Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
WADE
Luke: How’s Bree doing?
Wade: Dunno. She wouldn’t talk to me. Just went to bed.
Payton: Can you blame her?
Wade: What does that mean?
Ethan: Never force a woman to talk if she isn’t ready. Want confirmation? Ask Mia.
Elias: Yeah, that’s quite a story.
Ethan: Wait. When did she tell you about it?
Elias: Right after it happened.
Ethan: Bro, that was last month. Since when do you two talk about…things?
Elias: Since she started calling me your work wife. That’s the name she gave me on her phone, too. She showed it to me.
Mathéo: Wow, tellement émasculant.
Elias: Masculine? Hey, I kind of like that.
Payton: It means emasculating, you pillock. I thought you understood some French.
Elias: Basic French. Not complicated words. And Barbie-man, I officially hate you now.
Mathéo: And how did you know what it means, Maxwell? Have you been holding back on me?
Payton: I have a brain, mate. And Google…
Luke: Now that we’ve established Elias doesn’t understand as much French as he thought, and that Payton knows how to use Google, can we get back to helping Wade? What can we do to help, man?
Luke: Cowboy, you still there?
Ethan: Maybe he fell asleep.
Payton: Yawn. I almost did.
Ethan: I’m giving you the finger, Pay-man.
Payton: What I can’t see can’t hurt me.
Luke: What a bunch of knuckleheads.
After I catch up on the ridiculous bro chat, I switch to my conversation with Bree. She still hasn’t answered any of my texts today—she’s not engaging with me at all, which feels just like the last year of our friendship all over again.
Except this time, it’s my fault. I may have checked out of the thread with the fellas last night, but they were right.
I should have thought things through instead of embarrassing Bree by confronting her like that.
She has every right to be mad at me. But I still wish she’d answer me, tell me if she’s okay.
And explain what happened so I know whether to book a flight to Texas so I can punch Chase’s lights out.
But she won’t be home until late because she’s meeting the other WAGs at the Turtle Tide tonight after work, which is happening now. Wish I could be a fly on the wall because I’m almost certain those ladies will know more than I do by the end of the evening.
When I hear a knock, I check the peephole to find Luke’s sour mug staring back.
I swing open the door. “What are you doing here?”
He brushes past me. “We have plans, remember?”
“I thought Sophie was joking.”
“Nope. I have official orders to keep you company tonight. We can call the others and make a thing out of it.”
“A thing?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, you know. Pizza. Beer. We never did get to order last night.”
The ludicrousness of the situation makes me feel itchy. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. Bree’s most likely pouring her heart out to Sophie, Mia, and Lily, which is great—I want her to have friends.
I just wish she’d talk to me.
Granted, now that I know Chase Langston, my long-time rival and all-around turd bag, was her mysterious boyfriend, and considering how I behaved when Luke dumped that detail in my lap, I can understand why she might feel more comfortable talking to them.
Even so, I’m her best friend. In the past, she’s shared every part of her life with me. Some I could have gone without knowing.
With a resigned sigh, I close the door, saying goodbye to my evening alone. “You’re all I can handle tonight.”
Pressing a hand to his chest, he smirks. “Should I be flattered?”
“Hell no,” I mumble and follow him to the couch.
He sits at one end, his arm stretched out toward me along the back of the sofa. I flop down on the other end, arms crossed, with a foot propped on the coffee table.
The silence in the place is deafening.
Luke clears his throat. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Good.” He leans forward and grabs the TV remote. “I think there’s a baseball game on tonight.”
I say nothing because all I can think about is Bree. “Am I difficult to talk to?”
He drops his head and puts the remote back on the table. “So, we’re talking, then?”
“No…yeah, I guess.” I sound like a whiny teenage boy, even to myself.
He doesn’t reply. I glance over to see what’s up, only to find him with his nose in his phone, fingers flying across the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Sophie.”
“Why?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Do you think I’m good at this, man?” He points to his screen. “I’m asking her what I should say next.”
I snicker. “She’ll probably tell you to just listen.”
He lets out a classic Luke-style grunt, then holds his phone out for me to see.
The words ‘just listen to him’ sit in the last blue bubble.
“Told you.” At least I’m right about something.
He puts his phone away and leans back. “Shoot.”
I weigh my options before speaking. I’m emotionally intelligent enough to realize that keeping this stuff locked up inside is messing with my head and affecting my performance on the ice.
Bree’s the one I want to talk to, but she’s not ready to fill me in.
So I guess this brute—my team captain—is my best option. At least for now.
Like a spring, I snap into a sitting position to face him. “What chafes me most is that Chase is the reason she won’t talk to me about what happened to her.”
“No, man. That’s on you. You’re the one who’s made this about you.”
“What are you talking about? I want Bree to tell me what the prick did to her.”
He bobs his head. “Yes, because you clearly hate the guy.”
“I told him to stay away from her years ago,” I grind out.
“Exactly.” Brows raised, he holds his hand out as if he’s made his point.
But I’m not getting it. “What?”
He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “You made it about you. Not Bree. You’re mad because Chase went after your girl and hurt her.”
“You bet I am!” I growl. I thought that was clear.
“Fine, but don’t take your anger out on her. You need to set your ego aside on this one and quit thinking about how he pissed you off and start hurting for and with her.”
Hurt for and with her? I’m not even sure what that means.
I turn and sit back against the cushion and try to separate what I’m feeling and focus solely on what Bree’s struggling with.
Might help if I knew more about what happened, but do I need to know everything in order to sympathize with her?
The image of her with her face in her hands, crying, deflates my anger.
I curse under my breath.
Luke picks up his phone, preening like he scored an impossible goal.
“Are you texting Sophie again?”
“First, I’m ordering pizza. Then I’m texting Sophie to tell her I listened and actually offered some sound advice.”
“Then we’re finished talking?” If he says no, I’ll make him leave and eat the pizza by myself.
He side-eyes me. “Is there more you want to say?”
“No,” I say with more force than I meant to.
He grunts. “Then my work here is done.”