Page 42 of Broken Saint
“Well, sometimes it’s necessary. Especially when some douchebag is treating my friends like shit.”
His words take me straight back to a football party one night where a junior I’d never met before decided that I was going to be spending the night in his bed and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had no idea Colt was watching, but the guy sure found out fast when Colt’s massive fist collided with his nose.
“I was your friend?” I ask. “I think fuck buddies might be more of a?—”
“You were never just that and you know it,” he snaps.
“Do I?” I ask weakly, hating how pathetic I sound.
Where’s confident Ella, huh?
He brings us to a stop before dropping a bag I didn’t see over his shoulder to the ground.
After pulling out a blanket, he takes my hand again and pulls me down with him.
“Someone learned how to be romantic,” I tease. “Are there candles and champagne in that bag too?”
As much as I might want to divert from his previous comment, it seems that Colt is determined to address it.
“I know how I treated you. But I need you to know that you were never just a fuck buddy.”
Getting comfortable beside me, we both stare out at the city lights in front of us.
“You were always my friend first. One of my best friends.”
A huge, messy ball of emotion crawls up my throat at his confession.
“And if things were different, if I were different, then maybe we could have been more.”
My mouth opens and closes, but no words find their way out.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe nothing has changed at all.
“This place is incredible,” I say after long, painful seconds of silence.
There are so many things that have gone unsaid between us since the first night we spent together. Why change the habit of a lifetime?
“It’s my favorite place in the city,” he confesses quietly. “My mom…she used to bring me here when she needed…” His deep rumble of a voice trails off as unease washes over me.
I know who his dad is. Everyone knows who his dad is.
Dalton Rogers's reputation, stats, and skill on the field preceded him. It’s hardly a surprise that both Colt and West ended up following in his footsteps. And once he finished playing, he embarked on an equally successful coaching career.
But Colt’s mom? She’s very much a mystery. Neither Colt nor West ever talk about her.
Sensing he needs something, I reach over and cover his hand with mine.
“When she what?”
“When she was having a bad day. The peace up here…it helped calm her.”
“It’s a pretty calming place.”
He falls silent once more.
“I don’t know why I brought you here. It just…it’s my favorite place, and I guess…I guess I wanted to share it with you.”
“So you don’t bring all your conquests up here to sweet talk, then?” I ask.