Worth the Desire

chapter forty-three

I groan, rolling my shoulder to relieve the knot formed there as I step through the front entrance of my apartment building and greet Jim, the security guard, with a nod. He responds with a slight curve of his lips as I stroll across the tiled floor, eager to get to my apartment so I can get to Bailey before she leaves for the airport.

I wince at the crack I hear each time I roll my shoulder, grateful once again that the pain isn't in my forearm. The bloody doctor said I had to continue to wear my brace for the next week if I wanted to be able to play again this season. But despite having to sit out, I still had to attend our away game in Chicago in a show of support, even if it was my teammate who caused the injury.

I note a lone figure sitting on the couches situated on the left of the main lobby as I make my way toward the elevator. In what should otherwise be an empty lobby—save the security guard—my attention gets sagged by the person who rises at my arrival. My steps slow when he approaches me, and I almost do a double take when I find the cause for my original arm pain walking toward me.

Last year, while I made it my mission to avoid Nick everywhere I went, he made sure to confront me, insulting my mum and me whenever he had the chance. I know my mum and I's relationship is currently nonexistent, but that doesn't mean I want someone—especially—Nick to humiliate her and call her a whore.

While I had decided that Bailey was more important than my hate for Nick, I thought I would have more time to ease into the idea of occasionally being in Nick's company. I would tolerate him for Bailey, but not before I've even had the chance to win her over.

But he's here in the flesh. I wonder what insults he would spew now. I couldn't stand them before, but now with Sinclair breathing down my neck, him being the reason why Bailey and I aren't together anymore, I don't think I can stand by and just listen to what he says.

I won't apologize for what I do, either. Not when tensions run high, and I'm already nearing my breaking point.

But as I watch him slowly and cautiously approach me, I notice something different about him.

I can't really pinpoint what exactly.

Physically Nick looks the same, maybe a bit worn down and tired, but it's in the way he holds his shoulders, the ease that settles into his limbs as I recall how tense he used to be.

With the idea of ignoring him, I stalk past him, with my keen focus on the doors. But he comes to stand next to me while I wait for the elevator to arrive.

Glancing over, I'm surprised to be met with shock in his green eyes, almost like he wasn't expecting me to show up at my own apartment. His lips part as he claps his hands together, rubbing his palms together before inhaling and puffing out his chest.

"Hey," he responds softly. My entire body goes rigid.

I blink toward him, watching him cautiously from under my lashes. I see his throat roll with a gulp, "What are you doing here?"