Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,13

come right home, practically buzzing to spend time with me. How many NFL stars did that? How many celebrities did that? Especially when Rick could have anyone he wanted.

He was right. The cameras and the press were unforgiving. He just wanted me to have on my best armor.

“You’re just not used to being loved as intensely as I love you,” he said. “Soon, you won’t question my intentions when I tell you to do something. It’s always in your best interest.”

I leaned into his touch, silently conveying my understanding. I’d never been loved by a man like Rick. His love for me was—constant, intense, attentive. I shouldn’t question it, and maybe it was my lack of experience with actual love that made me do so.

“Now,” Rick continued. “What did we learn tonight?”

“Teagan,” Roman said, his voice soothing, patient, as I withdrew from myself.

“Sorry.” I blinked out of the memory. “You’re right,” I said, hoisting myself out of the chair. “I need new clothes.”

Needed clothes that reminded me who I was—a woman with values and self-worth. Hopefully, somewhere in there.

“That’s my girl,” he said, sticking out his palm.

I high-fived him and disappeared into his room to get my shoes, unable to fully shake off the memory.

Three weeks and the flashbacks continued to pop up like bursts of oily bubbles in a clearer setting. God, it was like looking at them through a different vantage point. Who I’d been, what I’d let him grind me into…

Stop, stop, stop.

I paused before Roman, who held the door open for me, and stared into his dark eyes. My best friend had gone above and beyond these past weeks. Had listened when I managed to speak, had distracted me when I all but disappeared inside my head, and now? Now he was giving me the nudge I needed to take the next step in recovering my sense of identity.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” I said. “You know that, right?”

Roman visibly swallowed. “You’ll never have to,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Yes, I knew that. Knew that Roman had loved me unconditionally since we were in grade school. I knew his actions were out of a good, wholesome place—not because he was seeking something from me.

And after all he’d done, all he continued to do, I still hadn’t been able to fully open up to him about everything.

About the extent of scars he couldn’t see.

“I am sorry,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. “About how long it’s taking me to talk about it.”

Roman shook his head as he laced his fingers through mine. “Don’t be, T,” he said, tugging me out the door and opening the passenger side of his car for me. “We’ll take it one piece of pain at a time,” he said, shutting the door before he rounded the car. “That’s all you can do,” he said once he was behind the wheel.

“One piece of pain at a time,” I repeated his words.

That simplified things. Instead of taking on the ocean of issues I’d yet to deal with, I could pluck drops from the waves and examine them one at a time. Whenever I was ready.

“Now, the really important question,” he said as he backed out of his long driveaway.

My chest tightened, but I nodded, knowing I owed him any ounce of truth he asked of me, despite how ugly it may be.

A half-smile tugged at Roman’s full lips as he drove us through the gate and it slowly swung shut once we’d exited. He spared me a glance. “Shoes first, clothes, or food?”

I blew out a tight breath, a laugh flying from my lips.

“Clothes, shoes, and then food,” I said, unable to contain my smile. A real one, for once. Not one practiced for the cameras, not one to hide the fear from Rick’s prying eyes. A free, totally genuine smile. It almost felt foreign, but the man sitting next to me? My best friend, my constant throughout the years? He felt a hell of a lot like home, and I clung to that to bury the fear prickling the edges of my soul as we drove into the real world…the one I had yet to face since my breaking point.

“How’s it coming?” Roman asked from outside the dressing room.

I stared at myself in the full-length mirror, my head tilted as I looked at my reflection.

The jeans I’d plucked from the rack hugged my curves and tightened around the ankles, making my legs look longer than they actually were.