And Joey knows it too.
“Pick up your sister’s call,” she says.
“Red—” I begin.
“Pick up,” she orders.
“Red—”
“Answer it.”
I take a look at the frozen emerald eyes, the stiffnessin her shoulders, the fuckinghurtin every inch of her body and I know I have to fix this.
I open my mouth?—
“Answer. The.Fucking.Call. Damon.”
Shaking myself, I swipe across the screen, lift the phone to my ear.
And standing there, listening to the sound of my sister’s voice, I watch as Joey grabs her bag, her phone, her keys…
And then I watch as she leaves.
THIRTY-NINE
Joey
“Man,”I hear. “Coaching is a tough gig, isn’t it?”
I still at the silky voice, thesmugvoice.
I’ve barely reached the parking lot, my complete focus on just making it to my car when each step feels as though my knees may give way.
Damon said?—
Hurt ripples through my abdomen even as I try to slap bandages on the wounds inside me.
Hiding things from me. Not talking to me. Giving me a taste of that trademark temper with words that…
Fuckinghurt.
So yeah, I haven’t exactly been aware of my surroundings.
I don’t know if the man—the annoying reporter who’s been dogging me for months— followed me or was just waiting in the shadows, preparing to pounce.
All I know is he’s here now.
Annoying me.
I exhale, force out my reply through my tight throat. “I’m done with sound bites for the night. Catch me after next game.”
“You seem upset.”
Clenching my jaw, I don’t stop, just keep moving to my car, grabbing the handle on the driver’s door. “It’s late.”
“Is it that?” he drawls. “Or is it that head coaching is really hard on a woman’s love life?”
A lance to my heart, stealing all the breath from my lungs.
