Chapter 7 #2
I might have her drop my meals off at my flat from now on, rather than going to her. Over the last few weeks, I’ve discovered that I inevitably end up spending more time at her place than I should. Bonding with Beef Wellington. Watching Savannah cook. Memorizing her smile…
Ten minutes later, a knock on my door pulls my eyes from my phone and my thoughts from the spitfire and her cat. I reluctantly slip my phone into the pocket of my shorts as I cross the hotel room, and a glance through the peephole makes me frown and open the door. “Mox?”
Moxie holds out a paper bag that smells of beef and garlic. “Thought you might be hungry.”
I grab his head and press a quick kiss to his curly hair. “Legend.” Taking the bag from him, I hold the door open wider, surprising myself by inviting him in. But the man brought me food, and Savannah isn’t texting me back anyway. Might as well socialize.
Chuckling, Moxie comes inside and looks around the room. “Is this really better than hanging out with the team, Callahan?”
“I’m better company,” I argue as I flop onto the bed and dig into the meal he brought me. It won’t be as good as Savannah’s food, but anything beats another protein shake. “Looks like you’ve figured that part out.”
“It’s more that I’m concerned about my teammate,” he says, settling into the armchair by the window.
I roll my eyes and speak through a mouthful of food. “I’m grand.”
“Wasn’t talking about you.”
That gets me to stop inhaling whatever is in this container—I’ve been eating too fast to taste it—and meet his gaze.
Moxie’s expression is hard, but as always there’s a kindness underneath the stern look. “I know you’re trying to push Bean to be better, but I need you to stop.”
I swallow. “He’s holding himself back.”
“I know he is, but there’s more going on than you know.”
French Roast’s words come back to me. There’s more to life than rugby.
He also said Bean is going through something, but who isn’t?
I’ve got the nonsense with Lola, I heard Tink complaining about his neighbors the other day, and French never has down time because he’s always either at practice or at the firehouse where he works.
But unlike Bean, the rest of us don’t let our issues affect our game.
“Then have Coach suspend Bean from the team so he can deal with his crap,” I suggest. “Give someone else a chance on the pitch.”
Moxie’s expression tightens. “That’s why I’m here.”
“To tell me you’re finally pulling Bean off the starting line?”
“To tell you I’m pulling you off the line.”
I freeze, gripping my fork tightly in my fist. “What?” I would tell him he doesn’t have that power, captain or not, but if Moxie doesn’t sign off on something, Evanson doesn’t sign off, and Coach values his paycheck too much to defy the Thunder owner.
Moxie basically runs the Thunder, which wouldn’t be a problem if he would get his head out of the sand when it comes to Bean.
Whatever he sees in my expression, Moxie clenches his jaw in response.
“Look, you’re a good player, Logan. And those guys out there want to win as much as you do.
But we’ve become a family, and that means we look out for each other.
We don’t just drop people on the side of the road when they don’t suit our needs. ”
I hold back a derisive laugh. That’s what my birth mum did to me, and I turned out fine. “You don’t want to do this, mate.”
“You’re right, which is why I’m giving you a chance to change my mind.”
He’s seriously thinking of pulling me off the pitch when I’m the only bloke on the team with any consistent scoring? “How?” I growl, imagining myself watching the next match from the sidelines. Anger bubbles up in my chest. I need to play.
Moxie narrows his eyes. “Show me you’re a part of this team, Logan. You’re not a one-man show.”
“How am I supposed to—”
“Compliments.”
I snort.
“Helpful tips.”
“My tips are help—”
“Keeping your mouth shut when you don’t have anything nice to say.”
He must be joking. “I don’t—”
“This isn’t a game, Logan. You have a week to prove to me you’re more than your ego. Until then, you’re a sub.”
I open my mouth to argue that he’s making a massive mistake, but my phone buzzes in my pocket, distracting me. It’s for the best, knowing how easily my frustration taints what I say lately.
Some of my irritation fizzles when I see that it’s Savannah who texts me, but then I read her text.
