Possession: A Football Romance (Stone Creek University Book 3) Page 8

  There is a pretty short line of people wanting to meet SCU’s star swimmers, but Tim introduces me kindly to the athletic supporters. Most of them look like they still swim laps every day to stay in shape, decades after graduating. We chat about my future plans for grad school, and I’m stunned when one of the graying gentlemen hands me his card.

  “I’m on the kinesiology faculty in Ann Arbor,” he tells me, after listening to Tim brag about how I helped him with his sore back this season. “Shoot me an email and let’s talk about your plans.”

  Tim excuses himself to grab us some champagne as I stare at the card in amazement, feeling the warm glow of excitement replace my flutter of nerves about being here. Then I feel someone watching me, a sense of being stared at. I look up across the room to see Baxter, hanging out with the transfer quarterback, Kevan.

  Baxter is looking at me with an expression I haven’t seen from him before. He looks…wild.

  Tim returns with our drinks and clinks his glass against mine, drawing my attention back. “To connections,” he says, and I smile, watching as he looks up across the room.

  “Woah,” Tim says. “Is that your friend? That guy is fucking staring at you, Olive.”

  I don’t need to look back over my shoulder. “Yeah. I’m not sure what’s going on with Bax tonight. Want to go over and talk to him with me?”

  But Tim’s face changes to one of concern and I turn around. Kevan grabs Bax by the elbow and they lean close for a photograph. I see Tim squeezing the stem of his champagne flute. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he grunts, finishing his drink in one gulp. “Do you want another drink?”

  I haven’t even tasted my champagne yet. I look at Tim and shake my head, but he walks off to the bar. I decide to take a read of the room, searching for prospects. I catch the eye of Finnegan and Scotty and smile, heading their direction. I wave and walk their way, noticing their jaws drop.

  “Olive?” Scotty is having the exact reaction I’d hoped for. I know I can’t go for one of Bax’s roommates, but I can tell that he thinks I look good in a non-friendly type of way. I feel satisfied and take a swig of my champagne. And then, of course, I cough when the bubbles hit my throat.

  Tim approaches us with a glass of something dark and he puts a hand on my waist. Catching Scotty noticing, I say, “Guys, this is my friend Tim. From swimming?”

  Neither Scotty nor Finnegan says a word, both just staring at me with Tim. I’m about to ask if they’ve seen Baxter, but Tim looks away. “Hey,” he says. “You want to grab an appetizer or something?”

  “I’ll catch you guys later I guess,” I say to Baxter’s roommates. They nod without saying anything, continuing to stare at me while Tim pulls me toward tables of cheese and crackers. He seems so sullen as he swigs his drink. I can’t figure him out today. This morning he wanted me to meet his parents, and now he is stiff and grouchy and half drunk.

  “Hey,” I say, touching his arm. “Is something wrong?”

  I offer him a plate with some crackers on it, but he shakes his head. “I can’t eat bread in season,” he says, downing the rest of the drink, then grabbing yet another from a tray nearby.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” I feel sheepish. I know Bax watches what he eats, too, but his concern seems to be with adding weight to his frame.

  “It’s fine,” Tim says, but he keeps looking over toward the football players.

  Not sure what else to do or what exactly I did wrong, I nibble a piece of cheese, and then yelp as Tim leans in for a kiss. I stiffen. “What the hell?”

  “Come on, Olive, let me kiss you.”

  My mouth full of cheese, I draw my head back. This is not going as planned. “What is going on, Tim?” He keeps leaning toward me, sloshing a bit of his drink on my suit jacket. “Crap.”

  “Aw, shit, Olive. I’m sorry.” Tim moves to try to blot the wet spot on my jacket, but he’s drunk already and he just smears the liquid around.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s ok, but I’m going to find the restroom, all right?” Tim nods, pulling his hands through his hair and then straightening out his tie. “Why don’t you go hang with your teammates while I’m gone?”

  I don’t look up to see if he joins the swim team. I need to find the bathroom before my borrowed clothes get ruined.

  I see the sign for the restroom on the far end of the room, and I walk faster, my heels pounding out a staccato beat on the wooden dance floor. As I reach for the handle of the bathroom, I feel someone coming up behind me.

