Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,51

Roman ran, those massive thighs propelling him down the field at breakneck speed.

“Go!” I screamed as he juked left, breaking a tackle and barreling past two defensive linemen.

“Holy shit, run, Padilla! Run!” Savannah hollered next to me.

Roman bounced off a defender and sailed past a cornerback nipping at his heels.

“Omigod!” Liberty squealed as he flew into the end zone.

“Sixty-one yards!” I screamed as we bounced up and down, the entire suite roaring with shouts and cheers and cries of victory.

Nixon and Hendrix caught up with him in the end zone, the three doing their signature celebration—a hilariously quick dance with lots of hip-swinging and hustling feet. My eyes were only for Roman as he swished those hips left and right, his natural rhythm made even more evident by the tights clinging to his muscles.

The girls and I hugged, my head buzzing from the rush of the win. Of the comeback. Of the way Roman had played his ass off.

Pride rippled through. I’d always been proud of him, of my best friend whenever he had a game making play, but there was something about claiming him as mine that made that pride deepen.

“Padilla was on fire today!” Savannah said as the suite settled into an excited chatter.

“I wonder why that is?” Liberty asked, waggling her eyebrows at me.

I waved her off, unable to stop the laugh from my lips. “He’s always on fire,” I said.

“Oh, no doubt,” Savannah agreed, reclaiming her seat. It would be at least an hour before we’d meet the boys outside the locker room. Well, Liberty and I would meet the boys, and Savannah would have a post-game sesh with her dad. Her ambitions for sports management were well-nourished with unlimited access to one of the top NFL coaches in the league. “But,” she continued. “He’s been playing with a new spark, lately.” She smirked at me. “As if someone struck a match beneath his feet.”

I gaped at the pair of them, but my heart was so damn full.

I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, wondering if someone was listening to my conversations. Wondering if I’d say the wrong thing at the wrong time, or make a face that was less than flattering just as the press snapped a photo.

I was free.

Free to finally enjoy the game and watch it with two friends who appreciated me and accepted me for who I was. They didn’t try to shape me into someone else. They supported me, built me up, and had my back.

“You two are the best,” I said. “You know that?”

Savannah scoffed as she narrowed her gaze. “Don’t get all girly on me now,” she teased.

I rolled my eyes. “I mean it.”

Savannah visibly swallowed, then begrudgingly accepted my hug. Liberty was all too ready to hug me back, her smile wide and eyes all-knowing.

“I love seeing you this way,” Liberty said.

“What way?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Free.”

Damn her and her psychoanalytic voodoo. She had a superpower when it came to reading people. And she used it for the greater good, which made her a double superhero. She’d sensed the toxicity of my relationship with Rick even before I’d fully awoken to the magnitude of just how not-normal our relationship was.

I swallowed hard, trying like hell to ward off the sticky shame that often clung to my chest when reality hit me over the head about how blind I’d been. How buried I’d been in the life—the one Rick had expertly molded which left me feeling obligated to him, indebted to him, dependent on him.

He’d isolated me on purpose—not for my benefit like he’d always claimed. He’d given me excuses of not wanting me to be influenced by bad people. My friends.

“Hey,” Liberty said, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re good,” I cut her off, hating the pity in her eyes. “You know sometimes I can’t stop the thoughts from shoving me down the rabbit hole.”

“Totally understandable,” she said. “Honestly, it will take time. And there may never be a time where you’re fully capable of stopping the memories.”

I nodded, allowing the truth in her words sink into me. “But I can sure as hell try,” I said, smiling. For once, the grin was not forced after a game—the moment I always waited anxiously in the hopes Rick would exit the locker room with happiness in his eyes instead of disappointment.

Now, I didn’t have to wonder.

I knew Roman would be happy to see me. Not because of his incredible game, but because it was him and it was me