Page 130 of Scoring Lessons

“Rough season, my ass.” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve been worried about you this whole time. I asked you time and time again what was going on. I tried to be there for you—all while the two of you were busy sneaking around right under my nose.”

“It’s not like that.” Wesley’s throat bobbed. His gaze met mine, irises turning molten, soft. But whatever emotion flickered between them was gone in a blink of an eye when he faced my brother again. “I care about her.”

Henry tipped his head back with a bitter laugh. “Am I supposed to believe that?”

I stood in between them once again and stared him dead in the eyes. “He’s been there for me more than you could ever know. You don’t have the full story, so stop pretending like you know everything.”

I loved my brother, but that didn’t mean I was about to allow him to diminish what Wesley and I had. I wasn’t about to let him twist the narrative of what we’d been through. Together.

A thick, heavy silence settled into the room. The tension shifted to something more dangerous. Every part of me recoiled, like it was bracing for impact, when my brother took a step back and let a hollow, angry laugh.

“You know what?” His voice was as cold as ice as he pinned Wesley with a glare. “I really hope you get fucking traded.”

“Henry!” I gaped at him in disbelief. My eyes turned teary. “What is the matter with you?!”

“You can’t possibly mean that,” Wesley said, his words tight, like he was struggling to speak.

“I do.” He pressed his tongue to his cheek and nodded. “I’d rather you get the hell out of our lives before you inevitably break her heart.” He got right in Wesley’s face. His eyes full-blown dark. Not a sign of remorse in sight—only pure, unrelenting rage. “Because you don’t deserve her, and you never will.”

My stomach tied into knots. I didn’t know what to say. Anger coiled in my chest, leaving me breathless.

Wesley’s gaze fell to the floor as he slowly nodded. When he started to reach for the door, I tried to stop him.

“Wesley, please. Don’t leave,” I croaked. A tear ran down my cheek as I gripped his forearm.

He stopped for a beat. Sad, almond-shaped green eyes settled on me. His lips turned up into a sad smile as he ran a dumb across my cheek to swipe my tear off. “I’m sorry,” he croaked then stepped to the side and left without so much as a glance back. It was like I was witnessing a crash right before my eyes and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

But I knew, deep down, that all roads lead to inevitable heartbreak.

THIRTY-SIX

WESLEY

NOT NOW, SATAN.

After I’d stormed out the previous night, I didn’t know where to go—going to my apartment wasn’t an option—so I’d crashed at Parker’s.

Though I used the term loosely, because I didn’t get one lick of sleep as I kept replaying Anderson’s words on a loop.

You don’t deserve her, and you never will.

The dull ache in my chest spread further now that I knew what my best friend really thought of me. The splinters in my heart grew a size too big, making it difficult to breathe.

My phone rang as I arrived at the parking garage of my building.

When Michael’s contact popped up on my phone, I pressed the decline button.

Not now, Satan.

But when he continued calling back-to-back, I let out an annoyed sigh and picked up against my will.

“I can’t talk right now,” I said as a way of greeting.

“That’s not my problem,” he replied casually. “I sent you the contract from Vancouver. You have a month to sign it.”

Not this again.

“Michael,” I growled in frustration. “I already told you⁠—”