When I leave New York City on Sunday, Alex Brewer will be mine again.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Alex
“Hey, Brewer, the guys and I are headed out to Gemstones to fuck shit up, you in?” Stone, AKA Vance’sreplacement, asks me. He’s twenty-four. A baby, practically. Reminds me a lot of me when I first signed with the Rioters. He’s an okay kid but he still has a ways to go in terms of his abilities. I would know, since I’m the captain and I picked him. He has a lot of potential. He always asks, and it’s no secret among the team that he is a fan of mine. But my answer is always the same. It’ll always be the same.
“No thanks, Stone, I’m good.” I slide my wallet out, pull out a couple twenties, and hand it over to him. “Have a couple on me, though, okay?”
His eyes light up like the Fourth of July, and that gets half a smile out of me.
“Aww thanks, man!” he says, shoving the bills into his pocket and giving me a solid bro hug.
I sling my duffel over my shoulder as I head up to my hotel room.
Six games left until I’m done with my contract and I can put this all behind me. I never thought I’d see the day I’d leave the ice. Thought I’d be out there kicking ass and taking names until my body bitched it couldn’t do it anymore.
My comeback has been bigger than I ever thought it would be. Not only did I come back, but I got promoted to captain while Vance is out fighting assault charges in court. It’s not looking good for him, either. I’m pretty sure the team is going to buy him out and kick his ass to the curb.Good fucking riddance, asshole.Karma is a bitch.
I’ve done a better job in a year than he did in five. We’re killing it right now and are on a winning streak. Going out on top is the fucking way to go, in my opinion.
My heart’s just not in this anymore. It hasn’t been for a year. My heart is, and forever will be, in Ashbourne.
I breathe a heavy sigh as I step into the elevator and pull out my phone to look up somewhere to order food from when I see the text notification for the group chat. My body tenses when I see Jordan’s face. He’s posted a picture of himself in front of Madison Square Garden. Right in front of the sign that saysRioters VS Bobcats.
That’s three blocks away.
I knew he was here, in New York, because he’s been sharing photos since I sent the text last week about Austen’s opening. That vicious little voice told me it was for me, but that’s only wishful thinking. We haven’t spoken in a year. Since I ran away.
Does he see the fucking sign? Probably not. I mean, who actually notices those big ass posters?
I should just send a thumbs up, or not respond at all.
The elevator opens and I head to my room. When I get there, I throw my duffel on the bed and start to unpack, thinking about how to respond to his text when my fingers graze something soft and familiar at the bottom of my duffel. I pull out his flannel, which I’ve never taken out of my duffel for more than a few minutes. It lives at the bottom of my bag, going everywhere I go. I pull out the shirt, feeling the softness between my fingers. I swear it still smells like him.
I look at the flannel in my hands, at my duffel on the bed, and get an idea.
I toss the shirt over the bag and kneel in front of the bed to frame the open window and the New York skyline behind my tableau and send out the photo.
Hudson
You guys suck. I’m not even leaving until tomorrow morning. *crying face*
Trey
Driving right now. Will be there tomorrow morning. Can I get some tix, Alex? Hook a brother up.
Andre
Yeah Brewer, hook us up!!!!
Paul
I thought we were going to see that circus show or whatever.
Andre
…I don’t remember agreeing to that
