And I took that fear out on Finley when she was just doing her job.
At eight, I’ll apologize to my coach for being a hothead. But it’s two very different apologies.
The breakfast burrito and coffee from the shop four miles from here—the only one open at this time—are just so I have something to do with my hands. I know food and a warm beverage aren’t going to dig me out of this hole, and I feel like shit about it.
About thirty minutes after leaving Finley’s office, the full weight of what I’d done hit me square in the chest, knocking all air from my lungs. It was inexcusable behavior. It wouldn’t have been okay withanycoach, even if they deal with dumbass outbursts on a regular basis. But throwing our friendship into the mix, like it gave me the right to speak to her like that?
I’m fully prepared for her to slam the door in my face.
My heart aches at the thought, and I use my hand holding the sandwich to rub the ache.
“Do you have a heart problem I need to know about, too?” Finley’s voice comes from behind me, and I startle, whirling toward her as hot coffee splatters across my hand and shoes.
“Fuck. If I didn’t have heart issues before, I sure as shit do now,” I say, wiping my coffee-covered hand across my shirt.
I stare at Finley, clad in running shorts and a T-shirt, sweat beading along her brow. Her long legs are slightly red, her cheeks rosy.
“Were you running outside, Fin?”
She crosses her arms. “Why are you here, Kane?” The way she emphasizes my last name, as if telling me that we’re not on a first-name basis anymore, burns a hole in my stomach.
“I’m here to apologize.”
“You can come to my office at eight, like we planned.”
“No. I can’t. I mean, I can. I will be there. I will be there early, and I will say I’m sorry, and I will do what you tell me to, even if I don’t want to. But I need to apologize before that.”
She hasn’t moved, her stony glare making it impossible to guess what she might be thinking.
I try not to flinch when she finally moves, simply stepping past me to unlock her door. “Go home, Kane.”
“Fin—” The glare she sends over her shoulder stops me. “Queenie.” I refuse to call her Coach Blake right now. We’re not at the gym. She might always be Coach Blake to me, but when we’re here, in this space, she’s also something else. Somethingmore.
It’s still less than I want, but I will be damned if I lose our friendship.
“Just let me come in. Please?”
“No.”
I sigh. “Fine. I guess the hallway works.” I take a deep breath, the words I’ve been mulling over and practicing since I last saw her suddenly fleeing, leaving me completely alone with a blank mind. “I, uh…”
“Wow. Thanks for that. All good, then.” Finley plucks the coffee cup from my hand. “See you at eight, Kane.”
Oh God. She’s going to leave. I’m not going to get to apologize. My chest tightens.
“I’m sorry!” I shout.
“Shhh. Jesus,” Finley chides, quickly scanning the hallway to make sure my sudden outburst hasn’t pulled any of our neighbors from their apartments. I haven’t met any of them yet, but I give zero fucks whether they hear me or not.
“Go home.”
I shake my head. “Not until you let me apologize. Can I please come in?” I was going for apologetic, but somehow the question came out desperate.
Hell. Iamdesperate for her to forgive me. Nothing else could’ve kept me up all night, tossing and turning like I was. Not even the anxiety about what the doctors are going to find when they start probing my hip was enough to push the worry from my mind that I have somehow, irrevocably, damaged what I had with her.
She purses her lips, considering.
“Please?” It’s so quiet I wonder if she heard it.
