Page 34 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

THIRTY-FOUR

ROB

Hard leather pressed into my face as drool pooled around my mouth. I pushed myself up, rubbing my eyes as I pieced together the night before. Drinking, sure. The proof of that coated my mouth. Beer, by the taste of it. A lot of beer based on my throbbing head.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Lena paused as she passed through the living room. She wore a gray robe over a pair of Breakers pajama pants, a spatula in one hand and a baby bottle in the other. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Why’d I sleep here last night?” I asked, raking my hand over my face.

She frowned. “Well, you couldn’t go back to the bar, so Noa brought you here and one drink turned into a dozen…”

“Mila?” A blind panic hit me, and I bolted to jump off the couch.

Lena tapped my chest with the spatula, bringing me to a stop. “With Gloria. I called her after we left the bar.”

The night slotted into place: almost fighting Fieste, going outside with Astrid, her walking away.

I covered my face with a hand and leaned back. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Lena echoed. “So much for being the least dramatic guy on the team, huh?”

“It’s been a season,” I admitted. Half a season, really.

“Get yourself together and then come into the kitchen,” she said. “I’m making breakfast, if I haven’t burned it already.”

Lena scurried out of the room. I raked my hand over my face before I followed.

Noa sat at the kitchen table, Kalani in a highchair beside him.

He’d tied his long black hair into a low ponytail and balanced a tiny pink spoon in his hand, moving it back and forth through the air to the delight of his daughter.

He landed his spoon airplane successfully only for Kalani to spit the food back out.

“Well, I tried,” Noa shrugged, setting down the spoon and taking the bottle Lena had set down beside him. He turned back toward me. “Oh, you’re up!”

“Lena promised breakfast and absolutely no comments about last night.” I pulled out a chair beside Noa.

“I did no such thing,” Lena said as she opened the oven. “And there’s coffee in the pot.”

“How about you let me drink some coffee and eat breakfast before forcing me to relive last night?” I asked, abandoning the chair for freshly brewed coffee.

“I’ll be shocked if you remember half of last night,” Noa muttered.

I remembered that I made an absolute ass out of myself. I remembered stepping up to Fieste and then chasing Astrid down the street. I remembered the look of disappointment on her face as she told me to figure out what I wanted before I bothered her again.

I shook away the memory and poured a cup of coffee black. I sucked down the strong Hawaiian roast and refilled the mug again before sitting down.

“I fucked up, huh?” I wiped my face with my palm.

“Damage was done.” Noa picked up his daughter, cradling her in his arms as she reached for the bottle.

“Did he really turn down the team that drafted him?” I asked.

Broaching the subject of Astrid felt too raw. My throat tightened just thinking about her disappointed frown and the tears threatening her eyes. Fieste…Ethan was a safer subject.

“How did you not know that?” Noa wrestled with the infant for control of the bottle, finally giving up and letting her tiny fists grip it instead.

“I don’t keep up with that shit,” I admitted. “Alright, I didn’t care. I don’t keep track of the rookies. Or the walk ons. Half of them don’t last more than a season or two, anyway. And when you’ve been on as many teams as I have, it’s not worth the effort.”

“Everyone else knew.”

“They could have told me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would it have made a difference?”

“Probably not,” I admitted with a sigh. “I suck. What the hell do I do about it?”

“Where would you like to start on your apology tour?” Lena set a plate of bacon and toast in the center of the table.

“The team might be a good start. Work your way up to Fieste.” Noa moved Kalani onto his shoulder, patting her back.

“And Astrid?” I asked, unsure whether I could claw my way back into her good graces after what a disappointment I’d turned out to be.

He blew out a long breath. “I think you’ve got to decide what you want before you reach out to her again.”

“She was pretty pissed,” Lena added.

Defensiveness flooded my chest. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m keeping her away for her own good. She doesn’t need someone else to look after.”

Lena placed a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table and sat down beside Noa, a frown marring her face. “Who? You?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. And Mila. She’s still young. Astrid doesn’t need a kid.”

“Doesn’t she teach kids? I think she’s qualified to decide if she wants to date a guy with a kid.” Lena piled her plate and then Noa’s.

I followed suit. “It’s not the same.”

Noa shrugged. “Sounds like you’re making excuses that have nothing to do with her.”

“She’s…way too good for someone like me to fuck up.” I buried my emotions in a pile of bacon, jamming two slices into my mouth before I said something else stupid.

If the tension in the locker room faded over the last two weeks, I decimated it with a single accusation. When I stepped into the stadium, conversations stopped mid-sentence and heads turned, but no one said a word to me.

