Stars (Penmore #1) (30 page)

He tried to pretend it was because he couldn’t get enough of me. I was his motivation and inspiration to work harder.

But I could see the concern in his eyes; feel the pain in his plea.

His fear was like a living, breathing ghost that haunted his thoughts and our time together.

It was a good thing I had quit Lucky’s during our break-up, because the hours I spent in classes or the times Gray had to go to training were taking a physical toll on him. I made sure he could see me as much as possible. I wanted to ease his suffering in any way I could. And if I encouraged us to watch a lot of Cowboys’ game replays, I didn’t think it could hurt.

Over Christmas, everything was made harder again. Nate had presents at his house for both Gray and me.

The cops found them. Thought there would be no harm in giving them to us. We waited. Shifted them to the back. We had eaten dinner, shared gifts and watched a bad holiday movie but made no move to touch the silver and red wrapping that seemed to taunt us.

It was almost midnight when I finally reached for them. I ran my fingertips over the cold, delicate wrapping, imagining the points that Nate may have touched. Letting only one tear drop before I wiped it away and turned toward Grayson.

He watched me like a sheep watches a sheep dog. First pretending that he didn’t care in the slightest as to what I was doing. Only to start anxiously watching my every movement and shifting in panic when I seemed to have come too close.

“Gray,” I whisper. Beg, really. I couldn’t do this alone.

I knew he wouldn’t make me.

He takes a breath and walks over. He was always there if I needed him.

“Can we do it at the same time?” I ask softly.

Gray just nods while we both carefully remove the sticky tape. There would be no rush. No ripping. No cheerful laughter. Opening the gifts that Nate should have given us himself would be done in silence.

That is until we realize what it was he bought us.

I turn the white shirt over first and puzzle over the plain, almost manly oversized piece of clothing with the black words ‘I’m with’ and an arrow pointing to the right. I had no clue why Nate would give this to me for Christmas. I doubt it would fit. It surely isn’t something I would have picked out for myself.

Grayson suddenly bursts into laughter. His chuckles make me reach over and grab his black shirt with the large white word ‘Stupid’ embroidered on the front. Laying the shirts side by side, I can see exactly why Nate would have felt we would need these by Christmas.

We both laugh until a single tear rolls down my cheek.

Gray swipes it away and kisses me sweetly.

“Dude was funny,” Gray murmurs. “Miss that.”

“Me too,” I whisper, shrugging on my oversized shirt and planning on sleeping in it for the foreseeable future.

*****

Gray was talking softly on his cellphone.

Keeping his voice low.

Again.

I wish I could say I was a girlfriend who would
never ever
snoop.

Completely trusting. A perfect angel, steadfast in my belief that the only secrets Gray would keep would be for my own good.

If my boyfriend wanted to have whispered conversations with people I don’t know, I should believe deep down that there is no way it would be another girl. I definitely shouldn’t picture a tall, skinny blonde cheerleader on the other side of a cellphone smiling at his every word.

She’s a giant skank, of course. Not that I thought she existed.

I should also give him space. If he wanted to win the Cotton Bowl, not wink or smile widely at me like I had grown used to as he made his way off the field and instead become introverted with unease plastered all over his face, that should be perfectly fine.

I should let him celebrate in the ways he wanted or handle the stress of the upcoming championship in whatever way he needed.

A good girlfriend would be accepting. Even if that meant coming to terms with him constantly going off to answer his phone quietly or sending text messages at an angle that made it impossible for me to read them.

I should have faith that whatever it was he was battling or worried about, he would eventually confide in me.

But I wasn’t patient. I was a girl with insecurities and a tendency to over-analyze.

I knew this wasn’t good. I wasn’t going to be putting it on my girlfriend résumé or the social networking profile Gray made me start. I was a flawed, pathetic and terrible girlfriend.

Unfortunately, I was also really freaking smart. Damn me and my big brain. I knew this was an opportunity I wasn’t going to get again, so I took it.

I hear the shower running, see his phone sitting on the small nightstand unlocked and feel like I’ve completely lost my mind as I reach for it quickly.

I’m so disappointed in myself. I’m a bad,
bad
girlfriend. I’m thinking of all the sexual favors I’ll need to do to clear my conscience when Gray comes back in the room, especially when I see that there are no other girls in his incoming or outgoing call logs or in his text messages. I decide I might even need to go buy some very expensive fancy lingerie to wipe away some of my terrible guilt.

That is until I find the text.

I’m glad we have a deal. After the game, your father’s debts will be absolved. GS.

I have a bad,
bad
boyfriend.

With
a lot
of explaining to do.

GRAYSON

We were on our way to the National Championship.

The frat parties were getting bigger and wilder. Penmore was crazy excited. There were posters everywhere I went, cheering the team on and often declaring an early victory.

I should be thrilled. Instead, I was focused on fucking Mr. Simons. And what I would need to do to protect everyone I love.

Every practice was harder, and I felt like a dick for learning each new play as if I would be prepared to do my best on the day.

I was also seeing less and less of Parker than I usually needed to feel sane.

I don’t know if that was because Coach Hardy had us training in every waking moment or because I was avoiding her until I worked out how to not feel so ashamed. How the hell I was going to make it up to her for all my lies and what the hell I would say for my crazy behavior.

It was becoming more and more obvious that I needed to tell her what was going on or start doing a better job of appearing unaffected by the upcoming choices I was going to have to make.

