“Can’t, man,” I say. “I have some shit I have to take care of at home tonight.”
I sink onto the bench, not far from where Blue, our team guru, is already in his street clothes and tying up his shoes.
Our eyes meet. He nods and murmurs, “Good idea. Stay focused. You’ve got this.”
I nod back, the tension easing around my ribs.
Blue doesn’t waste words. Never has. So, when he does offer his pithy brand of support, it always seems to land. The guy spent years working through his own demons—a weird-as-hell childhood he hardly ever talks about, but that you can clock in the way he’s calm in the middle of chaos—and came out the other side with a Zen that makes him nearly impossible to rattle on the ice.
If he thinks I’ve got this, maybe I do.
I pull out my phone again, responding quickly to Parker’s text—All good here, man, and yeah, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it. See you tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
I’m going to seehertomorrow.
The woman who’s been starring in all my dirtiest dreams. The one who tastes like strawberries, wine, and endless summer nights. The one with a body that doesn’t quit and a mind as sharp as any student I studied with at Boston U.
The one who made it crystal clear she wants nothing to do with me…
I shove my phone back in my pocket and scrub my hands over my face.
It is what it is.
Tomorrow, I’ll go to the party and be polite. Cordial. I’ll give Charlotte a respectful berth, drink exactly two beers, let it be, and leave early.
Easy.
Except nothing about Charlotte is easy, and I already know there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to be anywhere near her and not feel the pull.
One beer, then.
One and done and on my way, dignity intact.
Deciding to change when I get home, I stand, grabbing my gear from my stall.
Around me, the locker room is emptying, guys heading home to their families, their girlfriends, their Friday night plans. But my parents still live in Tennessee, my best guy friends are in Detroit—where I played for six years—my little sister is on tour with her piece of shit boyfriend and their band, and I’ve already proven I can’t be trusted to “behave myself.”
Which means I’ve got nothing waiting for me except an empty apartment and the knowledge that tomorrow night, I have to face the one woman who has the power to destroy all my hard-earned perspective.
I head for the exit, the late afternoon sun slanting through the facility’s windows. Outside, the New Orleans heat wraps me up tight, leaving no inch of skin unwarmed, even now, on the edge of October.
When I was first traded to the Voodoo last year, I hated the heat, but now…
I’ve come to like it nearly as much as I like my new team, my new friends, and the penthouse apartment I never could have swung if I’d been traded to Los Angeles the way I originally hoped to be. I love this city. I don’t want to leave.
But my career hangs by a thread, my reputation’s one dent away from being too roughed up to salvage, and I can’t stop thinking about the one who got away.
Maybe Blue was wrong.
Maybe I don’t “got this.”
Or much of anything else…
Two
Charlotte Delaney
