Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series

It’s good to be back home and staying in the main house. I’m in a gorgeous suite Sherry prepared for me, which is even better.

The sound of my bedroom door sliding open has me turning my head in its direction.

“What are you doing here?”

Dane takes a step inside.

“I call it Operation Grovel.” He meets my gaze head-on, and the sincerity of his stare does crazy things to my belly despite me not wanting it to. What can I say? I’m only human, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need to put myself first.

I raise an eyebrow. “And where did you get a killer name like that?”

A tiny smirk pulls at his mouth. “I googled it.”

“Wow. I’m surprised you admit it.”

His lips flatten into a straight line.

He’s quick to correct himself, shaking his head once and then taking a few steps forward, only stopping when his legs bump up against the bed. “You’d be surprised by a lot of the things I’d do for you.”

“Such as?” I prop myself up in the bed.

Dane’s eyes soften. “Well, I’m here to take care of you today.”

I glance around nervously. “Did anyone see you come in?”

“Well, seeing as you’re staying in the main house.” His brow pops up.

“Stupid question.” In order to get into the house, someone had to let him in. Duh. I blame my lapse on how likable he is. Being in his presence makes my brain mush.

“Nothing you say could ever be stupid.”

I roll my eyes, sighing loudly for effect. “I beg to differ, but okay.” There’s no masking my sarcasm, but I’m not trying to anyway. I say a lot of dumb things. Hell, our whole relationship stems from a night of me acting stupid.

He chuckles before pointing at the edge of the bed. “Can I sit?”

With a swift nod, he takes me up on my offer. “So grovel. What does that entail?”

His arctic-blue eyes twinkle. “Doing anything you want.”

If this man could get a score for sex appeal, his score would be an A plus.

Endless possibilities dance in my brain. This could be fun. “Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Within reason. I won’t kill anyone.”

Oh, wow, he went there.

“Pity.” I shrug, biting my lip to hide my smirk.

“But other than that, everything is on the table.”

“Would you TP the house?” This time, I can’t help the mischievous grin spreading across my face.

“If you really want me to . . .”

I reach out and place my palm on his forehead. “Nope. No temperature.”

He removes my hand and lifts it to his mouth, kissing it gently before placing it back on my lap. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Did I get hit on the head, or you? Because you’re acting weird.”

“I’m acting like a man who was scared to death when I thought you were dead and realized I couldn’t live in a world without you.”

My heart thumps, and tears well in my eyes, but I push them away. “Back to the grovel. So. Um, what did you tell them?” I clear my throat.

“Tell who?”

“My father. Sherry.”

“I told them I felt responsible for what happened to you and wanted to see if you needed anything. I’m pretty sure your dad hates me now.” Dane shifts on the bed, looking down.

A piece of my heart breaks that he could ever think that. Doesn’t he know how special he is? My father loves him.

Deep down, I know he does. He’s only saying this because his mind remains clouded with the guilt of my accident.

“He doesn’t hate you.” I place a reassuring hand on his arm. “He loves you. You might not see it now, but I was so jealous for months. He looked at you and your sister the way I wanted him to look at me.”

He glances back up, uncertainty still in his eyes, but there’s also something else there: hope. “If you say so.”

“I do.” I squeeze gently.

For a moment, we both go quiet. A somber feeling is heavy in the room, but then Dane leans in closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Head still hurts.” I grimace, rubbing my temples. “The doctor said I’d have a headache for a few days, but it still sucks.”

Concern etches his face. “What can I do to help you?”

My fingers fidget with the hem of the comforter. “Nothing.” I glance at the clock, then back at Dane.

His lips have formed a thin line. “Stop, Hellfire, let me help.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to grovel.” I cross my arms, trying to stay strong. A part of me knows that, like Aphrodite, I’d always go to him. A gravitational pull between us can’t be denied, but another part wants to be strong and hold out a little longer.

“You deserve the grovel.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face, and I lean into his touch.

“I’m just tired. And everything hurts.”

“So let me pamper you.” Small lines crinkle the side of Dane’s eyes as a hopeful smile tugs his lips up.

“Fine. A painkiller would be nice. And the super secret recipe hot chocolate?”

“Whatever you want. I’m here to serve you.”

Despite my exhaustion, being taken care of sounds nice right now. I can’t remember the last time anyone has taken care of me. My mom wasn’t around much, and when she was, doting isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe her behavior. Maybe I do deserve a little R and R with a side of being spoiled. “You win. What does the pampering entail?”

He raises his brow. “Foot massage.”

“That’s hardly pampering.” I roll my eyes playfully.

“What would you do if you took a full me day?”

I shrug. “A massage, face mask, and then binge-watch my favorite scary movie franchise.” Dane jumps up from the bed, springing into action.

“Done. Done and done. Give me five minutes.” He pivots his weight from one foot to the other, and his face grows serious as if he’s thinking. “Do you have a face mask?”

“Go look in the bathroom. That seems like something Sherry would have brought to the guest room; she was very thorough.”

He strolls toward the bathroom, and then I hear the telltale sounds of a man rummaging. What does that sound like? It sounds like a toddler looking for their favorite toy—a loud hinge from opening a cabinet, the slam of closing said cabinets, a crash of lord knows what, and then a groan.