“I suck,” I announced to the weight room. “I’m here to apologize. Where’s Fie…Ethan?”

My teammates eyed each other nervously, no one eager to offer his location. And after last night, I couldn’t exactly blame them.

Jonas, one of the strength coaches, nodded toward the ice baths. “He just got done with weights.”

“Thanks, man.” I clapped him on the back and marched towards the door at the back of the weight room.

I couldn’t have come up with a better place for an apology. Body exhausted and submerged in ice water, Ethan was trapped. I pushed open the door and gratefully found the room empty.

“Hey,” I greeted him, posting up at the end of the bath.

Ethan had his head tipped back, earbuds in. Chunks of ice floated around him. He startled at my greeting, pulling out his headphones and glaring. “What the hell do you want?”

The carefully planned apology I’d mapped out in the car escaped me. The perfect lines I’d come up with jumbled together into an incoherent mess. I raked a hand through my hair, sucking in a fortifying breath, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I want to accept your apology.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. Not the reaction I’d expected.

“Oh, great,” he deadpanned after an awkward moment. “Three months later, you want to accept my apology? Well, bad news, it’s rescinded. Fuck you. I wish I’d actually fucked up your leg.”

I winced. “Okay. I deserve that. I wanted to very belatedly accept your apology. Then, I wanted to apologize. I am a shitty teammate.”

Ethan sat up in the pool, eyes wary. “What else?”

“I am a terrible captain and an even worse mentor. I didn’t give a shit about you at the beginning of the season, and the offsides hit just gave me a reason to continue to not give a shit.”

“You’re not done.” Ethan pitched forward, his arms folded over his knees.

“I mean, I don’t really regret making you take us out to dinner, but I clearly should have stopped there. Asking you to take Astrid out was completely out of line, and how I treated you when you actually did what I asked sucked.”

He sat back with a nod. “And?”

“And I should have figured out you were too good to go undrafted in a league with a pitiably low number of competent middle linebackers?”

“Keep going.” His voice stayed as smooth as velvet. Unbothered and unwilling to accept my damn apology.

“Keep going? That’s it. It’s more apologizing than I’ve done in the entirety of my career. What else do you want? Because I hate to tell you, but there’s nothing else to give.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” he asked.

“Sincere apologies are accompanied by a change in behavior. If you think standing here and telling me you’re an asshole is gonna change anything, I’ve got bad news for you: I already know you’re an asshole.

An ‘I’m Sorry I’m an Asshole’ apology isn’t fixing anything. ”

“Ugh,” I groaned. How many times had I told Mila something nearly identical? The rookie had a point. “I’ll stop giving you shit during practice. And you can shadow me when I’m talking to the coaches.”

He weighed the offer, working it over with a bob of his head. “And I want to go over game film with you. At least once a week.”

I tipped my head back. “I hate game film.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got questions during the game, and I know that’s not a good time to ask. I want to go over some of your moves, figure out how you’re making decisions on the field so I can get to your level.”

I bit back my prediction that he couldn’t reach my level. He could, but he needed a good tutor. He needed me. “Fine. One hour a week.”

“And an hour of practice.”

“You’re pushing it,” I warned.

He gritted his jaw. “I just want to practice with you. You don’t even have to add another hour. An hour when you’re already running plays and working with the coaches, I want to be there too, running them alongside you.”

I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. He asked for a lot, but then again, I owed him. “Okay. One hour of game film, one hour of practice. Are you done?”

“And Gracie?”

My heart lodged in my throat. I didn’t want to talk to my best friend about Astrid. I certainly didn’t want to talk to him.

“Have you talked to her yet?”

I shook my head.

“Good. I’m stuck on this team with you and I burned too many bridges not to spend a few more years on the roster. So, I have to put up with you. But Gracie? She doesn’t need your bullshit or your trash apology.”

“Are you giving me tips now?” I asked, only half-joking. My eyes slipped to the hickey still bruising his neck, nausea sliding through my body.

He pressed his palm to his neck, rubbing it. “Gracie’s a friend, and you treat her like shit. So, no, I don’t have any tips for you. No more than I’ve already given.”

I nodded. “A change in behavior?”

“At the very least.” He stood up, water dripping off him as he stepped out of the tub. “Personally, I wouldn’t talk to her until you figure your shit out. You’ve jerked her around enough.”

I handed him a towel and saw myself out, navigating back through the gym to the parking garage.

Mom sent a picture from the children’s museum, letting me know they’d be back after dinner.

I swiped to my texts, reading through the list of ‘manifestos’, as Astrid had called them.

My body hurt just thinking about her, but Ethan was right.

My apology didn’t mean shit without action behind it.