As I step out of the shower and dry off, I plan on making a reservation at Francesca’s for tonight. We’ll sit down, have a nice meal. And I’ll have all day to work out whether or not to let her know what is going on or apologize for being so stressed and sweep it under the rug.

As I walk into my bedroom, I see Parker sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at my phone in her hands.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned with how pale she looks. How quiet the room suddenly feels.

“You should have told me,” she murmurs.

“Told you what?”

“You won’t even tell me here? Sitting in your bedroom?”

“Stars, what’s this about?”

“I guess I’ve just realized I‘m nothing but an observer still. Even though I’m in your room now, in your life as deep as I think I can possibly get, you’ve still got me behind a glass wall. It hurts me that I’m not vital to your life like you are to mine. You didn’t even try to consult with me or hint at the fact that you were dealing with Mr. Simons again, let alone doing some bullshit repayment task.”

“Stars, that wasn’t what I meant to do. I only wanted to protect you. He’s dangerous. I thought if I didn’t tell you, it might not affect you.”

“You think me being in the dark protects me?” Her eyes are filled with shock and disappointment. “Not being aware of the close proximity of murderers to my friends and family does not protect me. Not knowing that my boyfriend is working for the biggest criminal in town does not protect me.”

“Parker, look, I know I fucked up by not talking to you, but you need to know that I’m not working for Mr. Simons,” I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed and burying my head in my hands.

“If you throw the game—and that’s pretty much what I’m sure your texts are stating—so he can make money, you
are
working for him,” she snaps.

That brings my head up and I stare directly into her angry amber eyes when I inform her, “Look. Fuck. I’m working with the cops. Lieutenant Bryant and Detective Nolan.”

“What? How?”

“At the station. When we went into different rooms, I told them everything.”

“But you said you didn’t tell—”

“I lied. I didn’t want you involved. Didn’t want you any closer to them than need be. Because you’re vital to me, I would wager even more so than I am to you,” I tell her passionately.

“So, what’s your big plan? You throw the game and prove he’s a dick?” she asks, standing and turning to glare at me while putting her hands on her hips. Communicating in every way she can that she disapproves of my trying to play some martyr.

“No. I’m trying to lure my dad out. I already have recordings of Mr. Simons threatening my family, extortion and basically admitting to his involvement in Nate’s death. The cops have had me wearing a wire nearly every day. I knew they would approach me; it was just a matter of when and where. But Dad’s gone underground. Hiding from Mr. Simons until someone else pays his debts, as per usual. Lieutenant Bryant and Detective Nolan are hoping he’ll hear that I’m stepping up and make an approach once the deal is done.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“It’s a good thing I like to write.”

“You’ll throw the game anyway? What about the team? The cops don’t have a way to fix it without you trashing your reputation as a quarterback?”

“They step in before they have solid evidence on Dad then he’ll skip town. He’s done it before. Everyone knows what I’m going to do. I won’t go to jail. The only thing they won’t be able to stop is the fact that once evidence comes to light, the game will be forfeited and my football career will be over. But justice for Nate is worth more than my career.”

“You don’t need to do this,” she says, moving her hands from her hips to rest them on my shoulders.

“Babe, it’s the only way I’ll have the money. And Dad won’t come out of hiding, won’t admit his crimes until Mr. Simons lets him know the debts are paid.”

“It’s not the only way to pay off Mr. Simons,” she murmurs.

“Babe, you don’t think if there was a way to do this without throwing away football, I would?”

PARKER

I look into Grayson’s eyes, filled with anguish for the demise of his football career yet at the same time overflowing with determination to avenge the people who caused Nate’s death. I can’t help but hurt because since I was five, his pain might as well have been my own. Thankfully, for the first time in years, I could fix this for him.

“I have money,” I tell him. “From my mom’s life insurance. It’s a little less than two hundred and fifty thousand. It’s all in my name. I was granted access as soon as I turned eighteen. We’ll use my mom’s life insurance to pay Mr. Simons off. Get rid of the debt. Have your father come out of hiding so they can all be arrested without you destroying your football dreams.”

“Babe, I love the gesture, but there’s no fucking way I’m letting you do that,” he groans.

“I want to help. I need to do something,” I say, crossing my arms and standing in my ‘I mean business and no compromises will be accepted’ stance. A stance I’ve never really had to use before, but judging from Gray’s flaring eyes, it was coming across loud and clear.

“Again, love that, but we aren’t solving my family’s problems by touching yours,” he tells me stubbornly.

“Honey, Nate called me his sister more times than I can count. I’m pretty sure Dad was calling you son on the phone last week when he called to congratulate you. We’re family.”

“Fuck, Parker, maybe this is just fate. Fucking destiny making the choice between football and writing for me. I throw the game, Mr. Simons gets his money, I quit the game so he can’t use me or blackmail me again and I start writing. It’s not like that’s a bad life.”

“Babe, I used to believe in destiny. Belonging in a box fate decided upon and sealed up tight with a big red bow. But it’s all bullshit. I’m not ordinary, and you’re not just one skill. We make choices, often hard and scary choices that determine our lives. Don’t use fate as a bullshit excuse to sit on your ass and avoid finding the answers to really hard questions. Do you wish I had kept trying to approach you after my first failed attempt?” I ask, letting go of my power stance to kneel before him, squeezing his hands.