  I sense him, and as I turn, he’s there. Baxter, his eyes dancing with concern and…something more. “Liv,” he breathes. “What’s wrong?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Bax

  COMING TO THIS banquet was a total mistake. First, everyone tries to make a big damn deal that I’m here with Kevan, like that’s so fucking different than all the years I brought Olive as a friend. So far, coming here with a dude is way easier than bringing Olive. No temptation that I’ll do something I regret. No worries about getting her home safe.

  I smiled with all the big money donors and promised to sign autographs after draft weekend. I was feeling all right.

  But then Olive shows up looking like sex on heels. I didn’t even know she could look that way. Like…she looks fucking sexy and I don’t like a single thing about it. I don’t like Tim’s arm around her shoulders introducing her to smarmy donors. I don’t like Tim not looking at her like he wants to lick every inch of her, and I don’t like it when he smiles at her. There’s basically no way for Tim to come out of this alive.

  What is wrong with me that I don’t want Olive to be happy? It’s actually not that I don’t want that for her. I just don’t think any of the assholes who have shown interest are good enough for her. Who even is this guy? Tim is frowning across the room at me like he wants to kill me.

  Guess the feeling’s mutual.

  Bottom line, I’m in Olive’s life, so anyone lucky enough to win her attention better be damn happy to get me in the package deal.

  Kevan nudges me and I realize I’m totally tuning everyone out. A few alumni from SCU have ownership shares in different pro teams around the country and Kevan’s got me chatting with some big-shot from Detroit. Only I can’t even concentrate because the last time I stared over at Olive, she looked upset.

  Kevan’s talking about today’s game—JT’s thumb is still fucked up so Kevan played the whole time—and he drapes an arm around my shoulders, talking about how many tackles I had in the second half. It’s true. I had a good fucking game. Olive was there the whole time, smiling. Supporting me. Everything clicked. As I slap Kevan on the back, I turn to look for Olive again, wanting to smile at her instead of just glower at her sexy pants. Only there’s nothing happy about what I see.

  She looks like she’s about to cry and she’s hurrying across the room. “Excuse me, sir,” I say to the Detroit guy. “My friend seems upset.” I don’t wait to see what he says, just tear off after Olive. I’m pretty sure Kevan is following me, but I don’t care. All that matters right now is making sure Olive is ok. Then I can dismantle whoever gave her that frown.

  I catch up to her just as she reaches for the bathroom door. I make contact with her arm and I know it’s going to be fine. I’m here with her now. “Liv,” I say, quietly, hoping to reassure her. “What’s wrong?”

  But I don’t get to hear her answer. She shrieks as someone shoves me hard from behind. As I catch my balance, I whip around to see her date, looking glassy-eyed and sloppy. “Fuck you, asshole,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s strung that set of words together. “Fuck you!”

  I raise a brow at him. Why the hell is he mad at me? “Fuck me? Fuck me?” I step into his space. He’s about the same height as me, but I’ve got 100 pounds on him, easy. “What in the actual hell is your problem?”

  Tim reaches for my lapels and tries to shake me, his face red with fury. “He’s mine,” he says. This guy is making zero sense right now and frankly,
I don’t even want to fight with him.

  I check to make sure Olive is a safe distance away from this guy, and I look over to see she’s sort of backed up against the bathroom door. That’s when Tim draws his arm back to take a swing at me.

  The guy wails, “He’s MINE” again as his wild punch glances off my shoulder and he winds up punching the wall, and then he crumples to the floor, writhing in pain.

  Before I can make sense of any of this, Kevan curls over Tim, looking at him like—well, like I look at Olive. She’s standing at the end of the hall with her mouth hanging open. “Tim,” Kevan whispers, trying to soothe the swimmer. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  Tim just groans and tries to grab at his right arm, which looks funny inside his suit. He moans and shakes his head, rocking back and forth on the ground. “What did you do,” Kevan asks, his eyes flashing up at me. I just stand there with my palms up.

  “He hit me, man, but the sucker punch glanced off. I don’t know. He hit the wall or something.”

