79. Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-one
Leo
I feel like shit.
Alex hasn’t spoken to me in three days. Three days of unreturned calls, unopened doors, and messages left on read. Even Brynn hasn’t been able to get through to him.
As cliché as it is to say, the silence has been fucking deafening.
He didn’t glance at me once during the six-hour flight to Philadelphia, and he’d already moved his shit to the farthest side of the locker room by the time I arrived for today’s game.
Out of all the ways I could’ve predicted he’d react, I hadn’t expected the silent treatment. And it’s killing me—slowly, painfully, like I’m bleeding out from a thousand papercuts.
What if Brynn is wrong?
What if he never accepts our relationship, and I lose him forever?
It was a risk I’d been aware of since before I ever touched her, which was awful in theory, but a million times worse in practice.
We’ve never fought before, not really. The worst it’s ever gotten between us was when he called me out for being an asshole to Brynn, and even then, it was resolved by the end of the conversation. He’s been my rock since I first moved to the States, the one to make me feel comfortable in a country I barely knew, the person who made me laugh when I couldn’t bear to break a smile, and the man who stood unflinchingly beside me when Salem’s arrival turned my entire world upside down.
He’s the very best friend I’ve ever known. And there’s a real, agonizing possibility that I’ve fucked it up forever.
“So, he found out, huh?” Roman asks over his shoulder as we run warm-up drills on the damp turf of Subaru Park Stadium. The sky is overcast, filtering jaundiced light through the tumbling gray clouds, the scent of earth and rain still lingering from the storm a few nights ago.
It’ll rain again today, no doubt. If for no other reason than because the universe seems to enjoy matching the weather to my mood.
Thirty or so yards across from us, Alex is trading volleys with Theo, his expression frozen into grim lines. I tear my gaze away and try to focus on weaving a ball through a line of orange plastic cones. “Yep.”
“One can assume from the frostiness that he didn’t take it well?” The smugness in my friend’s voice makes me want to punch him, as does the weird accent he’s putting on for no obvious reason.
“One can assume,” I mimic, my tone haughty and sarcastic, “that you know the answer to that already.”
He completes the drill and waits for me to catch up, head tipped up to the clouded sky, his hands on his hips. “He may have had a few choice words to say about you, but they don’t bear repeating.”
Twisting the ball around the final cone, I scoop it up and launch it at Roman’s chest. He catches it with a grunt, staggering back a few steps with a cock of his brow. “What the fuck was that for?”
“You’re being a prick,” I grumble. “And why are you trying to do a British accent?”
He laughs, like this whole situation is one big joke. “It was good, no?”
“It sucked. Stop it.”
Holding his hands up in surrender, his expression morphs from one of teasing into something gentler. “Sorry, bro. I was only trying to lighten the mood.”
“Learn to read the room.” I turn my back on him to walk back to the locker room, where we’ll freshen up before the game starts.
His heavy footsteps sound behind me as he jogs to catch up. “For real, though, Alex seems to be handling it quite well, all things considered.”
“He won’t talk to me.”
Roman winces. His hand shoots out to grab my shoulder, giving me a solitary pat in a move I’m sure he means to be reassuring. “Yeah. But he hasn’t hit you yet.”
I snort but say nothing.
Alex’s silent disappointment hurts more than a punch ever could.
“He’d actually have to look at me to hit me.” A huff of a laugh scrapes up my throat, bitter and sad. “Doesn’t matter. It’s my own fault anyway.”
He says nothing, and when I glance at him over my shoulder, I find his attention trained on the stands, where Brynn is sitting with my daughter. She’s wearing my jersey today, the number eleven displayed proudly on her back. It’s the first time she’s worn it without covering it up with a sweater or jacket.
“No reason to hide anymore , ” she’d told me this morning.
When I pointed out that it would only be rubbing salt in the wound for her brother, she scoffed and said, “We haven’t done anything wrong. If he’s got an issue with us, then that’s his problem.”
Needless to say, we’re dealing with this situation differently: me with untameable anxiety and soul-crushing guilt, and her with a sort of calm carelessness that is both impressive and deeply unsettling.
“Can I ask you something?” Roman asks quietly, his expression tentative. “Was it worth it? Potentially losing your best friend?”
“If you’re asking if she is worth it, then the answer is yes.”
