Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 54

Another game. Another city.

Because of the distance and time of tomorrow’s game, we’re spending the night once again.

The plan is to go to dinner and then sneak Josephine into my room.

It’s not ideal, but I can’t imagine spending the night without her.

Her presence calms me, and I’ll need that now more than ever, seeing as we are playing the Empires tomorrow.

They are a team to be reckoned with, but since we met them last year for the Cup, they are even more so.

Everyone thinks we’re a shoo-in. Well, everyone except the assholes who are most likely betting against us.

Like all of New York.

I start to pace my hotel room; I’m having a hard time keeping still. Another reason I need my little hellfire. If she were here, I could work out my energy.

Fuck.

Now I really don’t want to go to dinner.

Lifting my arm up, I check my watch. It’s only seven, and dinner isn’t until seven thirty.

I’m about to text Josephine to see if she’s still with Molly when the hotel phone rings.

Strange. No one ever calls me on that thing. I walk over to the phone and pick it up.

“Hello.” The confusion is most likely evident in my voice. Either that or I sound like a grump, as Josephine likes to tell me.

“Good evening, Mr. Sinclair. There’s a package for you at the front desk.”

My brows draw in. Why would anyone send a package to me? Especially since I’m in New York. But then I think about Molly. Maybe it was her. She does tend to drop off stuff I need; maybe she’s too busy hanging out with Hellfire and gave it to the concierge.

She should have just given it to Josephine and made my life easier and a hell of a lot better.

Only one problem with that plan—Molly doesn’t know about Hellfire and me. Second problem, she’s way too observant not to see the signs if I asked her to have her bring it up.

Yep, nope. Bad idea.

“Can you have someone bring it up, please?”

“No problem, sir. It will be up shortly.”

I hang up the phone and walk to the other side of the living room in my suite. Grabbing the whiskey decanter, I pour myself a glass and wait.

I’m halfway through my drink when the knock sounds against the door. I don’t bother placing my glass down. Instead, I walk with it to the door and open it with my free hand.

An employee from the hotel is carrying a small, nondescript envelope. Interesting. Maybe not from Molly after all.

I reach into my pocket with my free hand, grab a wad of bills, and tip him before taking the envelope and shutting the door.

Even stranger is when I look at the white envelope, and the only thing written on it is my name. In neat uppercase letters.

I furrow my brow. The handwriting looks familiar, but I can’t place it.

I place my glass down and rip it open. Inside is a single photograph. One from a long time ago.

I flip over the card. My breath catches in my throat. Memories of that night come flooding back, unwanted and vivid.

The handwriting. I know the handwriting, but it’s the note scribbled that has chills running down my spine. The past always has a way of haunting us.

I drop the photograph as if it singed my fingers. My mind races a million miles a minute.

Who sent this? Do they know?

Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

Anger and fear surge up, threatening to overwhelm me.

My heart pounds in my chest. It feels like I might throw up.

I flop down on the couch. The weight of it crushing me. Guilt and regret swallowing me whole.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice booms from the now open front door of the house. I peer up and see my uncle Jim storming toward me. The man is a mean son of a bitch.

I sit up taller. “You’re going to have to be a little clearer. I do a lot of shit,” I respond, trying my best not to let him see fear. If my uncle sees blood in the water, he’ll pounce.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you little shit.”

From the corner of the room, the small face of my sister pops through the open door that leads to the basement. She was downstairs playing and must have heard the commotion. I meet her gaze and give my head a little shake, not large enough for Uncle Jim to notice, but enough that she knows what I’m telling her. To leave.

It would be bad if he caught her.

“You’re a kid. There’s no way you really think you’re going to win.”

“I will.”

“With what money? You have no income.” He sneers at me. “Don’t fuck with me, Dane.”

I stand from the couch, stalking over to where my uncle stands. “Get out.”

“Big, tough guy. Let’s see how tough you are when I make sure you get none of your parents’ money.” He laughs before turning around and leaving the house.

“Your uncle is an ass.” I turn to see my friend Nick sitting there.

Fuck. I forgot he was there.

“So what’re you going to do?”

I bury my head in my hands. “I have no idea.”

How the hell am I going to get the money to fight my uncle for custody of Molly.

“I might just have an idea that will solve all your problems . . .”

What am I going to do?

My whole life is based on a lie, and now—

No. This is just a coincidence. I shake my head back and forth, and if it’s not?

My phone rings, and I see a text coming through.

It’s Hellfire.

I can’t see her.

Not now and, depending on if this threat is real, not ever.

If my secret gets out . . . life as I know it will never be the same.

What if Coach replaces out? He’ll never let me near his team, let alone his daughter.

The more I think about it, the more I know I need to break up with Hellfire to protect her.

And that leaves four problems.

First—I don’t want to break up with her.

Second—I refuse to hurt her feelings.

Third—it’s im-freaking-possible to break up with someone without hurting their feelings.

And fourth—I DON’T WANT TO BREAK UP WITH HER.

In the end, I know I need to be firm, or my persistent hellfire will scent out my weakness. She always does.

I stare at my phone, my hands trembling.

Do it.

Dane: Something came up. I won’t be able to see you.

Hellfire: Are you okay?

Dane: Yes.

I bury my face in my hands. I did the right thing.

There was no choice to be made.

This is for the best.