out of my hand, he tapped the screen on his phone and dialed the place. “Brah, I need to place an order. Shaa , delivery.”

I stared at the back of his head and then texted my daughter.

Your boyfriend is as pleasant as a butt rash.

The second I hit send, I cringed. Not because I was talking about a butt rash to my daughter but because I’d forgotten about the time difference. It was already late here, and that meant it was even later at home. She was probably asleep.

Sorry, ladybug. Forgot about the time difference. Everything’s fine.

I worried I might have woken her up, but when she didn’t reply, I figured she was still sleeping.

Finished with the order, Rush turned to face me. Before he could open his mouth and let out more stupid, his phone rang. His brow creased when he glanced at the screen. “What’s she doing awake at this hour?”

I groaned. “I forgot and texted her. Why’s she calling you and not me?”

Rush smirked. “She just likes me better.”

“Probably worried I tossed your ass into the sea,” I amended.

He laughed. “I’ll just answer this,” he told me as he silenced the ringing of the phone. “Hey there, little siren.”

My stomach revolted, and I turned away, my attention snagging on the blond coming up the stairs. Our eyes connected, and his footsteps stalled, pausing with one hand on the railing. Barely a heartbeat later, his chin jutted out and his blue eyes glinted as he ascended the rest of the stairs.

“Where the hell is the rest of your shirt?” I demanded, taking in the flash of his lean waist.

What the hell was he doing waltzing around in a damn crop top? It was purple and cut off just below his pecs. If his pants weren’t pulled up as high as they were, it would be damn near indecent. As it was, the narrow strip of his middle that was on full display was doing things to me that I was gonna have to pray about later.

And no, I’m not a religious man, but everything about this kid made me feel like I had to repent. Of course, I tried not to stare, even though it seemed it would have been easier to pluck out my eyeballs and eat them.

Probably what sushi tasted like.

“It’s at the same place my give-a-fuck-about-your-opinion is.”

This little shit. My hands curled into fists at my sides, and my eyes narrowed.

His hair was damp from the shower but already curling in big waves around his face. Noting my sheer annoyance, he smirked, his blue eyes lighting up with something that appeared a lot like satisfaction. His feet were bare and slapped over the hardwood floor as he strolled by as if he were as serene as the Dalai Lama himself.

Bullshit.

My hand flew out and grabbed his forearm, yanking him around. Surprise lit his eyes but was quickly replaced by anger as he jerked his arm out of my hold. It was an unsuccessful attempt, my fingers merely tightening deeper into his flesh.

“Look at me.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Somewhere behind us, a door opened and the sound of the ocean grew louder. “I’ll take this outside,” Rush told the room, and the door shut behind him, leaving us in quiet once again.

Still gripping Bodhi’s arm, I reached up with my free hand to grab his chin with more force than probably necessary. God , this guy made me want to scream. The way he acted like he didn’t give a hot goddamn about anything. Pretending to be tough and unflinching.

I knew better, and the mask he wore infuriated me.

I forced his face around and stared unflinchingly into his eyes. The oxygen in the room seemed to dissipate, my lungs tightening from lack of air. I stared longer, and when he tried to look away, I made a sound that forced him back.

The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his upper and lower lash lines red and slightly swollen. Purple smudges smeared beneath them, and the tip of his nose was red.

He’s been crying.

He shook his head, trying to hide behind his wild, damp hair, but those golden locks betrayed him and refused to conceal the very view I was after.

Finally unbinding his stare from mine, my attention dropped to his bruised and split face. His cheekbones were prominent, his face below them slightly hollow. It made an easier target for a fist, the way they jutted out, and anger swelled low in my belly because I knew they’d likely be softened if he gained a few pounds.

He doesn’t feed himself. Protect himself… care about himself at all.

Pain pierced my chest, the sensation sharp enough that my grip on his chin slackened. I curled in, just barely, an automatic reaction to the ache.

What the fuck are you doing? Don’t do this to yourself again, Emmett.

I started to pull back, but he stopped me.

The lightest touch of three fingertips lay against the wrist of the hand holding his chin.

Forgetting all my inner turmoil, my eyes fired up, hearing the words he didn’t speak and connecting with the beguiling blue of his stare.

I am in so much trouble. In too damn deep.

He looked as though he might speak, but his lips remained closed. They were chapped and flaky, the plump middle of the bottom raw from being bitten.

Pulling my fingers from his chin, I glided them over his cheek, tucking the hair behind his ear. Once that was done, the pad of my thumb and first finger grazed just beneath the angry, swollen cheek with an open cut in the center.

“This needs covering,” I said, the words nothing more than a scrape over my vocal cords.

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes roamed my face like he was taking notes on my features. The intense attention was not something I was used to, and my scalp prickled beneath the weight of it, a fuzzy sensation buzzing low in my belly.

I pretended not to be drowning in the moment, avoiding his gaze as I focused attentively on his cheek. I poked the puffy skin, laying two fingers on it to see if it felt hot. Dragging my fingers over the cheekbone as if I could somehow feel if it was fractured.

There was a fracture all right.

But it wasn’t in his face.

It was deep inside me. Hidden in my core. A place I thought was foolproof. A place I’d kept secret for twenty years.

He winced, bringing me back, and I realized I’d gotten too close to the open wound.

“Go cover that.” The order was gruff.

“No.”

“Put a butterfly bandage on it. It’s not gonna close.”

“Like I care.” He scoffed, pulling away and going toward a large light-wood dining table.

With his back to me, my eyes fell to his ass, which was hidden in the too-big gray sweats. As I stared, he reached into the front pocket, the weight of his hand dragging the band down and exposing the entire small of his back and the very top of his hipbone.

Inside my jeans, my cock stirred.

Forcing my eyes up, I saw Bodhi slide a bottle of nail polish onto the table before slipping into a chair.

Turning away, I stared through the window at Rush standing out on the deck with the phone to his ear. I didn’t look back at the man who tested every last ounce of patience I seemed to possess.

But I couldn’t manage to keep my mouth shut.

“I do.”

His scoff called me a liar, and I called myself stupid. Then Rush brought the scent of ocean air with him as he came back inside.