Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
GUNNER
After the plates are cleared and I pay the bill, I walk Rebel to her car. The sunshine bounces against her blonde hair, turning the strands into spun gold. Her eyes dart to me, a spell-binding blend of cornflower blue with flecks of green.
Awkwardly, she looks away and fiddles with her purse.
She’s angry. And I can’t blame her.
Uncle Stewart approached us with one goal—to rattle her. Every word that left his mouth was a hockey puck to the gut, intended to make Rebel doubt her abilities as a mechanic and a business owner.
An uncomfortable feeling presses into my chest. The more I think about what happened, the more annoyed I am that I didn’t speak up earlier.
After everything he’s done to April and Rebel, the decent thing would be to leave them alone now.
Is that why you’re holding Rebel hostage in a fake relationship? Are you doing the decent thing?
I clench my jaw.
“This is me,” Rebel says quietly.
I look up and realize we’re standing in front of her car. Without a word, I nod my goodbye and turn to leave.
“Gunner.”
I face her.
Rebel chews nervously on her plump bottom lip. “I, uh, I’m coming to the game tonight. Just a heads-up.”
Of course she is. Half of Lucky Falls is showing up tonight. We won’t be home much during the play-offs, so this is the only chance the town has to catch a game live. No one’s going to miss it.
But why is Rebel telling me that now? Does she need something?
“I’ll get you the family tickets,” I tell her, figuring that’s what she’s asking for.
Rebel’s eyes widen. “What? No. I’m going with April, so I don’t need… no.”
Alright then.
Rebel fiddles with her car keys, opens her mouth and then slams it shut. With abrupt movements, she opens her car door.
I turn to go.
Suddenly, she slams it shut and stomps over to me. “Why did you do that?”
I arch a brow. “Do what?”
“Chase your uncle out? I could have handled myself. You didn’t need to step in.”
I catch my breath as I fall into those fierce blue eyes. They’re surrounded by thick lashes, delicate arched eyebrows, and set in a peaches-and-cream complexion. It’s unfair how beautiful she is. Even though I should regret ruining her lunch today, I can’t.
I enjoyed eating with her.
I’d do it again.
“So?” Rebel folds her arms over her chest, her eyes cutting through me. “What was it? Did I look that helpless to you?”
“It wasn’t about you.”
“What was it about?”
I move my gaze past her. Her eyes are so incredibly blue that I can’t keep ahold of my thoughts if I look directly at them.
“It was my fault.”
“You’re… what?” She gawks.
My fingers pull into fists. “You should feel safe when you’re with me. You should feel protected. That’s what a partner is supposed to do. I failed. I let my uncle stay too long at the table. I shouldn’t have let him sit down in the first place.”
“That’s…” Rebel sputters and a slight pink dashes across her cheeks. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous or not, you’re my girlfriend.” I step forward.
She steps back, her tennis shoes skittering across a loose rock. “Fake girlfriend.”
I move in. “We’re dating.”
“ Fake dating,” she stresses, fiddling with the collar of her pink mechanic jumper.
“And that means you—Rebel Eleanor Hart…”
Her eyes widen when she bounces against the door of her car.
“… Are my responsibility and I will have your back.”
Rebel looks up at me, her mouth slightly parted.
My eyes fasten on her lips. A fire that has no business burning spreads through my veins. My hands beg to touch her, to flatten on her back and give her the last, tiny nudge forward so nothing separates us.
But I don’t move.
Neither does she.
The silence between us is heated, filled to the brim with words and desires that would never cross our lips. Our eyes don’t stray an inch from each other’s. The air around us thickens with a dangerous kind of heat.
I’m no stranger to a glaring Rebel Hart. But this stare down is different from the usual stubborn sneer or the disgusted looks she ordinarily flings at me.
I find myself leaning closer, drawn to that unexplainable warmth in her.
It’s not like I have a choice.
Rebel Hart attracts people to her just by breathing, just by existing. Heads swiveled when she walked into the Tipsy Tuna earlier. I heard groans when the table she chose to sit at was mine.
It’s some kind of sickness. Maybe something in the water?
Whatever it is, I’ve got zero immunity.
I reach out.
Rebel covers her mouth, coiling back.
My lips twitch and I continue to reach for her door. The handle makes a ‘clicking’ sound as it releases and the door bounces, lightly hitting her and pushing her forward.
Rebel’s eyes widen to take up half her face and she twists around, sees her open door, and realizes that I had not been intending to kiss her.
The flush across her face deepens in color.
“Text me if you’d like to go to the game together,” I say.
Rebel makes a garbled sound that, I assume, is supposed to be a response. Pointedly avoiding eye contact, she scrambles into her car, starts the engine and takes off, burning tire marks in the pavement.
I stagger back, taking in my first deep breath since we walked out together.
Rebel Hart thought I was going to kiss her. She was going to reject my kiss, sure. But the fact that she even thought about it…
I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who felt something.
