Confusion crosses her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“People aren’t normally nice to me,” I raise my voice. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not easy to get along with. I have resting bitch face, and I’m kind of cunty to people.”
She releases a small laugh. “Well, I get along with you. You’re not cunty to me.” She grabs me by the shoulders and looks intomy eyes. “You’re going to get through this. I promise. Everyone on this team will have your back, just like you always have theirs. That’s how real friendships work.”
I nod as my tears begin to slow down. I look at the state of her stained top from my crying. It’s covered in blood and makeup. “I’m sorry I ruined your nice suit,” I cry.
She holds me closer, clearly not caring what it’s doing to her outfit. “It’s okay. It was last season’s design anyway.”
It’s not. It’s new. I know fashion, but I appreciate that she’s trying to make me feel better about it.
I’ve only known this woman for a few months, but somehow, she’s giving me comfort that I’ve never received before. And it feels nice.
I wakein the morning to my doorbell ringing. I left the locker room shortly after my embarrassing meltdown in Fallon’s arms, not wanting to talk to anyone or face the proverbial music. My phone started blowing up immediately, but I ignored that too, powering it down before I even got home. I crawled into bed and cried myself into a restless sleep.
I groggily make my way to the front door and look through the peephole. It’s Reagan. Reality sets in. She’s going to release me. No other team will want me. My career is over. At least she has the decency to tell me to my face.
I take a deep breath, trying to build the courage to deal with what I know is coming my way. I open the door, expecting her to look venomous, as I’m sure she was one of the many people calling me last night, but I can’t read her impassive expression.
“Can I come in?” she asks calmly. I nod, and she walks into my apartment with me closing the door behind her.
As always, she’s dressed impeccably with perfect hair and makeup. I find myself wondering if she doesn’t have stylistsliving at her house. I guess she’s rich enough to have them on payroll. Why not?
She turns around and places her hand on my shoulder with nothing but concern written on her face. “Are you okay?”
I chew my lip nervously. “I suppose it depends on what you’re about to say. Am…am I off the team?” I ask as I unsuccessfully attempt to swallow down my emotions.
She jerks her head back as if surprised by the question. “Off the team? Are you crazy? You’re the heart and soul of this team.”
“I am?”
She lets out a laugh. “Yes, Kennedy, you are. I don’t condone you knocking out another player in the league, but you were defending Sulley. I’ve watched the tape a million times. She was about to hurt Sulley—there’s no denying that. Kennedy,” she looks into my eyes, “you’ve been everything I’ve hoped you would be and more. You’ve done exactly what I asked of you. We’re not bailing on you just yet, sweetie.”
I exhale a long breath in relief. “Thank you so much. How…how long is my suspension?”
Her face tightens a bit. “Well, the league called me this morning and told me you’re being suspended for a month and being fined five-thousand dollars.”
My eyes widen. “Holy shit, I’ve never had one that bad.”
“Have you ever knocked another player out cold and broken her nose?”
I lower my head and shamefully admit, “No.”
“Right. Sulley insisted on covering your fine.”
“She doesn’t have to do that. I’ll take accountability for my actions.”
Reagan shakes her head. “She did have to do that. You saved her from certain injury, and she can more than afford it with everything she’s got going on. Let her pay. You’ve been a good teammate to her, and now she’s returning the favor the best way she can. As for your suspension, I was able to negotiate it down to two weeks.”
I perk up at that bit of news. “Oh. That’s not so bad. I’ll only miss four games.”
Her face twitches a bit. “There’s a condition.”
“What condition?” I ask with both fear and suspicion.
She briefly pinches her lips together. “They want you to go to rehab. It’s technically for anger management. We’re going to officially call ita wellness retreat, but it’s a certified rehab facility.”
“What?” I turn and walk toward my living room with anger bubbling inside me. “No fucking way. I’m not doing that weird, talk about your feelings shit.”
