Chapter 5 Unable To Run

Kade's POV I can feel the sunlight against my eyelids, warm and bright, and I stretch against the sheets. My body is sore, but in a way that feels good. It's a dull ache in my muscles, but deeper than that is the hum of satisfaction, it's the the kind of feeling that only comes after a night of drinking and celebrating because we won. Yeah, we won again, and the thought settles deep in my chest, and it pulls a lazy smirk from me. My mind replays it all, the game, the crowd, the moment I lifted that trophy above my head, it's all still fresh, still running through my veins. Other than that, I don't remember much from last night, but I don't need to. The details are a blur, twisting together. Booze, laughter, and the feel of hands dragging me deeper into the club as bodies pressed too close. I remember the heavy bass shaking the floor beneath my feet. Exhaling, I drag a hand over my face. I feel good, no, I feel better than good. The weight of responsibility, the constant pressure and the expectations, none of it exists in this moment. All that exists is the afterglow of a championship win, and the satisfaction of letting go. Pushing up onto my elbows, my vision tilts slightly before settling. My jeans are still on, the belt undone, but not fully removed, and my shirt is twisted, the hem riding up my stomach. My shoes are somewhere near the door, and my phone sits face down on the nightstand next to an empty glass. I reach for it, flipping it over seeing that I have one new message from unknown number. Come see me. Now. The warmth in my chest disappears and for a second, I don’t move. My fingers tighten around the phone, my heartbeat speeds up. Suddenly everything crashes back in. Me at the club, then me walking into the VIP lounge. I met Darren, I went back to his hotel room. I vaguely remember his hands on my body, the way my pulse hammered in my ears as his lips dragged over my skin. And then the door swinging open. Shit. My body stills as I remember the sharp click and the picture being taken, then Nikolai Volkov standing there watching me while smirking, like he captured everything he ever wanted. My stomach turns, a slow, sinking feeling settles in as I stare at the message for a long moment. Shit, that's all I can do is say shit. My chest tightens, but I can't do it, I can't let it get to me, without hesitation, I swipe it away, because fuck him, and fuck what he thinks he has on me. I won't deal with this today, even if it means I'm living in a dream world. I climb out of bed, moving toward the bathroom, and splash cold water onto my face. When I look in the mirror, my reflection is steady. Nothing happened, and everything is fine, at least that is what I tell myself, at least for today, I’m going to pretend that’s true. As I step into the shower, I'm determined to wash away the unease. The hot water does nothing to clear my head, but I let it run over me anyway, standing under the steady stream, with my hands braced against the shower wall. My skin still hums from last night, my muscles sore in a way that feels good, but the weight in my chest hasn’t left. I don’t want to think about the message. Actually, I don’t want to think about him. Exhaling sharply, I drag a hand through my hair before shutting the water off. The steam from the shower curls around me as I step out, grabbing a towel and rubbing it over my face. I should be feeling better, lighter, and ready to keep celebrating, but I don't. I feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong. It already has though, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong right now. The buzz of my phone from the nightstand has me gritting my teeth. I ignore it, reaching for my jeans instead. My teammates are probably wondering where the hell I am. I glance at the clock. Shit, I'm late. I was supposed to meet them an hour ago. Grabbing my jacket, I snatch my phone without looking at the screen and shove it into my pocket before heading for the door. The bar is already packed when I step inside. There is loud laughter and music that instantly crashes over me, when I step in, and the air is thick with alcohol, sweat, and that buzz of post-victory adrenaline. People are everywhere, crammed into booths, leaning against the bar, and they are all shouting over each other. I spot my team immediately, Tyler is standing on a chair, beer in hand, shouting something about how we own this city. Ben is beside him, shaking his head but grinning, while the rest of the guys are gathered around, drinks in hand, faces flushed from alcohol and celebration. Yeah, I'm late, smirking I weave through the crowd and towards the table where they are all settled. “Look who finally decided to show up!” Tyler shouts, pointing his beer at me. “Was starting to think you got lost,” Ben adds, raising an eyebrow. “Had to make an entrance,” I say, grabbing an empty seat and the drink Tyler shoves at me. The burn of whiskey slides down easy, settling warm in my stomach, maybe I can just drink away what happened last night?