I strip off my pads, hang my jersey, and take a shower hot enough to sting. Putting on my suit, I make sure I'm gonebefore the trainers finish cleaning equipment. The rot in the air makes me want to choke.
The tunnel is mostly empty when I walk through. Scout's crouched by an equipment cart, her braid half undone, cross-checking itineraries on a clipboard. Her eyes look raw and red-rimmed.
I should keep walking, but my feet don't want to comply. They stop without consulting me and my mouth opens to speak before I can shove the words back in. "Why are you crying?"
It comes out like an accusation. I didn't mean it that way, but that's how it sounds.
She freezes, her back stiffening, but she doesn't look at me. "What do you care?"
I stuff my hands in my pockets. "Is this about Enzo? You shouldn't let him get to you. He’s a bastard."
Her mouth trembles. Fresh tears slip down her cheeks anyway. She ducks her head. I take a step closer without thinking about it. The scent of eucalyptus and something floral clings to her. Lavender, maybe. It knocks loose the careful order in my head.
Before I can stop my hand, I almost reach out to touch her shoulder. My fingers twitch with the need to make things better. But of course, I don't. I can't. The wall inside me holds.
"Don't cry over him," I say. "He’s not worth the mud on the bottom of your shoes."
The words come out rough and wrong. She snaps upright and her clipboard smacks into my chest. Her green eyes pierce me and hold me in place.
"I'm not crying over him." Her eyes shine, fierce and humiliated at the same time. "Not everything is about my ex-husband."
She walks away fast, leaving me like a gawping idiot, standing there like an idiot and watching her go.
Jett appears just as she disappears around the corner. He raises his eyebrows at me. "What'd you do?"
"Nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
I stare down the empty hallway, but Scout is gone. With a sigh, I turn to my brother. "Mind your own business."
“You’re such an ogre.” Jett smirks and claps my shoulder. "Try not to terrify the staff, Silas. We need them."
Jett's grin fades. "Mom called again."
I strip off my jersey. “I didn't answer when she called from the state pen.”
"Me either," Hunter says from across the locker room.
“I can’t believe that she still thinks she’ll get one of us to listen to her bullshit. She stole so much from all of us. Not just money, either,” Jett says.
“She was a pretty shitty mom,” I chime in.
“I think we can all agree on that,” Hunter grumbles.
Pulling his duffel bag over his shoulder, Jett says, “Last one there buys drinks.”
He heads out, still grinning. I'm about to follow when I spot a cluster of reporters near the exit. One of them catches sight of me and his eyes light up like he's found prey. My jaw tightens. I can feel the questions coming already. Pointed jabs about my penalties, about being past my prime, about the team falling apart.
Hunter materializes at my elbow before I can make a mistake. He's solid. Steady.
"Keep walking," he says, his voice low. "Don't give them anything."
My fists curl at my sides. "They're going to ask about the penalties."
"Let them ask. You don't owe them answers." Hunter's hand lands on my shoulder. "Come on."
The tension in my chest eases by a fraction. I nod once. Hunter steers me toward the player exit, away from the cameras and the questions that would've made me snap.
