Own who you are.
My heart fluttered, remembering Trevor’s brother’s words. I could barely wait. Twelve more hours…
“But then again, I guess that’s not really true, is it?” he asked, an accusing tone in his voice. “Michael plays for the Storm, so he’ll be close to you now.”
I hooded my eyes, taking in a deep breath as I set down my drink. “With a population of over two million people, I doubt I’ll run into him often.”
“Unless you look for him.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, holding Trevor’s eyes and refusing to let him engage me in this conversation.
Michael Crist was Trevor’s brother. A little older, a little taller, and a lot more intimidating. They were almost nothing alike, and they hated each other. Trevor’s jealousy of him had been there ever since I could remember.
Michael had just graduated from Westgate University, being snatched up by the NBA almost immediately afterward. He played for the Meridian City Storm, one of the top teams in the NBA, so yes, I would know one person in the city.
Lot of good it would do me, though. Michael barely ever looked at me, and when he spoke to me his tone was no better than if he were speaking to a dog. I wasn’t planning on putting myself in his path.
No, I’d learned my lesson a long time ago.
Being in Meridian City had nothing to do with Michael anyway. It was closer to home, so I could visit my mother more often, but it was also the one place Trevor wouldn’t go. He hated large cities, and he loathed his brother even more.
“I’m sorry,” Trevor said more gently. He took my hand and pulled me in, sliding a hand around the back of my neck again. “I just love you, and I hate this. We belong together, Rika. It’s always been us.”
Us? No.
Trevor didn’t make my heart pump so hard that I felt like I was on a damn roller coaster. He wasn’t in my dreams, and he wasn’t the first person I thought about when I woke up.
He didn’t haunt me.
I tucked my hair behind my ear, noticing his gaze briefly flash to my neck. He quickly averted his eyes as if he didn’t see it. The scar made me less than perfect, I guess.
“Come on,” he urged, dipping his forehead to mine and gripping my waist. “I’m good to you, aren’t I? I’m nice, and I’m always here for you.”
“Trevor,” I argued, trying to twist out of his hold.
But then his mouth came down on mine, the scent of his cologne burning my nostrils as his arms wrapped around my waist.
I pressed my fists into his chest, pushing at him and tearing my mouth away.
“Trevor,” I growled low. “Stop it.”
“I give you everything you need,” he fought, his voice turning angry as he dived into my neck. “You know it’s going to be us.”
“Trevor!” I tensed every muscle in my arms and pressed against his body, finally pushing him off. He dropped his hands and stumbled back a step.
I immediately backed away, my hands shaking.
“Rika.” He reached for me, but I steeled my spine, backing away again.
He dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Fine,” he bit out, sneering. “Go to school then. Make new friends and leave everything here behind all you want, but your demons will still follow you. There’s no escaping them.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, glaring at me as he straightened his tie and walked around me out the doorway.
I stared out the windows after him, anger building in my chest. What the hell did that mean? There was nothing holding me down and nothing I was trying to escape. I just wanted freedom.
I backed away from the door, unable to go back outside. I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Crist by sneaking out on her son’s party, but I no longer wanted to spend my last hours here. I wanted to be with my mom.
I twisted around, ready to leave, but then I looked up and instantly stopped.
My stomach flipped, and I couldn’t breathe.
Shit.
Michael sat in one of the cushioned chairs all the way at the back of the solarium, his eyes locked on mine, looking eerily calm.
Michael. The one that wasn’t nice. The one that wasn’t good to me.
My throat thickened, and I wanted to swallow, but I couldn’t move. I just stared, paralyzed. Had he been there since I first walked down? The whole time?
He leaned back in his heavy armchair, nearly shrouded by the darkness and the shadows of the trees overhead. One hand rested on a basketball that sat on top of his thigh, and the other hand lay on the armrest, the neck of a beer bottle hanging from his fingers.