Page 130 of Broken Saint

“At least tell me I’m better than that schmuck you left in Texas.”

“Well…” she muses as I drop into my underground garage.

“Ella,” I warn.

Pulling into my space, I slam my foot on the brake, making us both jolt forward.

She wants to lie, I can see it swirling in her mischievous eyes, but when her lips part, only the truth comes out.

“There was never a competition between the two of you.”

“Good. Now let’s go. I need to eat dinner before I embark on dessert.”

Her cheeks blaze. “Dessert?” she asks innocently.

“Gonna eat that sweet little pussy all fucking night, Bombshell. By the time I leave for training in the morning, the only ride you’ll remember is mine. Now get out of the car before I carry you.”

34

ELLA

Ihave plenty of experience with Colt when he’s happy.

Mostly, it’s those memories of our college years that kept me going after my accident and the misery that followed.

He was always the life of the party, the joker, the one instigating the drinking games and hazing the freshmen.

His aura when he was high on life was probably what attracted me to him in the first place.

I’d mostly lived my life in the shadows prior to turning up at MKU. I told myself to try and step out of my comfort zone and leave the “old Ella” firmly behind and embrace the new me.

It had been months since I’d seen a therapist about my eating disorder, and I was finally in a place where I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw.

Life was good.

And meeting Colt made it even better.

But I never saw him low.

He would disappear, though. Sometimes for days, sometimes longer. Especially after a bad loss on the field. But I never thought there was anything more than him being pissed off at his performance.

West certainly never said anything that made me question Colt’s moods. As far as I was concerned, he was just a normal young guy dealing with the pressure of college, football, and having a famous father.

When we got back Wednesday night, there wasn’t a lot of time for talking—not that I thought Colt could handle it even if there was.

He’d said more than he wanted to outside that facility. And as much as I wanted to bring it up again, to assure him that nothing he told me in his truck scared me, I knew he didn’t want to hear it. Not yet at least.

I spent yesterday continuing to ignore the real world with Letty, Peyton, and Kyan. The new addition aside, it was just like old times, remembering and laughing at the stupid shit we did, mostly while we were drunk.

With the guys’ next game looming, they were spending more hours training and watching film.

I get it. Colt’s job is everything, and the season can be intense. I remember it well from college, but the stakes are higher now. Each game crucial, the wins more important and the losses harder to take.

But I miss him.

I’ve gone from zero to sixty when it comes to Colton Rogers, and now I’m yearning for him in a way I thought I’d forgotten about.

He messaged ten minutes ago to say he was on his way home and picking up dinner en route.