20. Connor
CONNOR
It was a hellish couple of days after the Waves game.
Once I saw that message from Jake on Eden’s phone, I shut down for the rest of the game. I was cold to her, like I was disinterested, fuck. But the alternative? Exposing the raging jealousy I was experiencing, and maybe being even more of a dick.
Because she didn’t belong to me. She could date anyone she wants.
Except.
Except.
By the time I got home from the game, my mind was moving in a different direction.
You don’t love your job.
You’re drawn to her in a way no one else has ever pulled you.
It’s clear where your priorities are…
When I woke up the next morning, the logical progression of those thoughts was countered by equally compelling arguments.
I need this job. And I wasn’t going to embarrass Grace by quitting early. There’s no reason to piss Milo off needlessly either. He’s going out of his way to give me a chance.
At the same time, I didn’t resist the urge to Google him. Jake. High school All-American. Organized a team fundraiser last year for kids’ hockey gear. No criminal record (I was thorough, alright?).
Why would Eden not date him? If she did, I may never get my shot with her.
My thoughts were in relentless tension the whole day. I was in such a shitty, distracted mood that my siblings caught on.
“What’s eating you?” Rawley asked as I slammed down a plate of the scrambled eggs he made me.
“Do you need more coffee?” Grace offered when I grumbled in the office after she asked me to pull some numbers.
“Dude, you okay?” Landon asked when I cursed at the knots in Grover’s leash after I volunteered to walk him during Monday family dinner.
I didn’t tell my siblings what was really bothering me. My answers were “nothing,” “sure,” and “yeah,” in that order.
Which definitely didn’t satisfy Rawley. Because when we got home from Landon’s, he was unusually bossy with me.
“Whatever’s got you in this crap mood, figure it out before Avie’s playoff game tomorrow,” he said, as I headed to my bedroom. “Because you’re radiating bad energy.”
Now, waking up two days after the game, my irritability is a low-grade constant—like someone rubbing an unsharpened blade back and forth over my chest.
How long is this feeling going to last? Unfortunately, I know the answer. If I’m going to be Eden’s manager while watching her date someone else? A fucking long time.
When I get to the office, I turn on my computer to read some contracts and slump into my chair. God, this sucks.
Deadlines and the fear of disappointing Milo are the only things that keep me marching through my projects. By the time I walk into Rawley’s apartment to get ready for the night, my mood is low. He’s right, I can’t bring it to the Surge playoff game.
Go drink a Red Bull and snap out of it. I owe Rawley and Avery a better version of myself for tonight. I throw on the Surge T-shirt I wear to games, and then head to the kitchen.
A couple of sips of the energy drink, and the caffeine does lift me. Artificial or not, I’ll take it.
“You got your gear on, I see,” Rawley says as he walks through the front door, just home from grocery shopping, based on the bags in his hands. “Excellent. Let me go change into my Surge jersey, and we can head out.”
That’s right, my smitten brother wears Avery’s name on his back to every game he attends. Without any shirt underneath the sleeveless jersey, I might add. I could do without his guns being on display, and often give him shit about the attire choice, but Avery seems to like it.
I put away the groceries, and he comes out five minutes later. “No jokes about showing off these babies tonight.” He points to his biceps. “I’m way too superstitious to wear anything other than her jersey for a playoff game.”
I let him off the hook. “Smart thinking.”
It’s the first round of the WNBA playoffs, and the Surge won game one of the series on the road. This second game is their first at home, and since the round is best of three, a win tonight secures they advance.
Rawley tries to make every game he can, regular season and playoffs.
There’s serious overlap beginning in late July with the start of Waves’ training camp, so he does miss some home games in the back half of Avery’s season.
The fact that he can be here for a playoff game on a Tuesday, his off day, is major.
The fans are always hyped at Surge games, but when we step across the floor to take our courtside seats, the energy is a whole other level. They cheer once they recognize Rawley—and he waves across our section of the arena.
“Playoff vibes,” he says as he sits down. “They are elite.”
