Broken Saint (Seattle Saints #1)

4. Ella

4

ELLA

E xhaustion engulfs my body. My sleepless night, the early morning, and then the delayed layover in San Francisco have left my body heavy and sluggish.

My chest, my limbs, everything aches.

Moving is an effort.

Not exactly how I wanted to turn up on my best friend’s doorstep. She’s more likely to be horrified to find me at her front door than she is surprised.

My cell burns a hole in my purse, but I’ve kept it turned off.

Mom will be going out of her mind. She’ll have messaged me this morning as she always does, and I won’t have responded. But it’s not her I’m avoiding; I’ll call her as soon as I can. It’s him. It’s the thought of there being nothing from him after all these hours, not noticing that I’ve left him and taken his stash of money with me. Was my presence in his life that small and meaningless?

A sob threatens to erupt as I sit in the back of the cab I hailed at the airport.

The commute to Letty and Kane’s new house is short. Probably for a very good reason with all the travelling he does.

The last time I visited just after Kyan was born, they were still in their apartment and the house was…well, a mess.

We visited so Letty could talk me through all the plans. It sounded like it was going to be incredible. I mean, the grounds alone and the view of Lake Washington in the distance were enough for me. It was incredible—the kind of house both of them more than deserved.

My face is practically pressed to the window as we drive down the street of homes toward the one I want.

Each one is unique, perfect. The yards are well kept and more than a few have some fancy cars lining the driveway.

Something tells me that Kane might not be the only legend around here, if you know what I mean.

Unease knots my stomach as I think about another member of the Seattle Saints.

Could he be close by?

I shake my head. He’s more likely to be in the middle of the city in a penthouse apartment. The perfect party pad for the NFL playboy. I’ve seen the photos and read the articles since he was drafted to the Saints. Some a few times over, if I’m being honest. And it’s clear that while he might have grown up and become a pro, his lifestyle never changed. He’s still the player we all knew at MKU.

It’s cool. I get it…I think. He told me time and time again that he wasn’t ever going to settle down. That it just wasn’t in his DNA or some bullshit. He wasn’t a one-woman man. At least he’s stayed true to his word.

Something tells me that if he’d met “the one” only a few months into living in Seattle, it would have broken me. Even more than I already was.

My breath catches when a familiar house comes into view, and I sit back.

“Just here is great,” I tell the driver, forcing down any of my rising emotions so I can get the words out.

Sitting here, unable to move or do anything, I feel like a can of soda ready to blow. And I fear that it’s going to happen in just a few minutes’ time.

One look at Letty and…

Sucking in a deep breath, I pay the driver and finally climb out.

He’s as helpful as he was when he picked me up, staying in his seat and letting me drag my own bags from the trunk.

Feminism is great and all, but a sweet gentlemanly act can go a long way. Especially when one is hanging on to the very last thread of their sanity.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I whisper to myself as I stand at the end of the long driveway that leads to the house.

It’s set back, private. Perfect.

A shiver rips down my spine as a breeze rushes over my skin.

It’s a beautiful day here. The sky is clear, the sun shining. But while it might be warm, it’s not Texas warm.

Movement in one of the windows drags me from my pointless thoughts about the weather.

Despite the war of emotions raging inside me, something settles into place as I step up to Letty’s black and chrome front door and lift my hand to ring the bell.

My heart pounds, my hand trembles, and my knees are weak, as if I’m about to hit the deck. But I don’t, and I’m so freaking glad I manage to stay strong because not two seconds later do I hear screaming from inside the house. And not the bad kind. The barely-able-to-contain-your-excitement kind.

Three seconds later, the door before me is wrenched open and I’m dragged into an eager pair of arms.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she squeals. “You’re here. You’re here.”

She bounces before me, her excitement fully unleashed, and while it might be reciprocated in some way, it’s not enough to stem everything else and a loud, ugly sob erupts from my throat.

“Oh fuck. Shit. I got you. I got you,” she says a little quieter as she holds me tighter and drags me into the house, kicking the door shut behind us. “This is really bad timing, El,” she says, making my blood turn to ice. If she sends me away now, then?—

“The guys can’t go and kick his ass during the season. Why couldn’t he have fucked up a few months ago?”

A sad laugh erupts from my lips at the image of a group of massive NFL players standing on Chad’s doorstep and the look on his face when he realizes exactly why they’re there.

He knows who my friends are, but he never took any interest. He was a baseball fan. That alone probably should have been enough warning. No offense to baseball or their players or fans, but it’s just not my thing. I’m a football girl through and through. Watching a guy, no matter how hot, waving a stick around trying to hit a ball just doesn’t quite get my engine revving like a guy holding a football. Even now, in the middle of this clusterfuck, the thought of a dark-haired, muscular guy with a ball tucked under his arm…yum.

I shake my head. “I’m not letting any of them risk their careers for me.”

“There wouldn’t be any stopping them and you know it.”

