Page 38

Chapter 37

Lia

I’m sweaty enough to believe tonight really happened. If this were a dream, I would be a glowing goddess, minus the sweat.

Tonight. Really. Happened. I sat in a booth and helped call a game. Like, I actually contributed. Blake took the lead, mostly giving me space to reinforce what he was talking about. There was a moment while I was watching the game where I tried telling myself I was back in my apartment, doing it only for me. I’ve practiced a lot—an embarrassing amount, if I’m being honest—so I started doing what I always do.

Blake lit up when I took the lead on a play call. His eyes were like actual sparklers; like I was his protégé and not like we’d just met. He did everything in his power to make me feel comfortable and would coach me or give a heads up on what was coming next during commercial breaks.

It was fucking terrifying, no matter how much I loved it, but this was an experience I’d never trade. I should send a thank you note to wherever the bad food came from—I couldn’t have done this without them.

I’m waiting outside the locker room, trying to catch up on my text messages. Megan must’ve made it home and turned the game on because I have a few messages from her. Unfortunately, some of them are hard to read, riddled with typos, but she gets a pass considering the whole food poisoning situation .

Mostly, they’re from Wes. He tried FaceTiming me during the game, maybe to see if what he saw was really happening. I can’t wait to call him back and tell him everything.

Some of the team’s family members and close friends come up to me, introducing themselves and shaking my hand. The excitement from my night must’ve spread.

The first player to see me is Jalen. I can’t help but be reminded how he’s one of the people in on our secret. How could I forget—he sort of caught us at the hotel.

“Lia! I told Coach the only film I’m watching is the version with your commentary.” He pulls me into a side hug—it’s not surprising that he’s a hugger. “I heard you were awesome.”

I try not to be embarrassed and say, “I’m not so sure about that, but I appreciate it.”

He winks at me before tipping his head to the locker room. “Brooks is finishing up. He’ll be out in a minute.”

A few players who I’ve only exchanged a few words with congratulate me while finding their families to head home. I’ve always loved watching athletes with their significant others and friends; it always feels so wholesome.

Brooks walks out of the locker room, still wearing the crown, and people clap for him. I know this night is significant for him. He was absolutely amazing. This man played like his contract depended on it, and it looks like the Jags got the better end of the deal. This is the type of game that moves you up the ranks—one that has coaches and other teams preparing specifically for you.

When he sees me, he starts to clap. His eyes, bright and like honey, lock on mine. I do everything in my power not to melt right here and now.

And then he does something I don’t see coming—he wraps me in a hug. It’s quick, something you’d expect between friends, but the way my body leans into his is undeniable. It’s like a missing piece of me has been returned.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, the words falling over me like the warmest blanket. “This must’ve been one hell of a night. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

I nod, quickly scanning the people around us. Everyone seems to be in their own world, which bodes well for our conversation.

“Me? You were incredible. An instant Jags classic.”

“Good. That means lots of people will listen to you call the game for years to come.”

I place my hands on my belly. “Okay, that sort of makes me want to throw up.”

I smirk as he playfully shoves my shoulders. In this moment, I want to kiss him. I wish we weren’t at the arena, but somewhere we could be just the two of us. Pretending to be only his friend isn’t always easy.

“Brooks!” someone yells.

Before I can see who it is, a woman runs up, stepping between us like I don’t exist. She wraps herself around him until all I see is dark and curly hair in front of me. The hallway starts closing in; my peripheral vision is nothing but darkness, and the only thing I can focus on is this woman all over Brooks.

She finally lets go of him, only to kiss him on the cheek.

“Baby, you were so good tonight!” she cries, loud enough for everyone to hear. I step back with each letter that comes out of her mouth, needing space, more room. When she looks at me, she offers a pathetic wave.

Thanks to Shelbie, I know exactly who this is.

Rebecca.

Ex-girlfriend Rebecca.

The only woman Brooks has ever been known to publicly date. The only ex he told me about. She’s here, right in front of me. Calling him baby. Coming to his game. Hugging him like that. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t push her away. Just looks at her.

My mouth feels like sandpaper. I can’t say anything. Even if we weren’t secretly dating, I’d never want to be the person who airs their drama in front of others. Even if I were that kind of person, there are no words. Tears form behind my eyes, and I know they’re seconds from falling down my cheeks—probably following the same path of my happy tears from earlier. What a fucking turn of events. I don’t have it in me to cry in front of these people—in front of her . Slowly, I turn and start walking to the office. I count my steps, doing anything to focus on the task ahead of me.

I allow myself a single look back when I’m almost all the way down the hallway, about to turn.

They’re still standing there. Talking. When Rebecca hugs him again, it’s like a knife being twisted in my gut. I turn back before I can see if he hugs her back. I can’t take it.

Lia, you’re a fucking idiot.

I round the corner and basically jog to the office, grabbing my coat and bag. I need to get to my car. My apartment. I need to leave.

With each step I take, it’s like I’m stepping on my own chest. The pressure is almost too much; I find it hard to breathe. Trying to channel the yogi in me, I attempt to gather enough air to stretch my lungs.

I’m unsuccessful.

I’m in my car. Keys in the ignition. Driving towards my apartment. It’s completely silent besides the muffled sounds of my shallow breaths. When I hit a red light, my head falls forward to rest on the steering wheel and I cry.

The tears rush out, my breath following. Internally, I berate myself. Why would she be at the game? Brooks told me he hasn’t talked to her in over a year. He didn’t even have her phone number .

The breaths aren’t there.

But the panic is.

Her running up to him like that doesn’t track with what he told me. The way she called him ‘baby,’ overly sweet like too much aspartame, the aftertaste so strong it’s disgusting.

The light turns green, and I feel better the farther I get from the arena. Away from the place where I had a dream come true only to be knocked down. Stepped on. Salt poured in the wound.

My teeth grind, obeying the clench in my jaw. I try to relax, to move my head and shoulders, but it’s like my body is frozen. There’s no room. Nowhere to go.

I focus on the road, looking for the next landmark to reach until I’m pulling into my apartment complex. Then I watch my feet as I walk to my unit. One step at a time.

The relief is so close I can taste it as I put my key in the lock. But when the door swings open, there’s a sound of something that doesn’t belong.

Water.

Running water.

The floor glistens with a puddle of water. Slowly, I look through my apartment to find the culprit. There is water pouring in through the ceiling, right over my bed.

No. No. No.

This isn’t happening.

I run, the water splashing across my feet as I look up. The ceiling looks like a water balloon with water coming off the edge, like the balloon isn’t tied right or contained. I run to the bathroom for towels and freeze when I need to decide between a clean or dirty towel. It doesn’t matter. This is a full-on disaster. I grab all my towels, leaving a single clean one in case, and put them on the floor. I walk to where my bed is but it’s like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. The towels are soaked and useless in seconds.

I don’t know what to do.

Standing near my bed, I put my hands on the comforter, only to feel the amount of water my mattress is holding. I can tell the mattress, and all my bedding, are completely soaked through. When I put my weight on it, I can hear the water squishing out and sputtering out to the floor.

Fuck.

This is bad.

The ceiling squeaks, and as I look up, it completely collapses in front of me.