I hit the call button and it rings, then goes straight to voicemail. Weird.
I try again. Same thing.
And again.
Maybe he’s busy and can’t answer. Maybe his phone is dead.
Or maybe he blocked you because you know… regret.
Though I don’t think Mack would block me just because of what we did. He didn’t after Vegas, why would now be any different?
Still, there’s a strange feeling in my chest and that bitter voice tells me it’s what he did.
That he wants nothing to do with me.
I swipe past his name, pursing my lips. I call Britt instead.
“Where’d you go? Timbuktu?” she answerswith a giggle.
“Worse. Pennsylvania,” I say, feigning my own laugh. Today’s been a weird day. I’m sure it’s just the shock. What else could it be?
“I can’t talk long. Going to meet the guys on the team with my captain.”
“Glad you got in okay. Have fun!” she says.
“Thanks,” I say. “I gotta go or this guy’s going to kick my ass. He doesn’t like to be late.”
“Talk to you soon?” she asks, and I hear the faintest hope in her voice.
“Yeah, of course,” I say before I hang up, making my way out the door.
As Vance and I drive off, I watch the moon shine through the trees, a sinking feeling in my stomach that my life is about to change, and nothing will ever be the same.
But that’s what I wanted, isn’t it?
The lights of the strip club bathe me and my teammates in neon, and I stare at my phone, at his number. I’ve had a lot to drink and the screen is blurry. But that’s what you do when you celebrate, right?
“You’ve been staring at that phone all night,” Vance says, his voice gruff, edged with a rasp only prevalent from drinking too damn much.
“Just trying to get ahold of someone back home,” I say, swallowing hard.
Vance takes the phone from my hand, and I watch him delete Mack’s name straight from my phone. I don’t do anything to stop him because I can’t. One, I’m too stunned by his bold action and two, I’m drunk. I can barely keep myself upright, let alone fight for my phone.
He hands it back to me, his large frame boxing me in.
“Problem solved,” he says, his voice dark. I look up at him, realizing his size. He’s not that much bigger than me, but that dark gaze, and the way he carries himself… fuck.
He’s no Mack Truck, and I have the faintest thought of who would win in a brawl. Harding or Mackenzie?
“Now stop fucking moping around and let’s have some fun,” he says as he throws his arm around me and pulls me back to the VIP with the rest of my new teammates. He holds up a glass of whiskey as the other guys hold their beers and drinks up.
“To our newest Rioter,” Vance announces and the guys all cheer.
The world blurs around me as Vance keeps shoving drinks and shots at me, and I down every one like it’s my fucking job. I have the deepest desire to impress these guys because I know that’s what this little exercise really is.
They want to know what kind of man I am. If I can hang or if I’m going to pussy out.
I refuse to let them think any less of me, especially since this is my first impression. I need to make sure they know I am on their level. Especially Vance.
