One Northern Morning (A Novella) (Southern Nights Novella Series #2) (4 page)

“Kam.” I sigh.

“Laney.”

“Don’t do this,” I beg.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated?” He leans over the table. “Tell me you don’t have any kind of feelings left for me. Tell me that spending time together over the last few months hasn’t changed anything.”

“It hasn’t.” I assert.

“Why? Because of that idiot you date?”

“Kam, that’s enough.” I stand up, and he follows suit, blocking me before I can pass.

“You can’t be serious about him, Laney.” Kam glares down at me. His big blue eyes sparkling in the sun.

“I am serious about him.” I hold my ground.

“Why? What does he have to offer you?”

“That’s a loaded question, Kam. Are you sure you want to hear the answer?”

“Yes.”

I huff. “Steven has never broken a promise. Or not shown up when he said he was going to. He doesn’t spend half our relationship apologizing for the things he didn’t do. He may not be you, but at least I know I can rely on him.”

Kam’s expression darkens. He wanted answers, and I gave them to him.

“You can rely on me, Laney.”

“Not the way I need.” I shake my head, attempting to move around him, but he places his hand firmly on my hip. My heart stops.

I look up into his eyes pleadingly. We can’t do this; it’s just going to be heartbreak all over again.

He opens his mouth to respond, but his phone interrupts him.
Some things never change.
Kam lets it ring three times before he hesitantly removes his hand and answers it.

“Yeah.” He never takes his eyes off me. “What’s up, Sam?”

That’s my cue. I bypass his rigid body and make a beeline straight to my car.

Same shit, different day.

C
offee did not go how I expected.

Laney just hightailed it out of here, and Sam is barking in my ear about something on the news.

“Find the closest television and turn on the local news!”

I walk into the coffee shop and ask the girl behind the counter if she can switch the channel. She recognizes me immediately and blushes.

“Absolutely,” she drawls.

As soon as she changes the channel, my face is plastered on the screen with the headline: “Alabama Golden Boy Accused of Sexual Assault.”

What. The. Flying. Fuck?

I
t’s starting to rain.

After the coffee debacle with Kam, I came home, changed into the crumpled up shirt I slept in last night, and disappeared under the covers. I listened to the large droplets hitting the pavement outside like a drum until I fell asleep.

I don’t know how long I have been holed up, but when I throw the covers off, I realize its dark outside. I just lie there as the thunder pounds and my emotions stir. I have been in a state of conflict all day. Wanting Kam is one thing, but knowing he wants me back is entirely another. It opens doors that should stay closed forever. Dangerous, emotional, heated doors that warn
Enter At Your Own Risk.
And loving Kam has always been a risk.

I know I have to stop obsessing. About Kam, about the past, about the present, and about the very potent feelings that just won’t seem to go away.
I’m going to drive myself nuts!

My personal crisis situation calls for some pizza and ice cream stat.

I shoot out of bed and walk into my living room, and what do I see as soon as I look at the television? Kam’s face.

“You’re up.” Steven is lounging on the couch holding the remote.

“How long have you been here?” I ask him, peeling my attention away from the headline for only a second.

“A few hours. We were supposed to grab dinner, but you were asleep when I got here. Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really. What’s going on?” I point at the television.

Steven snickers. “He’s not so golden after all.”

I want to slap him for his scathing remark.

“Why are you always hating on Kam?” I snap at him. “Does he intimidate you that much?”

Steven stands up. “He doesn’t intimidate me, Laney. I’ve just always seen him for what he is. And now the rest of the world sees it, too.” He motions to the screen.

Alabama Golden Boy Accused of Sexual Assault
.

“Kam would never do that,” I immediately defend him.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“I guess you would know,” he replies snidely.

“What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“Still having feelings for your ex,” he says blatantly. “The two of you have been pretty cozy lately.”

“We’re friends.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

“You’re being an idiot.”
Just like Kam called you today
. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from the fact I’m not blind, and that you wear his practice jersey to bed every night.” He pokes me in the chest. I look down and realize I’m wearing the dark-blue jersey with the number seven, a pair of underwear, and nothing else.

Steven heads for the door. “Why don’t you call me when you work out what the hell you want. Although, I’m pretty sure I already know what that is.” Thunder booms and lightning strikes just as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

I stand there gaping.
What the fuck just happened?