  I look down and Olive is crouched on the ground beside Tim. She’s running her fingers along his back, along his neck and shoulders. She’s totally calm. Kevan rests his forehead against Tim’s while Olive checks Tim out, and I finally figure out that Kevan and Tim have a thing.

  Maybe it’s like how Olive and I have a thing, but we also don’t. Either way, I can tell my quarterback is really upset that Tim is in pain here.

  I squat down. “Olive, tell me what I should do.”

  She doesn’t look up, keeps her thumb along a spot on Tim’s shoulder that makes him groan. “He dislocated his shoulder,” she says. “Call an ambulance for me, Bax, ok?”

  I stand up to do that, and watch as Olive murmurs to Tim. “I’m going to help you fix this,” she tells him. “But it’s going to hurt, ok?”

  I start explaining to the dispatcher that there’s a guy with a dislocated shoulder, that he’s got an athletic trainer with him, and hang up when she says the ambulance is on its way.

  I watch Olive get Tim up to a seated position and he wails as she puts his injured arm on his knee. She’s got Kevan helping her support Tim’s back and Kev is chewing on his lip, looking totally grossed out at the way Tim’s arm hangs. Tim’s shoulder is dangling at a gross angle. I’ve seen dislocated shoulders before, but usually the guys are all wearing pads at football, so you can’t tell how wonky the bones look when they’re not in the right place.

  Olive braces Tim’s good hand on the bad one on top of Tim’s knee. I crouch down next to her to see if there’s anything I can do, but she shakes her head rapidly, so I back up. Olive starts rocking Tim backwards. I see sweat break out on his forehead, but Olive is totally calm. She nudges Kevan out of the way and rocks Tim back a bit more. I hear an awful sound—part Tim groaning, part his joint moving I guess—and then Tim exhales as I watch his shoulder slide back into place.

  “Fuck yeah, Livvy!” I want to give her a high five. That was incredible. I always saw guys getting their arms tugged and snapped to get the joint back in. She just rocked him back and forth like a ball.

  Tim sort of whimpers and sinks into Kevan, who leans his head to the side and pukes, most of it splashing on Olive.

  “God damn it, Kevan. What the fuck, man?” I want to jump in and be useful and clean up this disgusting mess, but Olive doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Shhh,” she whispers. She starts lowering Tim back down to the floor. Kevan adjusts his posture so that Tim can rest his head in Kevan’s lap, and Kev starts stroking Tim’s hair. Definitely a thing together, I think.

  I hear a commotion behind me, and turn around to see that a crowd of people from the banquet room has spilled into the hall to see what’s going on.

  A bunch of dudes start jostling their way to the front, yelling that they are doctors and some bullshit. “Olive took care of it,” I say, as I see the paramedics coming in the sliding doors in the lobby.

  The EMTs start asking questions, the doctors start pointing and yelling, and everyone is talking at once, until Olive stands up and cups her hands over her mouth. She shouts, “The patient had an anterior shoulder dislocation. I assisted him with self reduction using the Boss-Holzach Matter technique.”

  Everyone is kind of quiet, then, and I’m all smiles. “Like a boss, Olive.” I nudge Kevan with my foot. “Get it? Boss technique?”

  Kevan wipes his mouth with his sleeve and works his way to a standing position while the EMTs get Tim on a gurney. “This is the worst date I’ve ever had,” I tell him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head.

  “Now is not the time, Morgan.”

  “You riding in the ambulance with your boy or should Olive go with him?”

  Kevan looks horrified by my words. “Of course I’m fucking going with him.” I nod and drape my suit jacket around Olive, who is still sort of dripping with Kev’s puke.

  “Ok, we’ll meet you there, all right?” Kevan jogs off after the gurney and I can’t stop grinning at Olive. I don’t even care that Coach is trying to hustle all the big wigs back into the banquet. Nothing exists for me right now except her. I can’t even believe how amazing she is, and I really can’t believe I haven’t been telling her so.

  “Olive,” I say, dropping a kiss on top of her head. God damn, her hair smells good today. Everything about her looks amazing and so damn sexy. But she also rocked that crisis like a goddess. “Baby, you were incredible just now. Do you fucking know how incredible that was?”