Savannah:
ROafbgppm chi
I frown down at the screen. What?
“Everything okay?” Moxie asks.
“Yeah, just…” I trail off when it says she’s typing.
Savannah:
Stupid cat.
My lips twist up.
Logan:
Are you telling me Beef Wellington texted me just now?
Savannah:
I’m telling you my idiot cat stole my phone out of my hand while I was typing.
Technically yes, he did send the text.
Logan:
Those extra thumbs really give him an advantage, don’t they?
Savannah:
I guess it’s time to teach him how to spell.
Logan:
Keep him away from your shopping list or you might find yourself wondering how you ended up with eight cases of tuna on your next order.
Savannah:
He did, in fact, chew through a tuna can this week, so that is actually good advice.
“Who are you texting?”
I startle, realizing too late that I’m grinning at my phone when I look up and see the curious interest on Moxie’s face. My smile drops. “No one.” That sounds monumentally stupid, but I don’t need him getting in my business. “Just someone who makes meals for me. Not important.”
“Uh huh.” Moxie grabs his phone and starts typing something.
Though I worry about who he’s texting, I focus on my own conversation. Texting Savannah is loads more fun than my captain telling me I’m being benched for trying to help his team.
Logan:
Beef is a legend.
Savannah:
Not great at spelling, but he might already know how to read because he
keeps trying to take my phone. It’s like he knows it’s you on the other end.
I’ve only hung out with her cat a few times, but I can’t argue that he dislikes me. Plus, I’ve started to miss the furball during the week. He’s cuddly and doesn’t expect platitudes and empty praise like my captain apparently does. Beef wants me around, though it seems no one else does.
While I work on coming up with some cheeky response, Savannah sends another text.
Savannah:
You’re being mean to your teammates?
My gaze snaps to Moxie, who lifts an eyebrow in a silent challenge that makes my hackles rise. “How did you—”
The buzz of my phone cuts me off.
Savannah:
I mean, I’m not surprised because this is you we’re talking about, but they’re your teammates, Big Beef!
Big Beef? And why is she not surprised?
“She asked me if you were a serial killer when you first hired her,” Moxie says.
I gape at him. “What?”
“I told her you were safe, even if your temperament suggests otherwise.”
I come across as unsafe? But she let me into her house!
If she was afraid of me, why would she hire me?
Desperation, probably. I think back to our first interactions and instantly hate the churning that starts up in my gut as I do.
I can’t have been that bad. Can I? It’s not like I’m using her for my own gain and giving her next to nothing in return…
Cursing under my breath, I turn my attention back to my phone as another message comes through.
Savannah:
I agree with Moxie. You need to be nicer.
Finally I get a chance to reply, though I’m too worked up over all of this to have a mature response.
Logan:
You should tell that to your cat.
Savannah:
He’s nice to you.
Logan:
And I’m nice to you, aren’t I?
Savannah:
Sometimes.
“Sometimes?” I repeat out loud, scowling at my phone as I type out a text that says the same thing. I can admit I was brusque those first couple of times we met, but I’ve been perfectly civil since then.
I scroll up to our texts before tonight and wrinkle my nose at the cold tone in my messages. Civil isn’t the same as nice. Reckon Savannah doesn’t have a single reason to like me when the focus has always been on myself, and I hate that more than I should.
Moxie stands; it’s about time he left. “Remember, Logan. I need a reason to move you back to the starting line.”
“I don’t need a bloody reminder,” I snap back. Then close my eyes with a grimace.
“Good to know.” His voice has a cold edge to it I’ve never heard before, and when I look at him again, there’s no trace of his usual friendliness. “You’re out for the next game. No argument. If you want to play after that, show me you’re worth it.”
I’m the best rugger he’s got, but that’s not what he means.
He’s going to hold me to this ‘being nice’ thing.
Though I can’t say that I blame him, how am I supposed to be what he wants me to be when the team’s going to hate me no matter what I say?
When time is passing faster than I want it to?
When I still don’t have a way to talk to Lola and give my parents some peace?