I slip a hand into my pocket, chuckling to myself.
Just then, I get a call from Max.
Surprised, I answer quickly.
“Gunner, sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute to swing by the stadium? I need your expertise.”
“Yeah. Sure. Give me twenty minutes.”
Since I, technically, should be at the hardware store now, I give my Uncle Robert a call first. I do most of my work via my laptop, so Uncle Robert doesn’t have a problem.
A few minutes later, I pull into the stadium parking lot and head left to the admin section of the building.
Max is sitting behind his giant desk, but he’s so massive, he still manages to make the desk look like a child’s toy. He’s somehow found a button-down shirt in his size and a pair of pants that look ready for a church service.
Usually, Max wears jerseys and sweatpants like the rest of us. I’m surprised to see him in such a formal outfit.
Since the team manager is so engrossed in what he’s looking at, he doesn’t notice that I’m standing in the doorway, I rap my knuckles on the door to get his attention.
His head flings up and he welcomes me in. “Gunner, you’re here. Come in. Oh, and lock the door behind you.”
My eyebrows hike even more. Since his first day, Max has touted an ‘open door policy’. As an out-of-towner, it should have taken him way longer to gain the trust of the team. But we all quickly took to him. He’s been fair and transparent with us.
A little on edge, I sit in one of the chairs facing his desk.
Max hands me a file. “I heard that you went to business school.”
A strange way to start a conversation. “At a state college, but yeah.”
Max waves away my words. “I don’t need a Harvard law degree. But I do need some advice.” He points a thick finger at the binder in my hands. “That’s the financials for the stadium.”
My thumb slides down the spreadsheet, comfortably reading the information. I do all the finances for my uncle’s hardware store but, what’s lesser known, is I also handle his investments.
I’ve always liked math. Numbers, unlike people, are black and white, unpretentious. They don’t add up to anything more than what they are.
Through the years, I’ve told few others about my investment skills. If the secret ever got out, Mom would push me to take over the entire Kinsey family estate and I’d be trapped in an office for the rest of my life.
“It looks like you have a cash flow problem,” I tell Max. “I’d need to see more of your portfolio to tell you anything deeper, but…” I hand the file back to him. “Ticket sales are through the roof with Chance on our team. Why is the stadium bleeding so much money?”
Max gestures to his outfit. “I drove an hour to meet with a fancy accountant this morning just for him to tell me what I already know. Our travel expenses and overhead are far more than the revenue the stadium generates.” Max runs a hand over his head. “Even worse, I just lost another sponsor. That’s three in a row.”
The news stuns me. “Why’d they drop us? Our team’s number one in the state. The Lucky Strikers are doing better than ever.”
Max shakes his head. “Yeah, but we’re big fish in a small pond. They’re looking for a team heading for national or international stadiums.”
I frown.
Max sighs. “Ever since Chance returned to us from the pros, sponsors have been getting antsy. It’s one thing to be the best in a state league and have dreams of making it big. That way, you’re the underdog and everyone is looking at you and rooting for you to grow.” He makes a circle. “But if you’re branded as the team who’d rather stay small than strive for the bigger pond, that’s less of a story, less flashing lights, less money.”
“Have you told Chance?”
“I don’t want him to worry. He’ll blame himself and the guy always does something stupid when he feels like something’s his fault.” Max’s eyes flit to me and he says seriously, “Of course, I’d need you to keep this from the others too.”
I nod. “The problem is both simple and difficult. The team needs more cash and that means we need more sponsors. Maybe we take it to the community?”
“The town is giving as much as it can. Local businesses, like your family’s, are the only reason we could stay in the playoffs. But we need a big corporate sponsor. Those won’t just drop out of the sky. Especially now that we’re a team known for not wanting to go pro.”
“Then let’s change that,” I say simply.
Max stares at me with narrowed eyes.
“Let’s go pro.”
He bursts out laughing. “You could be a comedian, Gunner. The way you deliver jokes with that dead-pan expression…”
“I’m not joking.”
“How can we afford to go pro right now when we can’t even keep the lights on?” Max wrenches a button on his shirt loose. “Making the league as a team isn’t just about a ‘can do spirit’.” He counts off on his fingers. “First of all, we’ll need to pay the team an actual living wage so you can practice all day . Right now, you and Watson and Renthrow have to work separate jobs to pay your own bills. The others are only this flexible because they’re in college. Then, we’ll need another coach because the one we have is great but… you know, the league is another level. Not to mention the league fees, the plane tickets?—”
“We can do it.”
Max grits his teeth. “You think it’ll be easy just because you said those words in a calm voice?”
“I want to try, Max.”
The excitement leaks out of my voice. Since I was a kid, it’s been my dream to go pro. Chance walked away from it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t return to the top, this time, with us behind him.
The team manager scrutinizes my expression. “I never realized this before, but… you’re… actually insane.”
“I’ll do everything I can.” I extend my hand. “Let’s take the Lucky Strikers all the way to the pros.”