Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WADE
Ethan: Wade. Wade! (Mic tap) Anybody out there? Where are you, dude?
Matéo: Maybe he’s asleep already.
Luke: Hey, man, you know you can talk to us, right?
Elias: Yeah, come on. Talk to us, buddy.
Ethan: Buddy? Since when do you call him that?
Elias: Just trying something new.
Ethan: Try again.
Deciding to ignore those idiots, I toss my cell onto the couch. Leaving the bar like I did—probably not a great idea. Because now I have to explain myself.
My phone chimes again. But this time, I know it’s Bree because I assigned a unique sound for her texts and phone calls.
Bree: Are you okay?
Am I okay? Not really. The temptation to jump in my car, drive to Texas, and pound Chase into the ground so he won’t bother Bree ever again overwhelms me to distraction.
I have to keep reminding myself I can’t let my team down.
Regardless of the likelihood of winding up suspended or worse, incarcerated, for tearing that bastard limb from limb, we leave tomorrow for a six-game stretch lasting close to two weeks.
I want to tell her the truth, that the idea of her starting things back up with that scumbag shreds me to pieces. But that’s not a conversation I can have with her right now. I’m too angry. Anything I’d say would sound more like an attack, and I refuse to subject her to that.
Dropping on the edge of the couch, I push my hands into my hair and hold my head.
Everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.
First, seeing that text on Bree’s phone, and then, during the ride home, Piper called to tell me Nana already has a potential offer for the ranch.
Piper reassured me she’s not doing anything until after the holidays, so we still have time to figure something out.
What, I have no idea, but add that to the steaming pile of crap living in my head that needs a bigger shovel than I can muster at the moment. I suppress a growl when my cell dings again.
Bree: Wade?
If I don’t answer her, she’ll keep texting or, knowing her, show up at my door, and I’m still too mad about that text I saw to have a reasonable conversation.
Wade: I’m fine.
Bree: Liar! Talk to me.
I start typing a reply, confessing I saw the text and asking her why she would want anything to do with him anymore. But nothing sounds right. No matter how I word it, I sound like a jealous boyfriend in a rage or a pathetic wimp dancing around my feelings.
One thing I know, Bree deserves better. She also deserves a reply. I latch onto the situation with the ranch as an excuse.
Wade: Piper called. Nana already has a potential offer.
Bree: Oh, wow. I’m so sorry. That has to be killing you. Why didn’t you say something at the bar?
Easier to let her assume Piper called before I went to the bar to explain why I showed up in a crappy mood instead of admitting I text-dropped and can’t handle the thought of her getting back with him.
Man, I can’t even stand to think of his name, let alone say it.
Wade: Didn’t mean to ruin the evening. I’m sorry.
The three dots appear, then go away. This happens several times, so either she’s unsure what to reply, or she’s writing a long message, telling me I had every right to be upset—a typical Bree-thing to say because she’s so empathetic and caring.
Bree: You didn’t. Want me to come over?
Short and sweet, and not at all what I expected.
I’m guessing she hesitated adding that second line because she’s still in avoidance mode.
And I don’t blame her, considering how I reacted when I first found out she was dating Langston.
I need time to process this, so when she works up the nerve to tell me, I don’t go ballistic and do something stupid that ends our friendship.
Wade: No, I’m going to bed. We have early practice, and then we hit the road afterward.
Bree: I forgot about that. Guess I won’t see you for a while.
Is she relieved? She can figure things out with him without me giving her a hard time about it. That thought only pushes the knife in deeper. But at least I won’t be around to see it.
Wade: Yeah, guess so.
Before she can reply, I send a text to make it clear I’m done talking. It’s better for her…and for me.
Wade: Night, Bree-bear. I’ll call you when I get back.
More cycles of bouncing dots. Part of me wants her to push for answers.
The other part doesn’t want to risk losing her.
This kind of conversation is hard enough to navigate without seeing her face to gauge her reaction, so telling her the truth in a text is a solid no.
But I also know I can’t pretend I’m not in love with her anymore, and I certainly can’t lie.
Probably a good thing that I’ll be gone for a while so I can work on getting my head straight.
And come up with a plan.
Bree: Okay. Night.