“Found it!” he screams, and I can’t help but giggle. A second later, he strides back into the room with a few plastic packets clutched in his hand. He looks so damn proud of himself. Steps purposeful, the posture of a king.

The gleam in his eyes makes me melt when he gives me the packets. “I can’t do it alone. Do it with me.”

I hold one out to him, and he raises an eyebrow. “You want me to wear a face mask?”

“It would be a super good grovel,” I tell him, biting my lip.

No way will he say yes.

His lips press together. “Please don’t take a picture and send it to the team, no matter how tempting. Hudson won’t let me live it down.”

My mouth falls open. Did he really just agree to a home spa day with me? “You don’t have to.”

“Actually, I do.” He takes the mask.

A few minutes later, we both have masks on—our faces covered in a layer of goo.

“You look very sexy in that,” I tell him, giggling.

“Is this how you like me?” He tries to look serious but ends up laughing.

“Yep. All goopy.”

An hour later, I’m tucked in my new big fluffy bed when there’s another knock on my door.

Knowing Dane, he probably left something here.

I tuck some stray hair out of my face, hoping I don’t look like I just ate myself into a contraband food coma and hid the takeout containers in the hallway trashcan.

“Come in.”

The door creaks as it’s pushed open.

“Oh, Josie.”

That is not Dane’s voice.

Nope.

It’s the one person I told not to come, but it seems like with all things in my life, she’s once again chosen not to listen.

She steps into my room, and my eyes widen at her appearance. My mother looks like shit—disheveled and exhausted. Like she drove all night. Did she sleep? Doesn’t she have work?

“Why are you here? Don’t you have someplace to be? Perhaps taking care of those bills you love to remind me about. The ones that are all my fault.”

She winces, drawing my eyes to the deep circles rimming her lower lashes. “I deserve that. I took things out on you that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I made you feel like a burden.”

“Want to know what I learned in my time away from you?”

She staggers away, probably taken aback by the raw fury in my voice. “Jos—”

I ignore her, carrying on. I need to get this out.

“I learned that people can only hurt you if you let them.” I think about Dane and Molly, about Dad and Sherry, about everyone who welcomed me into their circles and made me feel wanted. “This is me saying goodbye, Mom. I no longer give you permission to hurt me.”

“No.”

It’s half-gasp, half-cry.

She drops to her knees and wraps her arms around herself. “How did it turn out like this? It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

The words escape as a whisper as if she’s chanting them to herself.

Still, I answer her, because I need her to know how much she hurt me. “How did you think it would turn out after you repeatedly reminded me that I’m a burden, never believed I could make something of myself, hid an entire father from me, and kicked me out of your home? Did you ever love me?”

As soon as I finish talking, I feel the weight soaring off me. For decades, I kept these words bottled inside me.

I stayed silent when she shook her head in disappointment at my grades, too scared she wouldn’t show up on Sunday Date Night and I’d have to wait another week to see her.

I didn’t say a word when she’d toss the utility bills into the shredder and complain about how much it cost to house a family of two.

Never once did I feel like she truly wanted me.

In fact, before Dane, I never knew what it felt like to be loved without strings attached.

“Of course, I loved you.” Mom springs to her feet, determination lining every inch of her face. “I love you. I loved you the moment you entered the world, refusing to cry. Did you know that it took minutes for the doctors to get you to cry? I bawled for you, praying you were okay. I promised the universe that day that I would protect you with my life. That I’d give you everything you ever wanted and more.”

I swallow, forcing myself not to sway.

I want to.

These are the words I’ve wanted to hear for years.

Too little too late.

“How would I know?” I turn away. “You never tell me anything.”

“I won’t lie and say being a single mom was easy. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ve never regretted it. I was just a kid myself, and there I was in the hospital, handed a child. I didn’t know what to do. I promised you that I’d give you the world if you’d just breathe, and every time a bill came that I couldn’t pay, I hated myself for it. You were never a burden, Josie. I just wanted to give you more, and I couldn’t.”

“I never asked for more.” I thought of all those nights I tucked myself into bed as she worked two—sometimes three—shifts. “I just wanted you there.”

“I know, and I fucked up. I don’t know when it happened, but at one point, I couldn’t see past my own failures. Instead of stepping back and reevaluating my priorities, I doubled down. I started taking on more shifts, spending more time away from you, chasing a better version of myself I thought would come if I could give you everything I promised I would.”

“I already told you—” I start to say before she raises her hand to stop me.

“Please, Josie. Please let me get this all out.’

“Go on, then.” I motion for her to continue. “Explain.”

“I should have told you about your father the second I discovered his name.”

“You think.” I roll my eyes, and the movement makes my head throb despite the headache medicine Dane gave me during his visit.

Then her words sink in.

Find out?

So…she didn’t know?

Stupid, stubborn hope invades my chest, planting itself around my heart.

She didn’t lie to me. Not really.

Chill out, Josie.

“When I met your father, I was a wreck. I didn’t want to tell you about that night, because I was afraid you’d be embarrassed by me.” Her head falls forward on a sob. “Until recently, I didn’t even know who he was, Josie.”

