Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Brynn nodded, compassion shaping her features.
“Does this pile of shit have a name?” Crossland asked.
“Yep,” I said.
“And?” Asher prompted.
“And…” I took a deep, steadying breath, doing my best to quell the adrenaline that spiked in my blood every time I thought about the prick. “He’s her past. I can’t dig him up. Even if I want to break his jaw.”
“Fuck,” Cross said. “Who is he?”
“He’s an NFL player,” I said.
“Tell me he’s not one of mine,” Wes said.
“Or mine,” Gareth added.
“Why?” I asked. “Would either of you terminate his contract if I said he was?”
“Depends on the level of assholery,” Wes answered honestly. “Are we talking run-of-the-mill-douchebag or file-charges-prick?”
“File-charges-prick,” I said, gripping my glass a little harder than necessary.
“Shit.”
“Don’t stress,” I said. “He’s not either of yours.”
“Thank fuck,” Wes said.
“Doesn’t change the past,” Gareth said. “If you want to handle him, let’s handle him.”
We all turned our attention at the declaration, and I wondered if my friends were wondering the same thing as me—just what did handle him mean in Gareth’s world? We all knew the rumors surrounding his past, not to mention his general terrifying exterior, but in reality, we only knew the Gareth he allowed us to see.
“As of right now, he’s a non-issue beyond a general haunting sense,” I explained. “Trust me, if he pops back into her life in a way she doesn’t want, I’ll let you know.”
“I sure hope he doesn’t,” Daisy said, motioning between me and Gareth. “Between the two of you, I don’t think he’d survive, and we need you two to…you know, not be in prison for the rest of your lives.”
Gareth and I laughed at that. “I have no intentions of going to prison,” I said. “Or losing my team.” I took another deep breath. “Like I said before, I’m working on it. And Alex’s help has been invaluable. If things keep going as they are, I’ll have the other MLB owners and the commissioner’s faith restored and this will be a thing of the past.”
My friends raised their glasses to that, and we clinked them together in a small cheers of hope.
Hope that I could truly stay on this newfound path of calm and mindfulness.
Hope that I could become the man Alex kept saying I was.
And hope that in the end, I’d be worth her time.
Alex: I’m almost to your place, but I have to warn you, I don’t know if I’ll be good company right now.
I frowned down at the text before calling her.
“Are you okay?” I asked the second I heard her pick up. I paced the space of my living room, adrenaline shooting through my veins. I’d just been talking about her ex with my friends earlier today, and if that fucker reached out to her and hurt her again, I was going to—
“Physically I’m fine,” she said, her tone so damn dejected. “Emotionally I’m hurting.”
I blew out a breath, calming myself as I took a seat on my couch. “Want to talk about it?”
“Maybe?” she said, but it sounded like a question. “I don’t know. I don’t want to bring down Netflix and Chill night.”
“You won’t,” I said. “I promise. Come over. I have a surprise for you, anyway.”
“I’m on my way,” she said. “I just wanted to warn you. You can still tell me to go home until I’m done being pouty and whiny.”
“You can do that here and tell me what’s the cause of it. Maybe I can help.” Fuck, I hoped I could. She always helped me when I was spiraling, even if it was technically in her job description.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I said. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I feel ridiculous even saying it.”
“It’s not ridiculous. Whatever hurt you, hurt for a reason. Tell me. Did something happen at the shelter? Or with the commissioner?” Anxiety sliced through my chest. Shit, had he grilled her? Had he told her to stop the coaching because I was a lost cause in his and the other owner’s eyes? Tell her I was going to lose my team? That would sure as hell put her in a tough situation—
“Oh, God, I’m a jerk,” she said just as the gate dinged, announcing her car’s motion at the end of my long driveway. I pushed the authorization button, letting the gates swing open to let her in. “I should’ve said that first. The call with the commissioner went great,” she hurried to say, and some of the tension in my chest lessoned. “He was happy with the progress we’re making.”
“That’s good,” I said, glancing down at her surprise before heading toward my front door and swinging it open.
I hung up the phone once I saw her.
“Baby,” I said once I set eyes on her. She’d been crying. “What is it?”
She fell into my open arms the second she reached me, burying her face in my chest as we stood on my front porch, the door wide open behind me.