When Savannah is afraid of me and thinks I’m too full of myself to be nice?
“See you in the morning, Callahan,” Moxie says like he didn’t just knock me flat on my back, then he leaves.
And the hotel room is painfully quiet until my phone buzzes again.
Savannah:
Face the facts, Big Beef. You’re prettier on the outside, even if you do have some positive personality traits hiding deep down.
A tiny spot of hope bursts to life. Maybe it’s not too late for me.
Logan:
You think I have some positive traits?
Savannah:
Deep down. You did protect me from my cat.
Logan:
You didn’t need protecting.
Savannah:
No, but it was sweet. And you clearly love your parents, so that’s something too.
Logan:
Are you afraid of me, Savannah?
I’m not sure I want the answer to that.
Savannah:
No. Your bark is worse than your bite.
Meow is worse than your bite?
Claws are sharper than…
This analogy got away from me.
By some miracle, I find myself smiling down at my phone again, which hasn’t happened much since I left Australia. Settling lower against the pillows, I send another text I’m not sure I want a response to.
Logan:
I’m sorry I haven’t been very nice to you.
Savannah:
You’re dealing with a lot right now.
Logan:
So you’re saying I have an excuse to be a miserable drongo?
Savannah:
Definitely not saying that because I don’t know what that means.
Are you calling yourself a bird? I just looked up what a drongo is.
But also I don’t think anyone has an excuse to be mean to people.
I haven’t been mean. Not intentionally. I’ve said a lot of things I shouldn’t when I’ve been frustrated, but it’s not like I’ve been trying to insult my teammates.
If they choose to take it that way, that’s…
Gritting my teeth, I stop that line of thinking before it frustrates me more.
I hate it, but Moxie might have the right idea by forcing me to the bench.
Logan:
You’re right.
Savannah:
I know.
I chuckle, shaking my head at the spunk of this woman. The fact that she’s still texting me means I haven’t completely turned her away, and my body relaxes at the thought.
My phone buzzes, this time with a text from Moxie, and though I want to ignore him, the preview of the text piques my curiosity too much.
Moxie:
I’m glad you hired Savannah, but at the risk of you biting my head off again, I feel the need to remind you that you joined the dating ban. Stop smiling at her texts unless you want to lose and give yourself a reason to be grumpier than you already are.
The dating ban. Since the twenty bucks are pulled out of our weekly paychecks—it’s all very official, this bet—I almost forgot about the whole thing.
I originally agreed because it was an easy win, and also because I hoped it would give Bean a kick in the pants when it comes to focusing on the game instead of outside distractions. That clearly hasn’t worked so far.
But I have no reason not to stick with the bet now that I’m in it.
Dating is lower on my list than making friends.
Even if Savannah intrigues me.
I send off a quick text to Moxie, warning him that I fully intend to make off with the pot at the end of the season, and then I return to my conversation with Savannah.
Logan:
This is me nicely reminding you that I asked if you could add road food to my weekly order.
But don’t feel like you have to answer tonight. I don’t want to keep you from doing whatever you’re doing.
I groan as soon as I hit send on that unnecessary second message. I sound ridiculous.
But then Savannah’s response knocks a laugh out of me.
Savannah:
Keeping my cat in a headlock with my legs because he keeps trying to steal my phone again? How kind of you.
But seriously, he won’t leave me alone. Can we talk about what kind of food you want to add when you come over on Monday?
She still wants me to go to her flat. She’s not afraid of me, and she thinks it’s sweet that I love my parents, and I have something to do on Monday morning to fill the endless monotony of my alone time, even if that something is hanging out with her monstrous cat while I pretend I don’t enjoy watching her work.
Maybe Moxie isn’t entirely off base.
I need to be careful.
Sending off an agreement to talk on Monday, I turn off the lights and settle in to sleep, though it doesn’t come for a while.
My thoughts are too busy spinning, searching for a way to do as Moxie asked and be better.
It shouldn’t be this hard, and I have no idea how to mold my suggestions into something helpful.
But I have to try.