Page 20

20

Holt

There are not enough fucks in the world to adequately express my feelings right now, and I wish I knew some of Ziggy’s favorite curses in other languages to add to the string in my head.

“So your house sitter is Roland Keating’s stepdaughter,” Fletcher says as he steers his stupid fancy Bentley out of the parking lot of the Pounders’ admin/gym building across the street from the stadium. “Nicely done fucking up your entire life again. Wow. Didn’t see that coming.”

“The only reason I’m not making you shut your face is because you’re driving.”

“And you’re on crutches.”

“I can still shut your face when I’m on crutches.”

Goldie leans forward. She and I fought over the back seat. I lost, so I’m in front.

“I didn’t even know he had two daughters,” she says .

I stare out the window. “I did. Vaguely.”

It’s a distant memory of something Roland or his wife, Deedee, said once.

Distant, distant memory from one of my first years on the team. It’s more of a feeling than a specific this is what happened kind of memory. I think I knew he had a stepdaughter. And I think I got the impression she had a fancy job somewhere relatively far away and wasn’t interested in the Pounders at all.

Completely lines up with the Ziggy I know.

Sommelier for a luxury cruise line in the Med. Asks more about how I’m healing than about my sports career.

“She should’ve told you,” Fletcher says.

“I let her think I played lacrosse,” I mutter. Gonna get yelled at for that one. Deserve it. But it shouldn’t have mattered.

Hell, I liked that she wasn’t into sports. Felt like she cared more about me as a person than the possibility that I could be a rich athlete. They all assume if you play professionally, you’re loaded.

Joke’s on me.

Her family’s loaded, and she’s completely off-limits.

“You don’t have Pounders shit all over your house?” Fletcher asks.

“Never put up a lot of it when I moved in with Caden since it was supposed to be temporary until he was better. Took down the little bit I had when I started renovations. It’s packed up in the garage.”

“You said she said she couldn’t live with her parents,” Goldie says.

“I wouldn’t want to live with them,” Fletcher mutters.

Naked Tuesdays .

Fuck me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my fists into them, but now it’s there, and I can’t make it go away.

Roland has Naked Tuesdays with Deedee.

Think about potatoes.

Shit.

Potatoes.

Ziggy.

Roland’s daughter. Naked Tuesdays .

I pull up my phone and switch to pictures of Fletcher in his budgie smugglers.

Better.

That’s better.

“What are you doing?” Goldie asks me.

“I know things and I don’t want to know things now that I know I know things.”

My phone buzzes in my hand, and a message pops up from Ziggy.

Ziggy: Can’t talk now, but we need to talk when I get off work. OMG. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

Yep.

I’m in trouble.

“So your dog’s name is Jessica,” Goldie says. “That’s an interesting choice.”

“I didn’t name her.”

“I didn’t even know you had a dog,” Fletcher says. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a dog?”

“It was a pity adoption when someone in my neighborhood died. Also, the dog hates me.”

“Does she fart in your general direction often?” Goldie asks.

“Every fucking day.”

“I like her. I think she’s living up to everything a Jessica should be.”

Fletcher slides her a scowl in the rearview mirror.

She grins.

Every time I wonder why someone as awesome as Goldie would hook up with someone as annoying and obnoxious as Fletcher, she shows a new side of herself that makes me think he’s getting some of what he deserves.

“Tell the inside joke or quit making it,” I say.

“I’ll stop.” Goldie’s grin says she’s still making it in her head.

Fletcher’s grunt says he can hear it.

Sort of like I could hear Ziggy saying do not recognize me, you don’t know me, fuck, this is bad when we locked eyes in the reception area.

“So the movie’s off tomorrow,” Fletcher says.

“The movie is on,” Goldie corrects. “I don’t care if you two go, but I am. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. I need to work this out.”

I want to go.

I want to fucking take a woman I like to the movies and introduce her to my friends like she’s never met them and watch the two women bond over being betrayed by their former best friends.

Happened to Goldie too, which our whole team knows since Fletcher and Silas ordered us all to be nice to her, as if we wouldn’t be. I’ve been working on the right way to figure out how to introduce the two of them all week.

Ziggy needs friends .

Goldie’s ninety percent angel with a decent grip on the ten percent chaos part of her personality. She’s a good friend.

She’ll be good for Ziggy too.

Fletcher slides a look at me, then back at Goldie. “Huh.”

“What does huh mean?” I ask him.

“Means I might have to decide if you’re worth putting my career on the line.”

“You are old,” Goldie says.

He grins. “Always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.”

“Are you fucking retiring?” I ask him.

“No. I’m gonna play until I’m dead. Unless I put my neck on the line for you and get fired or traded, which is the same as getting fired. Goldie’s friends would murder me if I asked her to move away for me.”

“I can never decide if you’re the best kind of wingman or the worst.”

“If he’s not both, he’s not doing it right,” Goldie says.

Fletcher nods. “Accurate.”

“How’d your waffle mascot presentation go?” she asks him.

“They’re putting Waffy on the ballot to shut me up.”

Goldie’s right.

He’s somehow always the best and the worst at the same time.

“Speaking of Goldie’s friends,” Fletcher says, “we’re having lunch with them. Want me to drop you at your house, or do you want three seasoned ladies fussing over you for the next three hours?”

“Don’t you work anymore?” I ask Goldie. She’s a life coach with a couple books out.

“Not on days when we have lunch with the girls.”

“You know what else?” Fletcher says. “You can ask any one of Goldie’s friends to the movies without worrying it’ll cost you your spot on the team.”

I flip him off.

Goldie pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Holt. This is all going to work out. How can it not when you have us on your side?”

I’ve seen her work miracles. She got Fletcher and her brother to get along, after all.

But this feels like a mountain too high even for her.

And her friends.

But her friends have far more life experience than the rest of us, so I opt to tag along for lunch.

Six brains are better than three.

Usually.