I shook my head.
“You going to do something about that?” Cruz asked. His voice was deeper, irritation already threading through his words.
“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on her.” If I didn’t, Cruz would, and I couldn’t stand the idea of Cruz talking to Ida Jane.
He nodded. “Okay, then.”
“Okay.”
I managed to wait until the morning to check-in on her, but I hadn’t been able to stop worrying throughout the night, even waking a few times. My nightmares were from the last time I saw my sister but they intermingled with images of Dillon abusing Ida Jane. I rose from bed, unrested and grumpy as fuck.
Did you make it home safely?
Sure did!came the reply not long afterward.My hand isn’t broken, just bruised and swollen. Clearly, I need to work on my punches.
I think you pack one hell of a punch, Fists.
We texted back and forth a bit longer before she mentioned needing to get ready for work.What do you do?
I’m an art therapist.
Interesting. Sounded like a cool gig. I liked the idea of Ida Jane helping people—that suited her. She was a good friend to the other girl, and she’d known how to stand up for herself. I remained intrigued by Ida Jane as I headed into the stadium for practice.
Stol nudged my shoulder as I set down the fifty-pound weights I’d been using for biceps curls.
“I invited Millie to come hang with us on Friday.”
“Millie?” I asked, confused. Who the hell was Millie?
“Your girl’s friend.”
“Why?” I asked. “We’re celebrating Naese’s birthday, not doing anything fun.”
Stol shook his head. “Because birthdaysarefun, Maximum.”
I frowned at the stupid nickname, one I hated even more than when the guys called me Max, but I wasn’t going to get Stol to stop using it. Why couldn’t people simply call me by my name? But the rest of my teammates liked their nicknames, so I participated by calling them theirs.
There was something to the game because it helped bond us. But that didn’t mean I had to like the names they insisted on using. And I didn’t. I really didn’t like that one.
“Sure, whatever,” I said, already wondering if I should invite Ida Jane.
Did I want her there? I’d liked her, been attracted to her, enjoyed flirting with her this morning.My scowl deepened along with my confusion. These damn emotions swirled through me—a longing to see Ida Jane again but also the grief that came from losing Nadia.
Meeting Ida Jane in that situation had stirred up those memories, which I thought I’d buried under years of hard work and distance.
“And I told Millie to bring your girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” I snapped.The response was reflexive, based on Stol’s irritating pushing.
“Sure looked like you wanted her to be last night,” Stol said with a laugh. He walked away before I could say anything else. Probably a good idea.
I glared even as I made plans to steer clear of Ida Jane. Forget what I told Cruz. She wasn’t my responsibility. I would ignore the connection we’d made. It would fizzle, and I’d go back to being…unhappy.
Lonely.
And, under it all, sad. I tried to will away feelings that hadn’t existed before last night, but the damn things wouldn’t tuck themselves back in the box, where I shoved them years ago.
I hated that Stol’s invitation would force me to face my infatuation with Ida Jane in the light of day.