“What?” I hold my breath.

“The night I met him, I never got his last name.” She swipes away her tears. “I was eighteen. I wasn’t even in college yet, and I went to a frat party with a friend. I got drunk. Really, really drunk.” She closes her eyes, sucking in a deep breath before opening them again on a groan. “This is so embarrassing.”

I hesitate, not sure I want the answer to the question I’m about to ask. “He didn’t…”

“Take advantage of me? God, no. We were both blasted. All I remember is that he introduced himself as Robert, we had this crazy connection, and I climbed him like a pole.”

“Mom.”

“Sorry.” She has the decency to turn pink. “We went our separate ways in the morning. By the time I found out I was pregnant, three months had passed, it was summer, and I didn’t know where to find him. I returned to the frat house and asked around. The guys laughed at me, Josie. They laughed. It was like every mistake I made as a kid flashed before me in that moment. The booze, the sex, the drugs—”

My eyes widen. “Drugs?”

The mother I knew was always so straight-laced. I’ve never even seen her drink a sip of wine. Not even in pasta.

She groans, getting up and taking a seat on the empty visitor’s chair. “So much drugs. That’s why I got so scared when I found your stash?”

“Wait. Hold up.” I shake my head, not following. “My stash? I don’t do drugs. Never have, never will.”

“Your stash. Of books.”

“You mean my manuscripts?” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, even as my head threatens to split with a headache. “Oh, my God. When people say stash, they mean contraband, Mom.”

A small smile makes its way up her cheeks. I didn’t realize how little I’ve seen it.

“You called me Mom.”

I look away, unsure how to answer that.

She sobers, scratching the back of her neck. “I snuck into your room when you didn’t return that night and read one of your manuscripts. The ones you worked on for your creative writing class.”

“Umm…okay?” I don’t follow.

“Devil Chalk.”

“Oh. Oh.”

I wrote a short story on addiction for my creative writing final, which I turned into a novella the following summer as I debated pursuing a career in publishing. In the end, I realized it wasn’t for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to toss anything I’d written.

I shake my head. “Just because I wrote a book about addiction doesn’t mean I’ve ever done drugs.”

“It read like a diary.”

“That’s the writing style. Bridget Jones meets Choke. My professor thought it was cool.”

“It felt so real. I saw myself in every page, Josie. You even knew how to cook meth.”

“Yeah, because of a Google search. Couldn’t you have asked me about it before, I don’t know, kicking me out?”

“I messed up, didn’t I?” She gnaws on her lower lip. “I just…am so embarrassed about my past and scared you’d found yourself on the same path. I thought it had to be my fault, and the only way to save you would be to get you away from me.”

“So you sent me here.”

“A few months before you graduated, I saw an interview on tv. Some sort of press conference, but there he was. Your father. It had to be him. Same first name and everything. I tracked down his number that very day, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him.”

“Why not?”

“When I found out I was pregnant, I cut everyone from that life out. I was too scared of meeting someone who knew the old me. I also didn’t know how I’d tell you. Here I was, always telling you to be a good girl. Get good grades, don’t sleep around, focus on your future. And I was—and still am—the biggest hypocrite. I didn’t have the guts to call him.”

“Until the morning you kicked me out.”

“I got in touch with him a few weeks before, but that day was when I asked him to take you. I messed up. I was so focused on preventing you from becoming me that I pushed you away.” She peers down at the floor before glancing back up. “I abandoned you when you needed me most. I’m so sorry, Josie. God, I’m sorry.”

Tears stream down her cheeks. I bite down on my tongue, forcing myself to hold it together. But then Mom sobs, and I can’t hold it in any longer. My own tears start to fall. Her words have opened up memories of my youth.

Scenes hit me in the chest like a ton of bricks. Every time she worked long hours to provide for me. When she tried to protect me from everyone, including myself.

Those are the moments that matter.

Yes, she should’ve talked to me. She shouldn’t have sent me away. She should’ve told me about Dad the second I found out. And she should’ve spent more time with me as a kid, making sure I never felt like a burden.

But she loved me.

She loves me.

She made so many wrong choices, but when it mattered, she did the right thing—she sent me here.

Working for Dad has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Mom sweeps me in her arms, brushing away my tears. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you ever forgive me?”

“You hurt me. You hurt Dad.”

“I wish I could take it all back.”

“But you can’t.” I pull away from her, staring into her eyes. “I can’t erase all the years I felt like you wished I was never born. I spent most of my life feeling like a burden, never having anyone to turn to for advice, and feeling inadequate in every sense of the word. But…”

“But?”

“But I know the truth now. I want to forgive you, but it will take time.”

“So, you’ll try?” Her voice sounds hopeful.

“Of course, I’ll try.”

I used to think I could never forgive her. But right now, right here, in this bed, in my new home, I know I can, eventually.

I thought I lost everything when she sent me away.

Instead, I found the most important thing—myself.

“Mom?”

“Yes, my love?”

“There’s nothing wrong with becoming you.” It’s my turn to wipe her tears. “I’ve always looked up to you.”