Taking my luggage from me, she wheels it over polished tiles to the stairs, leaving it against the wall.

“Let,” I breathe, finally blinking my tears away enough to look around. “This place is incredible.”

She looks around at her recently finished home. “It’s perfect.”

Her smile lights up her face, causing jealousy to eat at my insides.

“It is,” I agree. I can picture the three of them here being the happy family I’ve seen in the photos she sends me regularly.

“The tour can wait. You need a drink like, yesterday, by the looks of you.”

Threading her arm through mine, she tugs me toward the back of the house.

“Wow,” I breathe, taking in the huge wall of windows that reveal a simple yet perfect yard and the glistening blue water of the lake in the background. “The photographs haven't done this place justice. It’s?—”

“That couch right there is my favorite place to sit in the whole house,” she says, nodding to the gray sectional beside me. “Ky playing on the rug, Kane lying out as he watches old films, and me tucked up in the corner—because his massive body takes up all the freaking space—reading. It’s…heaven.”

That jealousy that began in the hall only grows. But it’s not the bitter kind. It’s the my best friend deserves all of this and more, but damn it, I want to feel what it’s like to be that happy jealousy.

Talking of Kyan… “Where is the little man?”

“Afternoon nap,” she says, her smile growing.

“Having a good day, huh?” I ask, still staring out at the view while she crashes around in the open-plan kitchen behind me.

“He’s a whirlwind. Look away for one second and he’s gone. I thought the climbing was bad, but now he’s on his feet? Jesus.” She pushes her hand through her hair and sighs.

It’s the first time since being dragged through the front door that I’ve looked at her. And while she looks as beautiful as she always does, with a face clean of makeup, I can see her tiredness.

“It’s hard work, El. A turbocharged child and a husband who’s gone almost all day during the season.”

“I can’t imagine,” I say, walking over and hopping up onto one of her black leather stools.

“I can’t wait for the weekend. Mom is coming to have Ky, and I get to…I dunno. Be me again.”

Guilt flickers through her eyes, and I hate that I came crashing in here with my issues while she’s clearly struggling with her own.

“It’s okay to be tired. To admit that it’s not a walk in the park.”

Resting her elbows on the counter, she hangs her head.

“He’s been having nightmares. Four times I was up with him last night. I have no idea what to do to help other than hold him. But I don’t think it’s me he wants. It’s Kane. He’s missing his daddy, and it breaks my heart that I can’t be what he needs. That I can’t help him understand that he’ll be back.”

“Oh, Let,” I say, reaching across the counter to take her hand in mine.

“Sorry, it’s fine. I’m just tired and?—”

“You don’t need to make excuses. Whatever you need, I’m here. Let me help. Hell knows I need some kind of point to my existence right now.”

Pulling her hand from mine, she checks her watch.

“Okay, we’ve probably got an hour to ourselves. We’re day drinking,” she announces.

I want to argue, tell her that it’s a really bad idea. But I can’t find it in me.

She needs it. I need it.

And as we all know, life gets better with every margarita. Right?

I sit and watch as Letty finds a blender and then sets about making us our cocktails. But unlike our college days, she doesn’t empty almost an entire bottle of tequila into it.

She’s much more reserved, and I can’t help but be thankful. If I have too much alcohol, I’ll be passed out before Kyan finishes his nap. And something tells me that Letty might just be too.

“He was fucking his boss?” she shrieks after I’ve told her what brought me halfway across the country on a whim.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” I mutter, taking a sip of my drink.

It’s so good I almost purr.

“Your fiancé was fucking his boss, El. We’re all supposed to be surprised.”

I shrug. “What am I doing, Let?” I ask quietly.

She watches me closely as I finally start being honest with myself.

“I’m not happy, and I don’t know how to fix it. Chad was great at the beginning, but I was too broken to see the truth. He wanted me weak. He wanted everything on his terms. He wanted me as nothing more than a glorified pet that he could parade around when it suited him and keep locked away at home when it didn’t.”

If I were admitting this to anyone else, I’d be terrified of the pity I might see staring back at me. But not Letty. She knows. She gets it. Hell, she’s been there, and she rebuilt her life into something millions of women worldwide crave. And I’m not just talking about the sexy hubby, either.

Instead, I see empathy and compassion in my best friend’s watery eyes.

“What do you want, Ella?”

Biting down on the inside of my lip, I think about that question.

She’s not asking me about my dream job, the perfect man or anything superficial. She’s asking for something deeper. Something a hell of a lot more painful to admit.

“I-I want—” I blow out a breath. “I want to be happy with the person I am now. I want to be confident again despite…” I wave my hand over my body. “This. And I want to smile and mean it. Like I used to.”

“Firstly, you’re beautiful. Your curves are insane. Men would fall over themselves for a pair of tits and an ass like that. But I know that hearing it from me doesn’t help. And secondly, the fact you’ve just admitted that is half the battle.

“The world is your oyster, Ella. You’re young, beautiful and incredibly smart. What are you going to do with it?”