I toss my phone down again, contemplating going to bed like I told Bree or running on the treadmill to relieve the powder keg building in my chest. The TV catches my attention, so I pick up the remote, searching for something distracting to stream, but nothing appeals.
I’m too amped up to sleep, so treadmill it is.
Better yet, the air felt crisp and clear when I got home.
A nighttime jog should do the trick. I’ll run until I’m ready to drop, shower, and then pass out for the night.
As I head to my bedroom to change, a knock at my front door stops me in my tracks.
With a growl, I pivot in that direction.
What if it’s Bree? Can I face her right now when all I want to do every time I see her is crush her against me and taste her lips again?
To whisper in her ear how long I’ve waited for her to see me as more than a surrogate brother, delegated to the best friend zone and that I go out of my mind when I think of her back with him.
Another knock, this time heavier and followed by Ethan’s muffled voice. “Come on, Wade! We know you’re home. Your car’s here.”
I yank open the door. All the fellas stand there, staring back at me—even Zayne and Mason.
“Shouldn’t you idiots be asleep by now? We have practice in the morning.” I shoot a scathing look at Luke, our captain, who should be the one saying that. Not me.
He grunts.
Well, isn’t that great. Instead of facing Bree, I get to deal with these goons.
Zayne brandishes a toothy grin. “Aww, he called us idiots. Guess he likes us after all.”
Mason elbows him in the side. “Not the time, man.”
Hands in his pockets, Ethan shrugs. “You didn’t answer our texts.”
“I was going to bed.” I shoot back.
Elias points to my clothes. “But you’re still dressed.”
“I would be undressed and in bed by now if I didn’t have a bunch of mother hens clucking at my door.” I don my best glare, telling them to leave me alone, but they’re not moving.
“We didn’t cluck, we knocked,” he tosses back.
With a sigh, I open the door wider. “Whatever.”
Ethan brushes by first, then the rest file in, making chicken noises under their breath.
As Payton would say, ‘cheeky bastards.’
I shut the door and turn around. Again, they all stare at me like I’m Humpty Dumpty about to take a great fall. Maybe I am. And they’re waiting to pick up the pieces as we do for each other.
But not like this. These cracks are deep, and I’m not sure there will be anything left worth reassembling. “I’m fine.”
Elias shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
I clench my jaw. What’s the point of talking about it? Nothing I say will change the situation, and rehashing it hurts too much.
With another grunt, Luke crosses his arms, making his point without saying a word.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going for a jog.”
Mason frowns at me. “I thought you were going to bed.”
“Changed my mind.” I disappear into my room to change, hoping they take the hint and leave.
Ten minutes later, I walk out of my bedroom to find a group of men changing clothes in my living room.
Several gym bags dot the floor at their feet as they replace shirts and pants with athletic attire.
Last spring, Luke, Ethan, Elias, Mathéo, and I started keeping duffels in our trunks for evening runs on the beach after we went out.
“What are you doing?” I growl.
Elias gives me an incredulous look. “Going with you, bro. What else?”
Still in his button-down but wearing a pair of gym shorts, Zayne holds his hands out to his sides. “Barbie-man loaned me a pair.”
With obvious distaste on his face, Mathéo tosses him a worn T-shirt. “They’re yours now, man. I do not want them back.”
Mason sheds his dress shirt, leaving him in a white undershirt and jeans. He lifts a shoebox holding a pair of new running shoes. “Glad I forgot to take these out of my trunk.”
How can a moment be ridiculous and meaningful all at once? I pause to take in the sight of these guys changing clothes in the middle of my living room, trading a quiet night at home to go for a run with my sorry ass. They said before that they had my back. Guess I need to believe it.
I duck into my bedroom and grab an extra pair of shorts, then toss them at Mason when I return. “Here. And I don’t want them back either.”
They exchange grins, thankfully acknowledging my acceptance of their presence without my having to say it.
Grabbing the single key I keep handy for when I go for runs, I hold open the front door. “Bree’s getting back with her ex. And that’s all I’m going to say.”
Their faces go slack. The looks they give me aren’t pity, which would have sent me over the edge, to be honest. They simply get it. Zayne appears to be the most affected, leaving me to wonder what he’s been through with a woman.
As each one files past, they bump fists with me. No words. Just solidarity.
And then we jog into the night, in silence.