It isn’t even a question. I’ve fucked everything up—there’s no doubt about it—but I will never regret falling in love with the hurricane that is Brynn Wolfe. Aside from my daughter, she is the best thing that has ever happened to me. So, I would take a lifetime of sacrifices and pain if it meant I got to keep her.
Roman frowns. “I don’t get it. You could have picked literally any other woman.”
My gaze finds Brynn in the stands again. She has one arm wrapped around my daughter, singing a nursery rhyme with unrestrained enthusiasm. I can’t hear the song from here, but I can decipher from the animated hand gestures that it’s most likely "Baby Shark . " Salem squeals with her head thrown back before snapping her little hands together like jaws.
Warmth explodes in my heart at the sight of my family.
Roman follows my line of sight, noting the love-dazed expression on my face. He says nothing, but he nods shortly to himself as if, maybe, he understands now.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “But none of them would have been her.”
The cheering of the crowd echoes around the stadium as I jog on the spot, waiting for Arun to send the ball up the field following the opposing team’s failed goal attempt.
It falls closest to Alex, who struggles to control it but manages to wrangle it closer toward the goal. The Philadelphia defense players swarm him within seconds. He runs at full speed, and though he’s one of the fastest players on the team, the defense is able to catch up to him. Flanking him on either side, their feet strike out in attempts to steal the ball.
I dodge a defense player of my own, ducking around him to create a clear line for Alex to pass to me.
His eyes flick to me for the briefest of seconds. He sees me. I know he does. He sees that I’m clear, that all he has to do is tap the ball to me, and we’ll have a decent chance to score.
He won’t, though.
He hasn’t passed the ball to me once during the game so far, and we’ve been playing for seventy-six minutes.
Each time, he sees that I’m clear, and his foot twitches as if to pass. But then contempt twists in his eyes as he reminds himself of my betrayal, and he thunders on without me.
The ball is intercepted by the other team and lost once more.
“Come on, man!” I yell at him, rain beginning to fall from the sky in sheets, slapping at my face in angry, bitter strikes.
He pretends not to hear me. The other team scores a goal. And for the first time in weeks, I can say with quite some confidence that if we lose today, it won’t be completely my fault.
Not that it would be worth pointing that out to anyone, much less my captain and former-best friend who hates me with every cell in his body right now. But it’s a somewhat comforting thought, nonetheless.
The remaining minutes tick by like molasses.
I fight harder to find prime positions, to open opportunities and create clear chances of scoring, but my efforts are fruitless.
The crowd grows restless. It’s as if the tension in the team is contagious, creeping up and infecting every fan who has paid good money to watch us fail today.
God bless the season ticket holders. They haven’t gotten their money’s worth from us in over three games now. It’ll be a miracle if we have any fans left after the way we’ve performed this season. Frankly, I’m not above reimbursing them myself, since I’m the main reason for our losses.
And that’s not even mentioning the money gambled on the Strikers to win the league this year, which we don’t have a hope in hell of doing unless we win every single game left of the season. The fans are frustrated, and I can understand why.
The final whistle blows. The weight of the loss hangs heavy in the air like exhaust fumes, choking our lungs as we walk heavy-headed off the field to the chorus of angry jeers from the fans.
I don’t look at Alex, but I can feel his glare burning through the back of my skull the entire way to the locker room. He blames me for the loss, which isn’t entirely unfair, considering. But I don’t have it in me to turn around and meet his eyes, not when the tension between us feels tight enough to snap at any moment.
“What the fuck was that shit?” Coach Carter bellows, slamming the door of the locker room with a bang that reverberates through my bones.
We all sit on the benches with our heads bowed, staring blankly at the floor. A couple of accusatory glances swing Alex’s and my way, but no one bothers to say anything.
“Wolfe,” Coach barks. “What the actual, godforsaken fuck were you doing out there? You’re supposed to lead the team by example, yet you failed to pass the ball to an open player no less than three goddamn times.”
Through my periphery, I watch Alex shift in his seat. “Coach, I—”
“If you’re about to bullshit some excuse, then save your damn breath because I don’t want to hear it,” Coach cuts him off with a lethal glare.
Across from me, Roman releases a low whistle.
“The team deserves an apology,” Coach snaps. “We were expecting a tough game, but they handed us our asses and spanked us for good fucking measure. You should be embarrassed. God knows I am. And you”—his eyes swing to me—“this is your responsibility to sort out. You knew what you were doing when you hooked up with his sister. You made your bed, now lie in it and make it better.”
