Everyone who works within the New York Warriors organization knows that star player August Fletcher refuses to talk to most people...and especially team reporters. All except Quinn Castle, that is.
Quinn doesn't know why the broody football player...
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I COULD FEEL August's eyes on me as I tended the bar at Sunny's.
It was half glare, half molten-hot stare.
He wasn't happy that I intervened when he walked–no, limped–into the bar and announced to his uncle that he was there to help. But it wasn't like Sunny wouldn't have noticed within minutes that August was in no condition to be running around behind the bar when he couldn't go more than a minute without leaning against something with a strained expression.
Instead of his usual role during the weekly fish fry, today August was positioned on the other side of the bar, sitting at the end of it while he grumpily rolled silverware into napkins and watched as I took his spot, slinging beverages. And whenever August attempted to help me, Sunny steered him toward another seated task.
Honestly, this was what he got for insisting on coming. Although, I did feel for him. I knew all he wanted was to give back to his family and his community. More and more, I was coming to understand that about August. He had this innate feeling of responsibility for people. I saw it in him as a player, but now I got to see it more intimately.
It made total sense that the thing that pulled August away from football was the people he cared about the most. Or rather, a feeling of betrayal for those people. It didn't mean I liked or knew what to do with that information, but I understood it.
Thinking about what I'd discovered this morning made my heart clench. I'd known–in a detached sort of way–about what had happened to August's parents. But hearing him tell his story put it into a new perspective, and all I wanted to do now was build a protective bubble around him. I wanted to shield him from the press, from the rumors, hell, even from me.
My own parents had championed me growing up, too, and I couldn't imagine losing my biggest cheerleaders. The people I had to thank for pushing me toward my dreams. I was young to be in the position that I was in, and I owed a lot of my success to them.
I sighed, sneaking another look at August, who was scowling at a pile of forks.
"If he's going to be such a grump, he should just go home," Cohen chuckled as he reached around me to grab a drink from the bar.
I shook my head in response to August's cousin, grinning softly to myself. "He wants to be helpful."
"If he was in too much pain to come last night, then I can't imagine why he's here now."
"Last night?" I questioned, looking back over my shoulder at Cohen.
"Pool night with the guys. I always play with August and Finny on Tuesdays." Cohen raised a brow. "Except for the past few weeks, August keeps bailing."
Without thinking, my gaze found the man in question, sitting out of earshot on the opposite side of the bar. His eyes were already on me, slightly narrowed as they shot between me and Cohen like he knew we were talking about him. Or maybe he just didn't like that we were talking at all.
