Play Maker (Bitsberg Knights Duet)

Several heads spun in my direction and a flurry of whispers followed the outburst. I raked a hand over my head. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t—shit.”

Beauman crossed his arms. “What the hell is going on with you?”

I slammed my locker and shrugged into my coat. “Nothing. I’m just ready for all this shit to be over with.”

“This shit? You mean the biggest fucking game of our lives?”

I groaned. “You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t. We all play our fuckin’ hearts out for this chance, this one shot at the big game. I want to soak up every minute of it, and I think that the Ross I’ve been getting to know lately would agree with me. This funk you’re in has nothing to do with the game.” He leveled me with a firm stare. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” I repeated without flinching. “Night, Beauman.”

I stalked away but couldn’t escape the smothering feel of the locker room before Chance called after me, “Call her, Leverette.”

I raced home, going faster than was wise considering the shit conditions of the roads, as though I could outrun Shelby’s memory. Unfortunately, things between us were bad. I wasn’t sure when or where, but at some point, we’d hit the rocks and the ship had gone down. Startlingly fast. I wasn’t sure what else there was to do.

Once home, I took a quick shower, not letting myself linger on the steamy memories Shelby and I had created inside the glass stall. I warmed up my dinner and pulled a six-pack from the fridge. I had a day off before my flight to LA, and I was planning on spending it drunk off my ass, so I didn’t have to think or feel anything.

Halfway through a rerun of Seinfeld the buzzer for my door rang. “What the—” I pushed up from my recliner and wandered over to check the security camera. No one was there, but the door was slowly swinging shut. I was about to go back to my dinner, chalking it up to a wrong number, but just as I hit the volume button on the remote, a knock pounded against my front door.

A peek through the peephole showed me that Shelby was standing on the other side. Somehow, she managed to look beautiful, angry, and nervous all at once. I drew in a breath and swung the door open. She dropped a glance down at my Spiderman pajama pants and pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, but the glimmer in her eyes gave her amusement away.

“What? They’re fun,” I growled.

She held up her hands. “No judgment. Whatever makes you feel better prepared to deal with the monsters that live under your bed.”

I crossed my arms. “What do you want, Shelby? You didn’t come all the way here to mock my choice in sleepwear.”

She met my eyes for a long moment. “All right, this is ridiculous,” she said, huffing as she pushed past me into the living room. She spun around as I shut the door and planted her fists on her hips. “Let’s talk.”

“Shoot.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, all traces of the brief moment of levity instantly gone. “You’re still pissed at me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, dropping my arms. “I think I’m mostly confused at this point.”

Shelby’s face softened, and she glanced at the sofa.

“Come on,” I said, taking the lead. I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward me. It took every ounce of strength and resolve to keep myself from pulling her against me and kissing her until our problems were erased from our minds.

But I knew we needed to talk.

We got situated on the couch, our knees touching as we angled toward one another, and I kept a hold of her hand. “I’m not too tough of a guy to say that it fucking hurt that you weren’t at my last game. That was a big day for me, and I wanted you there. And fuck it, if I’m going all out, I was jealous that you were spending it at work. I wanted you to be there.”

Shelby dropped her eyes to our intertwined hands. “I’m really sorry about missing your game. I wish I’d have been there. Work was kind of a bust, anyway. Which pissed me off too.” She paused just long enough for me to wonder what was going on inside her head. She lifted her eyes back to mine and a glossy coating shimmered in the soft light of the overhead track lighting.

“Hey,” I whispered, brushing away a stray tear as it slipped past her lashes. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I want to,” she replied, nodding her head. She glanced down again and whispered, “I just don’t know what to say.”

I slipped my thumb under her chin and tilted her face back up. “Come on, Shelb. It’s me. We used to be pretty good at this talking thing, before we discovered we were pretty damn good at other things.”