The excited fans and banging music add to my improved mood. The energy is contagious, and the players haven’t even come out of the locker room yet to warm up.
I’m almost feeling normal until Rawley speaks up again.
“So why were you such a grouch yesterday?”
Way to keep me upbeat, Rawls. I’m trying to stay positive here, big brother. “No reason. Nothing we should talk about right now.”
“Got it.” But he doesn’t give up. “Work stuff?”
I guess, sort of, since Eden’s a client. Still, I shake my head.
He persists. “Oh—Mom stuff? Landon says she’s threatening to come here for Christmas. Did she reach out to you?”
My chest clenches, and it’s hard to breathe. She hasn’t…but the thought alone causes the reaction.
I push out air, trying to release the tightness. “Nah. Can we talk about something else?”
He looks at me for a beat, then throws on a huge grin. “Yeah. It’s playoffs, baby. Good vibes only. Forget I asked.”
Happily, the Surge players come out of the locker room right then, and BOOM, there’s my brother’s better half. In what’s become their tradition over the years, she jogs over to where we’re sitting, and my brother stands to give her a hug.
Dozens of clicks go off right as they embrace. They may have done this countless times, but a shot of “Avley”—their “ship name”—still goes viral on social media.
“Go crush it, Avie baby.”
“Just for you, Rook.”
Once they separate, Rawley sits down, but his focus stays on Avery as she runs to their shootaround. The man is enraptured with his girlfriend.
Eventually, Avery heads over to the Surge bench to talk to her coach, and that seems to snap Rawley out of his reverie.
“We need to get you out on some dates,” he says. “Now that will get you in a good mood.”
My brother’s projecting from his own haze of emotion. “Rawls, when have you known me to go out on a bunch of dates? You’re only saying that because you’re lovesick—and I mean that in the best possible way, because Avery’s fucking cool as hell…”
He laughs. “Don’t deflect this back on me.” He taps his legs with his fingers. “Did you meet anyone in LA?”
“Nope.” There was a pretty intern in the West Coast office who tried to make plans with me a couple of times, but the only person I wanted to spend time with was back in Orlando.
“I would know if you’ve met someone here. So you’re single single then.”
“Yup.” I pop the P, hoping that’s the end of this topic.
Rawley doesn’t get the memo to drop it, though. A guy with a Tolliver shirt walks by in front of us, and his eyes narrow. “What about…”
Like a train coming toward me at full speed, I see exactly where his mind is going…
“Del’s daughter, Eden? I didn’t miss you knowing only their table number at the wedding.
It reminded me that you couldn’t stop staring at her that day you revealed your kicking lessons.
” Rawley’s always more observant than he gets credit for; it’s his memory that’s faulty thanks to his ADHD.
But not this time, I guess. “Plus she’s right at Tolliver? Here in Orlando?”
I shake my head, because this topic is basically as dangerous as talking about our mom. “Nah…she’s a client of SLP. Off-limits.”
“Huh, okay.”
I call over one of the guys selling drinks and get us some water, thinking we’ve officially moved on.
But nope, there’s one more unsolicited observation from my brother. He throws a hand on my shoulder and looks out at Avery. “When you find the right woman, Connor, it’s going to change everything.”
The problem is, I think I already have.
“Wake up, Connor. Wake up.” The stern voice is layered with a rich southern accent.
Is that Mom? My head hurts. What time is it?
“God, you’re all so weak. Just like your father.”
My eyes blink open. Mom is hovering over me, in her pajamas.
I tilt my head to my nightstand. The clock says 4:11 a.m. What the hell?
She shakes my shoulder. “Get up, Connor. If I’m up, you’re up.”
Finally, I croak out a response.
“Mom, I need sleep…”
I jerk up in my bed, inhaling deeply. My heart’s racing, and it takes a few seconds to remember where I am.
You’re safe. You’re in Orlando, at Rawley’s place. Not at her house. Not in Alabama.
Fuck.
I haven’t had a dream like that in four years, when I first got help.