4th & Girl

“Oh man,” she said, and sarcasm dripped from her voice. “How awful that your boyfriend would book you a gig at one of the biggest clubs in the city because he thinks you’re super talented and wants to help you live your passion. What a bastard.”

Her words were a punch to the gut chock-full of perspective. Leo wasn’t the bad guy here. I was. My family’s expectations weren’t his fault, and my battle to keep a relationship with them wasn’t his responsibility. He’d done something genuine for me out of the kindness of his heart, and I’d essentially thrown it in his face. I stood frozen in my spot.

“He just wants to help you, Gem,” Abby added, but this time, she dropped the sarcasm and settled for soft and gentle. “He believes in you like I believe in you.”

He believed in me like my own family didn’t.

And I fucked it up.

How in the hell was I going to fix it?

To say I wasn’t in the clearest headspace during our sixth game of the season would be an understatement.

Gemma’s and my fight weighed heavily on my mind and took up residence in my limbs, and for a guy who was supposed to chase big, muscled dudes for an hour’s worth of playing time—and keep up with them—that wasn’t a good thing.

All I could do was be thankful that I hadn’t fucked up royally and screwed up our current winning record and chances at the championship.

No doubt if I had, I’d have more than Gemma mad at me.

Frustration was ripe as I ripped off my pads to the sounds of celebration around me.

A win was a win.

It didn’t matter to the other guys what fucked-up things were going on in my head, and quite frankly, I was glad. I didn’t need any of them trying to play shrink with my love life.

Or lack of love life, I thought sardonically.

“Hey, Landry,” Cam called as he strutted across the locker room.

I jerked up my chin in greeting, but other than that, went about the business of disrobing angrily.

“You were slow as shit out there,” he said with a smile, clearly not reading the situation correctly about how frustrated I was.

Or hell, maybe he had.

Maybe he just didn’t care.

Still, I didn’t hold back as I snapped, “I’m in no fucking mood, Cam.”

“Ooh,” he cooed, bouncing on his toes and swinging a leg over the bench to take a seat. “Something tells me all is not well in paradise.”

“Shut up,” I barked.

“Wow. Like, really not well.”

“Cam.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll lay off. Only because you didn’t completely suck. But trust, son, you start fucking up our record, and I’ll be gunning for you.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself down and nodded. That was fair, if a little insensitive, and it was the way of the professional football world. It wasn’t like high school, where getting dumped by your girlfriend was a valid fucking excuse.

This was the big leagues. This was my job.

This was important to more than just me, and there was a fuck of a lot on the line that the organization wouldn’t happily sacrifice to the well-being of my emotions.

It didn’t matter that Gem and I had had a fight three nights ago that had kept me from going to sleep. It didn’t matter that I’d spent every waking moment at the stadium trying to tune it all out. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t called since.

Fuck. It mattered.

It just didn’t matter to the Mavericks.

Cam gave me a shove, but he lowered his voice before walking away. “For what it’s worth, I hope it works out.”

I appreciated the kindness, something I knew he didn’t have to show me, no matter our friendship. We were relatively new friends in the scheme of things, and in the end, we were colleagues. He’d been working toward a championship for more years than I could fathom, and I couldn’t imagine my emotional distress would be a great comfort to him if I somehow fucked it up. “Thanks.”

“Now, cheer up. We won. Turn that fucking frown upside down.”

I took a deep breath and nodded again, this time letting my face break its pattern enough to form a small smile. He was right. I didn’t have to be Mary fucking Poppins, but we were six and oh, and in professional football, that really meant something. Every week, you played a top opponent. Every week, that flawless record was on the line.

If I couldn’t find the positives in the showing I’d made during my debut year in this league, I couldn’t find the positive in anything.

After a quick shower, I gathered my shit and made my way out of the locker room and into the hall. The area was mostly empty, and the rest of the guys were pretty much long gone, already headed out to celebrate, thanks to their lack of need to pout.