My mouth gapes. “How do you—”
“I know everything,” he tuts. “Don’t insult me by asking stupid questions.”
Roman smirks, and my middle finger twitches.
Directing his attention to the rest of the group, Coach continues, “You guys better work out what it means to be a team again, or best believe I’ll be trading your sorry asses at the next available opportunity.”
With that, he turns on his heel and strides out the door, letting it clang shut behind him.
For a long moment, the room buzzes with uncomfortable silence, no one willing to be the first to break it. Roman’s gaze finds mine, and he jerks his head in Alex’s direction, probing me to speak.
“Alex, I—”
“Don’t.” His interruption is clipped and sharp with resentment.
“We need to talk about it.”
“No, we don’t.”
Most of the boys stand and disappear into the showers, forgetting their towels in their haste to leave the awkwardness behind. Theo, Arun, Harley, and Roman linger behind, the latter to act as security, I’m assuming, and the others simply to watch the drama unfold. In synchrony, they clasp their hands between their knees and lean forward with rapt attention.
“Just let me explain,” I plead.
Alex launches out of his seat, his face red with fury. Eating the distance between us in three strides, he glowers down at me until I rise off the bench to meet his height. “Explain what? That you knew how I felt about one of my friends touching my sister? That I trusted you, and you did it anyway?”
My heart sinks like lead. There’s so much more than anger in his eyes as he stares at me, unblinking, his fists white-knuckled at his sides. There’s hurt there too. But worst of all, there’s loss.
It doesn’t matter that I think his protectiveness goes over the line of being unreasonable. It doesn’t matter that what Brynn does with her body, and who she does it with, isn’t actually any of his business.
It doesn’t matter because, in this moment, all he can see is that the friend he trusted the most betrayed him.
I look straight into his eyes, silently pleading with him to listen to what I’m about to say. To understand the gravity of it. To somehow let the words crack through the thickness of his anger so he can see that I didn’t throw our friendship away for just a quick fuck, but for the love of my life. My voice is quiet and shaking when I tell him, “I’m in love with her, man.”
But he just scoffs. His head shakes, refusing to acknowledge the significance of what I just said. “Oh yeah? Did this happen before or after you fucked another woman while she was living with you?”
My brows pull tight with confusion. What the fuck is he talking about?
Behind him, Roman rubs his hand down his face and groans. “Here we go.”
It’s then that I realize what Alex is referring to. The night I first slept with Brynn, when he’d heard us from the hallway outside my apartment.
Here we go is right.
Choosing my words carefully, I drop my gaze. “Brynn is the only woman I’ve been with in over a year.”
“But I heard—”
I nod. “I know.”
I can’t bear to watch as my meaning washes over him. Wincing in anticipation of his reaction, I clench my eyes shut and brace myself, which turns out to be a grave mistake, because I don’t see his fist hurtling toward my face until it connects with my jaw.
Fuck. That hurt like a bitch.
I peel my eyes open, cupping my smarting jaw, to see that Roman has dived in between us and is restraining Alex from hitting me again.
“Dude, calm down.”
“That motherfucker.” Alex strains against Roman’s hold, reaching for me.
“No more,” Ro says. “Go for a walk. You need to calm the fuck down.”
“He fucked my sister! And I heard it.” He grips both sides of his head as if the memory is physically paining him. “I fucking heard it.”
Roman cringes. “Yeah, bro. I know.” He pushes Alex toward the door, who is still dressed in his cleats with sweat clinging to his hair. “Walk it off.”
Alex nods in submission, his chest still heaving. He opens the door, turning back to look at me with a look so cold it freezes my blood. “I’d tell you to stay away from my sister, but we both know you don’t give a shit about how I feel. So, do me a favor, and stay the hell away from me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
The door slams. Arun's, Theo's, and Harley’s eyes burn into my back, their shock as galvanizing as my own. One of them goes to say something, but a hard slap on their arm shuts them up. I don’t know who it is, and I don’t have the energy to turn around and find out.
I barely even notice that the showers have long since been turned off, and the faces of the rest of my teammates blink, stupefied, in my direction.
Roman scrunches his nose, watching me with sympathy. “Well, that went well.”