She didn’t see it earlier because the screen goes dark once it’s been paused for a certain amount of time. “Yeah. Just because I’m pissed at him doesn’t mean I don’t want to see him succeed. He’s worked his entire life to be in the position he’s in, and he deserves that.”
“That means you still care,” a knowing smile replaces her shock. “You really need to talk to him.”
“I will, but tomorrow. He needs to focus on his career tonight and he hasn’t even been playing that much. Right after I left, he started playing like shit and he’s been on the bench a lot.” I feel bad for him being in that position, but a small part of me was happy that he’s as miserable as I am. Does that make me a horrible human? Maybe. That’s beside the point, though. It means that he cares and hopefully knows he massively screwed up.
“Damn, that sucks.” She shakes her head and moves over to make room for me. “Do you want me to stay and watch with you?”
“Not really.” I sit down next to her. “I don’t enjoy having company with my misery. It’s not a becoming look, as you saw when you got here.”
“That’s true. Please don’t let it get that way again. I don’t want to have to come check on you every day like my parents have to do with my grandma.” She stands to leave. “But I will if I have to. I’m not going to let you go down in a pit of sadness. At least, not until you know what you’re going to do when it comes to him.” She leans down and gives me a hug. “Seriously, call me if you need me. I’m off for a couple of days.”
“I will.” She glares at me as if she doesn’t believe me. Not that she has no reason to since I’ve avoided all phone calls for the past week, but it makes me laugh. “I promise. No more living in filth because my heart hurts.”
“Yep. Or I’ll kick your ass.” Without another word, she walks out of my apartment. Even when she delivers those hard truths, I’m happy to have her on my side. I’m especially happy that she told me to shower because good Lord, was I gross.
All I can do now is watch the man I love on the TV screen and wish that I was there cheering him on.
The game is about ten minutes from starting. The announcers are going on and on about which teams will make it to the playoffs. They think the Rattlers are one of the teams that will make it to the championship round. That would be a dream for Bentley, but not if he doesn’t get to actually play.
They are talking about his presence on the court being minimal, and I don’t want to hear it. I mute the TV and rummage through my cabinets for popcorn. I could order out again, but I’m not that hungry. This will at least give me some sustenance.
While I’m waiting for the popcorn to be done, I unmute the TV. The game is about to start and I don’t want to miss any part of it. As much as it hurts to watch him play, at least I get to see him. Even though I haven’t talked to him since I bailed on him. I’m not sure anyone could blame me. Any girl in the same position would have likely done the same. Well, maybe not Hazel. She would have marched straight up to the woman and cussed her out. I’m not as brave as her, though.
There’s a knock at the door, pulling me from my thoughts. I’m not expecting anyone. Hazel left twenty minutes ago, and I don’t think she left anything. Maybe she ordered me dinner or something. She does whatever she can to mama me since my mother sucks. It’s one of my favorite things about her. The knock comes again, and whoever it is isn’t leaving. There’s only two minutes until the game starts so I hurry to the door and swing it open. “Hazel, you didn’t have to bring—” My words die on my lips when I see that it isn’t Hazel in my doorway.
“What are you doing here?” I glance at the TV then back at the man who is supposed to be on it right this very second.
“I figured this was the only way you’d talk to me.” Bentley’s hands are in his pockets and he looks like he hasn’t had a good night's rest in days. I’m not at my best either. The clothes I threw on after my shower has holes all in it from when I was in high school, and I’m sporting a worn-out pair of yoga pants. Definitely not how I want to look right now.
“But you’re supposed to be at the game.” I point to the TV to make my point. As if he doesn’t know that he’s supposed to be there.
“Yeah, but this was more important.” He leans against the door frame. “As much as I want to be out there playing, I needed to come here. I needed to come to you.”
Be still my beating heart. “Won’t this affect your career?” Why is that all I’m focusing on? He’s putting the game second to me. That is some sort of proof that I’m important to him, right?
“Probably,” he shrugs. “But I’ve been sitting on the bench a lot lately. As much as it sucks, it gives a person plenty of time to think.” He looks into the apartment then back to me. “Can we have this conversation inside? I don’t mind doing it right here, but I’m not sure it’s anyone else’s business.”
I didn’t even think about that. I’m still shocked that he’s here. At my apartment. Ruining whatever chance he may have as being a part of the Rattlers. “Yeah, um, come in.”
He brushes past me. There’s barely a few inches between us. He had room to have more distance from me, but he chose to be as close to me as possible. I’m not sure if it’s because he wants to intimidate me, or he’s so used to being in my space that he couldn’t help it. He sits on the couch and pats the space next to him before pointing at the TV. “So, you’re watching the game?”
I don’t sit down. Not because I don’t want to, but because I know if I do. If I get that close to him, I know I won’t be able to stay mad at him. I won’t give him a chance to say what he came here to say. Hell, he could be here to tell me I’m not worth all the trouble and he’s giving us the closure we both need. I clear my throat and nod. “I’ve been keeping up.”
“That’s good.” He doesn’t elaborate, but he scoots all the way across the sofa to give me the distance that he somehow knows I need. “What’s that smell?” Jesus. Did my days of not showering seep into the fabric? That’s embarrassing. “Is something burning?”
That’s when it finally hits me. “Shit, the popcorn.” This is why I never leave it unattended. There’s a delicate balance to making the perfect bag of popcorn, and I blew it the second he knocked on the door. I rush to the kitchen and pull the bag out of the microwave. The entire bottom is burned and there’s no saving it. I throw it in the trash but don’t bother with another bag. I don’t think I could eat while I wait for Bentley to say whatever he’s come here to say.
“Sorry about that,” I say as I sit on the opposite end of the sofa. “You showing up kind of distracted me. So why did you come all this way?”
“To apologize,” he looks down at his hands clasped together in his lap. “I should have pushed the reporter away sooner; the minute she attached herself to me, but I was in shock that she had the audacity to do it.”
“I didn’t hear an apology in that.” It’s catty of me I know, but saying he came to apologize and actually saying it are two distinct things. Seeing that woman throw herself at him destroyed me.
“You’re right.” He pauses for a second before lifting his head until his eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, Serena. I should have dealt with the situation sooner. Right after I realized she was behind the photos on the gossip magazine.”
I cut in to let him know that’s not the only time. “She was the woman outside the restaurant taking photos, too.”
“Damn,” he mutters. “I wish I would have known that. But that makes my decision to get a restraining order against her even better. She’s apparently been a nuisance to a lot of the players, and after I took the steps to get an order, a lot of the other players came forward, too.”
