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He presses his lips together. “Say no more.”

“I hit Tyler,” I tell him. “Twice.”

His eyes drop to my knuckles again. “Off the record, I don’t fucking blame you. If anyone messed with Felicity, I would …” He trails off and regains his professional exterior. “Well, you know I hit Elliott. When you told me what he did the other night, I was all for going there again. Your mom thankfully distracted me away from that idea.”

Despite the shit show I find myself in right now, I roll my eyes. “Yeah, not helping with the nausea.”

He tips his chin over my shoulder. “Go. You’ve got two days before we play again. I’ll clean up this mess and smooth it over with the GM.” He drops his voice, a deadly expression on his face. “This goes no further.”

I nod once as he releases me, and I waste no time in grabbing my bag and getting ready to chase after Kendra.

“Bennett’s last chance was tonight. He’s been on a warning for a while. His training and game aren’t up to par, and his attitude fucking stinks. We’re shipping him to the farm team in Connecticut.”

I don’t say anything. Internally, I’m fucking buzzing. He deserves to be dropped.

“Who’s going to replace him?”

Jon pulls his cap off his head and leans toward me, placing it on mine. “You’ve got incredible playmaker abilities, and you’re one hundred percent future captain material. When you aren’t punching your teammates, that is. The day you signed with theteam, you were being doubted left, right, and center. Now every single guy, bar one, can see the value you bring to each game and practice. Including the GM. If I can convince him you won’t make a habit of getting into it with your teammates, then I have no doubt you’d be his first choice.”

My jaw pops open, and he points to the door behind him, picking up his pen and preparing to push on with work.

“Now go. Get your girl and tell her about the apartment.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

KENDRA

Me

I’m coming home.

Ollie

Like, right now?

Yes. When will you be at Mom and Dad’s?

In around twenty-four hours.

I’m at the airport now, waiting for my flight. Shit has hit the fan, Ol.

Talk to me.

I don’t know what to say.

Tell me whatever it isupsetting you.

That’s the thing. I don’t know where it all went wrong. About six hours ago, I found out I didn’t make the squad because of my knee. Then I told Jack I needed space after I read some pretty fucked-up messages he’d sent about me. Oh, and I turned down another shot in the UK because I didn’t want to fuck up the relationship that feels fucked anyway.

I have strong thoughts on the squad decision, and all of them are that they’re fools for not choosing you. But right now, what can I do to make this better?

Sitting in the empty departure lounge, I watch as a couple hands over their boarding passes to the attendant. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, the guy pulls his girlfriend into him, setting a kiss in her hair.

Thoughts of Brazil and traveling to the UK to stock up on tea settle in my eyes, turning them glassy.

I reach up and wipe the wetness away with my sleeve. It’s been hours since I told him I needed space. And the truth is, I do. But that still doesn’t stop me from missing him. Up until Jack, I felt confused and at sea with my life. He and his smile brought some clarity, and I stopped questioning everything. I just went with it.

I had fun, and it was showing in every part of my life. My soccer especially.