Dex stretches his massive hands wide, then curls his fingers into a fist. “First saw her in college. At Ivy’s house. Knew she was it for me right then.”

“But you’re just hooking up now?”

Dex slides me a glance. I get it. We don’t usually talk relationships. Hell, Dex doesn’t usually talk. But he doesn’t ask me why I’m so interested, for which I am grateful. Instead, he shrugs one massive shoulder. “Timing wasn’t right. I told myself it was for the best, that I wasn’t ready, all that shit.”

Quietly, I nod.

“Now that I’ve…That we’ve…” Dex actually flushes and clears his throat. “There’s zero hesitation on the field. Seems fucking stupid to hesitate in life.”

He’s right. I’ve never hesitated in football.

Staring at the seatback in front of me, I feel as if I’ve been suddenly caught doing something wrong. I shift in the narrow confines of my seat, trying to find room that isn’t there. “What if…” I lick my dry lips, too aware that Dex is quietly watching me. I huff out an uncomfortable laugh. “What if you don’t know what you want? Only that you want something more than what you have?”

“You talking about Chess?” When I shoot Dex a look, he quirks a brow. “I guess you’re not aware of how much you mention her.”

The heat on my cheeks is because it’s hot as fuck in the plane and I’m wearing my stupid suit jacket. Nothing else.

Dex has the stare of an agent on Draft Day.

“Okay, yeah,” I blurt, then sigh. “I think about her. A lot.” Always. “We’re friends but—”

“You want more,” Dex cuts in with a solemn nod that I’m pretty sure is his version of “duh.”

“Well, that’s the thing.” I rub my tight neck. “Chess is looking for a relationship with someone. God knows she deserves it. Yes, I want her.” Understatement. “And I know a one-off isn’t going to cut it.”

I’m not stupid, nor am I ignorant of my dick’s needs; you don’t lust over someone to this level and think it’s going to die out with one fuck.

“But…” Dex prompts.

“When I try to imagine past that, my mind goes blank. And I can’t breathe.” I’m not proud of this. But it’s the truth.

I force myself to look at Dex, and find him watching me with a small frown. He doesn’t say anything, and I swear the bastard does it to make me sweat. I’m about to tell him to forget the whole conversation, when he finally speaks.

“She mean something to you?”

“Yes.”

“Without the sex?”

“Jesus. Yes, all right? I’m not a total pig.”

He nods again. “Then leave it alone until you’re certain. Otherwise you’re just fucking with her head and that ain’t right.”

The muscles in my chest draw tight, and the stuffy air of the plane closes in on me. “You’re right.”

It hurts to say it. There’s a voice in my head that is protesting the fuck out of agreeing with Dex. It’s probably my dick, since he’s a selfish bastard. But it’s the region around my heart that aches.

The plane dips and turns on the final landing leg. Below, New Orleans is a faint glitter to one side, the enormous spread of Lake Pontchartrain an inky blot on the other side.

Home.

Chess is down there. My hand twitches with the desire to pull my phone out and text her. But the flight attendant has already chastised Gruben for texting. And I really should heed Dex’s advice, pull back from Chess for a while. Not seeing her every chance I get will probably help clear my head.

Then again, Dex had been warning me off sex, not friendship. I can still be Chess’s friend.

As soon as we land, every guy pulls out his phone and is on it. Including me.

BigManny: Just landed. What you up to, Chester?

She doesn’t answer.

I tuck my phone away and try not to be impatient. It’s evening. She might be eating. Or out. On a date. Yeah, not liking that idea.

I pull out my phone again. Nothing.

BigManny: You out?

Nothing.

I want to leave it alone; she’s under no obligation to respond. But it feels wrong. Like something’s off. Frowning, I stalk down the gate, my teammates chatting around me.

Rolondo is glued to his phone when he halts. “Shit,” he says, turning to look at me.

That quickly, my skin prickles. “What?”

“Isn’t this your photographer’s place?” He hands me his phone, which is running news footage.

The bottom drops out of me. Because Chess’s building is an inferno. I can’t breathe. For a second, I can’t even see.

I start running, my heart in my throat. If she’s gone…

No. Nope. No. No.

She has to be okay. She has to be.

 

* * *

 

Chess

 

* * *

 

So this is what shock feels like. I’ve always considered myself a fighter. Life slaps at me, I slap back. And yet here I sit, smelling of smoke, unable to do more than stare a rusty blot on the floor. Is it blood? Iodine?

Pain radiates along my wrist at a steady rate. My right butt cheek is so sore, I lean to the left to alleviate the pressure. I’m guessing there’s a massive bruise forming but no one looked, and I don’t really want to either. Everything else is numb. The bustle of the Emergency Room hums in my ears. The sounds are strangely detached from where I sit behind the thin curtains that surround me. A woman starts retching. My stomach roils.

I’ve been here for hours. Everything moving at a snail’s pace. But I’m finally patched up and free to go. But here I sit.

I can’t stay here forever. But I don’t move. I can’t. I have nowhere to go.

Panic skitters at the edges of my mind, trying to claw at my skin. I push it down deep where it can’t get me.

I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t.

I am afraid. I have no home. No one to comfort me. Loneliness feels like a gapping maw threatening to swallow me whole. A slow shake starts low in my belly, spreading upward and outward.

In the halls, someone is running, soles scuffing on the linoleum. My curtain pulls back.

Finn strides in, wearing a frown and a perfectly cut navy blue suit.