First Kam, now Steven? My life is turning into a car wreck.

I rub my temples, sit on the couch, and turn up the volume so I can listen to the news report that’s playing on a loop.
“Sandra Collins, twenty-two, has accused the football phenom of raping her at a college party after she repeatedly refused his advances. An investigation is underway.”

I just shake my head, disbelieving. Kam may be many things, but a rapist is definitely not one of them.

I suddenly jump from a knock at the door and a simultaneous lightning strike that illuminates the whole room. I run to answer it, fully expecting Steven to be on the other side, gearing up for round two. Instead, I swing it open to a soaking wet, hooded figure.

“Kam?” I yank him inside. He’s drenched from head to toe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” He pulls off his hood and unzips his sweatshirt. His wet T-shirt is clinging to all the right places, most notably his chiseled chest and ripped abs. I look away so I don’t start salivating.

“It’s fine. Come in.” I walk him into the living room of my moderate sized, off-campus apartment. “How did you get here?”

“I walked.”

“In the rain?” my voice elevates.

“I had to get away. There are reporters crawling all over my house. I snuck out the back.”

Kam shares a spacious colonial with three of his teammates. It’s a hub for parties and a hangout for almost every athlete on campus. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now.” He shivers, dripping wet in the middle of my living room.

“I just saw,” I reply as I grab a towel from the bathroom and hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” I respond sympathetically.

“Fucking, bullshit,” he mutters as he wipes his face, then sneezes. Not good.

“Um, not to sound like I’m coming on to you, but you should really get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.” Kam’s grim expression lightens a little.

“Lemon, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

“Kam, please.” I stop him right there.

“Just sayin’.” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes. “I can put your clothes in the dryer, if you’d like. If not, don’t sit on my couch until you’re dry.” I walk over and plop down on the plush sofa.

“You’re tougher than nails, Lemon.” He shrugs off his sweatshirt, then peals his T-shirt off right in the middle of the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” My mouth actually goes dry.
Holy Roll Tide.
College football
does a body good.

“Talking my wet clothes off so I can sit down.”

“I didn’t ask for a strip show. Use the bathroom!” I point.

“Sorry. Didn’t think it would be a big deal. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He turns toward the bathroom door, his back muscles rippling as he walks. I sink into the cushion. Good lord. I actually fan myself. It’s been nearly four years and the man still has a panty-melting effect.

Dangerous, emotional, heated door that warns Enter At Your Own Risk.

Kam comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the towel I gave him. “Where’s the dryer?”

I motion to a set of doors off the kitchen. I think I have lost the ability to speak. Kam, naked, in my apartment. How did we suddenly get here?

He pops his clothes into the dryer with a tight grip on the towel. Once they’re tumbling, he takes a quiet seat next to me on the couch. It’s isn’t very big, but it’s comfortable. With his head hanging low and elbows resting on his knees, he looks over at me. And that’s when I see it. The devastation. He may have been playing around before, but he can’t suppress what he’s truly feeling.

“You okay?” I ask considerately.

He shakes his head, and a few renegade droplets fall from the ends of his disheveled hair.

“Did you assault that girl?” I have to ask, even though I already know the answer. I just have to hear it from his own mouth.

“No,” he asserts. “I don’t even think I know her.”

“Then why would she accuse you of such a thing?”

Kam shrugs. “A payout maybe? I wouldn’t be the first athlete it’s happened to.”

“Despicable.”

“Whatever the reason, it’s destroying my reputation.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “Which, in turn, is destroying my career.”

“Her accusation doesn’t affect the way you play football,” I argue.

“No, but reputation is everything when you’re being drafted. No one wants to recruit a bad seed.”

“Anyone who knows you knows that you would never hurt or disrespect a woman. And if you don’t get drafted because some stupid girl looking for attention cried rape, the NFL needs to seriously re-examine itself.”

Kam smiles wearily. “Thanks, Laney.” He puts his hand on my bare knee and heat races across my skin. “How is it every time my career is in jeopardy, you always know the right thing to say?”

“I’m a genius.” I laugh nervously.

Kam laughs too, pushing my knee playfully. He’s so cute when he’s just Kam. Not Mr. All-Star or Mr. Popularity. Just Kam. We stare quietly at each other for a long while. The energy in the room heavy, suppressive almost.