Unfortunately, the anger didn’t land, because she knew the fault for this agony rested squarely on her shoulders.
“Actually,” she said, clearing her throat, which had grown tight. “You can have my seat. I, uh, I’ve got a killer migraine coming on. I think I’d better head home.”
Tank’s happy expression morphed to one of concern. “We don’t have to stay. In fact, I’ll drive you home and?—”
“No,” she quickly interjected. “No. You stay here and celebrate. All I’m going to do is take some medicine, crawl into my bed, and sleep it off.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone if you don’t feel well.”
It was Tank…saying sweet things like that, that was fucking her up.
She gave him a forced smile. “It’s just a headache, Tank. All I need is a good night’s sleep in a dark, quiet room.”
She realized her words had come out with a bit too much bite when Tank’s concern switched to something else. The right something else…because he glanced over his shoulder, toward where Lara was standing near the other end of the bar with Emily, Mindy, and a couple other Stingrays groupies.
“Is this about Lara?” he asked.
She hastily shook her head, which was clearly a dead giveaway.
“Coach held me back to ream my ass for a penalty,” he said. “When I came out, most of the parking lot was empty. Lara was standing next to her car. Apparently, she’d forgotten her purse in her uncle’s box and security let her in to get it. When she came back out, someone had slashed a couple of her tires. She was alone in a dark parking lot, Mouse. She called a tow truck, and I gave her a lift here. She’s planning to bum a ride home tonight with Emily.”
It was a perfectly acceptable story. Just like the ones Eddie used to feed her.
And Tank told it with such conviction, she found herself believing him. Because she was a gullible idiot, always managing to fall for the man who only wanted to stay for a while but never forever.
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Tank. Nothing between us is real, remember?”
McKenna took a small step back at the dark scowl that comment earned her, confused by his reaction. Shouldn’t he be relieved by her words?
In the end, it didn’t matter how he felt, because she really couldn’t do any of this right now.
Talk to him.
Pretend she wasn’t dying inside.
Act as if she believed him.
None of it.
“It was nice of you to make sure she was safe,” she added for good measure, even though those words tasted like shit.
Tank studied her face way too closely, trying to decide if she was as cool as she was pretending.
“Honest, Tank. Everything is fine. I just have a headache.”
Padraig returned with the slip for her to sign, so she turned away from Tank, drawing in a breath she hoped would steady her. Instead, it was shaky and shallow.
“Do you mind taking these back to the table?” she asked, picking up the pitchers and practically thrusting them into Tank’s hands so he had no choice but to grab them. “And tell the girls I’ll talk to them tomorrow?”
“Mouse—” Tank started.
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I just need sleep.” She feared Tank was going to continue to fight her. “You need to celebrate with the team,” she added, desperate to make her escape. “It was a great game.”
He nodded but didn’t smile. Then he pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “If you’re sure?—”
“I am.”
“I’ll text you in the morning,” he said.