  She smiles and her eyes are sparkling, almost like she’s not covered in quarterback puke. “Thank you, Bax. Can you take me to the hospital? I really want to check on him. Make sure I didn’t damage anything…”

  “I will absolutely drive you there so everyone can thank you and reiterate that you did everything textbook perfect.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Olive

  I AM ABSOLUTELY exhausted when I sink into the passenger seat of Baxter’s truck. God, I stink. I’m covered in Kevan’s vomit, but I’m not really wearing enough clothing that I could take off any one layer and still look decent in public. “Do you have anything in your truck,” I ask Baxter. But he only has some old practice towels lying on the jump seat.

  He’s parking at the emergency room entrance by the time I mop up what I can with the towels. It’s going to have to be good enough, I decide, slipping out of Tia’s blazer and into Bax’s huge jacket. I don’t miss his eyes lingering on my chest in the lacy camisole, but there’s no time for me to stop and wonder what it might mean that Baxter Morgan is finally paying attention to my body.

  I quickly walk up to the front desk, making note that the hospital floors are a bit slick under my heels. The security guard looks up from his newspaper. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, hi. I realize I look a mess. I’m looking for Tim Peterson. He came in via ambulance a few minutes ago…I’m his athletic trainer and I was hoping—”

  The guard points a thumb down the hall. “He’s in room 106,” he says. He eyes Baxter curiously, but I grab his hand. “You two can head on back.”

  When Bax and I get down the hall to Tim’s room, he seems to be asleep on the bed. Kevan sits beside him on a folding chair, holding Tim’s hand and kissing Tim’s knuckles. Kev looks up when we walk in and seems relieved.

  Springing up from the chair, Kevan pulls me and Baxter both into a big hug. “Guys, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says. “Jesus, this is exactly the kind of shit I try to avoid. This is why I don’t date guys who are in the closet.” Kevan starts pulling at his hair and then sinks back into the chair, picking Tim’s hand back up.

  Tim has one arm in a sling against his chest to keep the joint stable. He must have gotten some good pain meds if he can sleep right now, because I know this injury is quite painful. I pat Kevan’s back, trying to reassure him, but Baxter isn’t one to offer soft words.

  “Kevan, you have about five minutes to tell me what the fuck is going on with this whole fucking day before the paparazzi gets here,�
� he says, gesturing down the hall. “The guard definitely knows who I am and the staff probably knows who you are, so spill it before we’re on the top of everyone’s Instagram.”

  “Tim’s story breaks my heart,” I tell Baxter, reaching for one of his fries in the cafeteria. We spent the past hour listening to Kevan explain how he and Tim grew up together, were friends all through high school. “Pence, Peterson,” Kevan said. “We were always together. Always.” Kevan has been out since elementary school, but Tim only admitted his feelings for Kevan senior year, after a drunken prom night.

  Tim is absolutely terrified of losing his family, of losing their support, of what they’d say if they found out his true feelings for the boy next door. And so Tim and Kevan spent the summer before college hiding their relationship.

  Baxter frowns into his fries and says, “Kevan said it was a relief when they went off to different schools. I don’t get that at all.” He takes my hand. “I could never be happy at a different school from my best friend.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, but Kevan was probably exhausted from having to hide. At his other school, it sounds like he could date whoever he wanted and just be open about it.”

  I swallow. Kevan said he tried to stay away from Tim when he transferred here to SCU, tried to give him space, especially when he learned Tim was still in the closet. Loving him is killing me, Kevan said, quietly crying in Tim’s hospital room. But being apart from him was killing me, too.

  Kevan apologized for not being totally honest with Bax, that bringing him to the banquet was mostly a ploy to see if he could still make Tim jealous. It certainly worked, and it definitely didn’t make Kevan feel any better.

  My breath catches as I watch Baxter take a sip of his drink and, holding me in an intense stare, Bax says, “Dating and fucking a string of randoms isn’t freeing, Olive. You think it’s going to erase what you’re really trying to hide, but it doesn’t work like that.”