“Yes,” he answers.
“Damn. You really were worried.”
39
ROMAN
I wokeup with a gut feeling today was going to suck.
It should have been the opposite. When I cracked my eyes at dawn, the first thing I saw was a mess of blonde hair and sleepy, parted lips that I instantly kissed as if I feared I was still dreaming. Brielle snores, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her that the two times we’ve slept in my bed together, she’s woken me before my alarm. I was able to fall back asleep the first time. Not today.
Another bad sign.
I spent an hour on my treadmill before taking a quick swim in the pool. By the time I entered the bedroom again, Brielle was joined by Evie as they giggled about something I couldn’t get myself to ask about at the risk of ruining their mood. The two women basically shoved me out of the room soon after.
Once Evie finally headed off to shower, I spent the last few minutes we had together bending Brielle over the kitchen island and returning the favour I owed from the garage.
Dropping her off at her place felt wrong. I lingered out front for nearly twenty minutes, waiting for the discomfort to pass. When it never did, I played every single song on her playlist on my way to the stadium to try and drown out the ache.
The foreboding feeling that something was going to go wrong today clings to my shoulders like a bad smell, putting me on edge. I tip my chin at the staff I pass on my way into the clubhouse. The door to my office is open when I reach it and peer inside, half expecting someone to jump out and throw a bucket of water on me.
It wouldn’t be my first time getting doused in some sort of liquid by the team. Just last year, I was drowning in Gatorade after we won our division. Today, I doubt it would have been a celebration that had me soaking wet.
Silence greets me when I step into the office and drop my bag on the chair across from my desk. The blinds are up on the window above it, allowing me a clear view into the clubhouse. I crack my neck and roll my shoulders in an attempt to clear some of this discomfort.
The numerous trophies and signed balls on the black shelving unit behind my desk turn my stomach today. Overworking my body this morning has lingering effects. Specifically, the twinge in my knee that hasn’t disappeared the way it usually does. It’s nothing but a reminder that the person who won those awards no longer exists.
I round my desk and tug the top drawer open before grabbing the bottle of Advil and popping the top. Two go down dry as I swallow and drop the bottle in the drawer again.
This game’s lineup needs to be swapped around, so I decide to start on that first. I bend down to shake the computer mouse awake and reach for the back of the leather chair, turning it?—
Thunderous footsteps explode through the clubhouse. I straighten, going on high alert.
“I tried to sleep this off. I really did,” Wes starts, stalking into the office and slamming the door shut behind him. He doesn’t spare me a look before pulling the cord on the blinds andsending them crashing down to cover the window. “There is no sleeping this off, though.”
“Wesley—”
“Don’t. You don’t get to speak yet,” he barks, turning to face me. The rage taking hold of him is so out of place that it shuts me up completely. “How long have you been with my sister? Mylittlesister?”
The emphasis on that single word isn’t lost on me.
I take a steeled breath and gesture to the chair. “Why don’t you sit?”
“Fuck sitting. Just answer me.”
“Alright. It’s been a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? So it isn’t new, then.”
“Officially, it is new. But unofficially, no, it isn’t.”
Wes curls his lip at me before steeling himself, forcing it to relax. It’s obvious he’s warring with himself here, not sure how far to take this when I’m the one in the position of power. Something about that makes my skin feel too tight.
“You can yell. Nothing you say to me right now will carry any weight professionally. I give you my word.”
That does it.
The rope he had wrapped around his rage unravels completely.
