Chapter 12
Logan
“I’m only here because Moxie thinks your cat is depressed.” The lie slips out of me the instant Savannah’s door opens, leaving me feeling like an idiot as she gapes at me. That’s not remotely what I came here to say.
“Uh.” She glances behind her, into her apartment. “What?”
It’s at this moment that I notice the pink apron she’s wearing and the very sharp-looking knife sitting in her right hand. The apron, bearing the words “saucy, salty, and sassy” in a loopy font, takes far less of my attention than the possible murder weapon.
“Your cat,” I repeat, like we were in the middle of a conversation and I didn’t just show up to her apartment at eight on a Thursday night and talk nonsense.
Come to think of it, I’m surprised Beef Wellington wasn’t at the door to greet me like he’s been in the past. Then again, I haven’t been here in a week and a half, and maybe he’s gotten over his affection toward me.
Savannah’s latex-gloved fingers tighten around the knife at the same time her eyes narrow. “Are you a pet whisperer as well as an international rugby superstar?”
International rugby superstar whose temporary team is currently in Oregon for a match.
Without me. It’s one thing to be benched, but Coach suspended me for two weeks when he found out about my shoulder.
Not because I got injured but because I lied about it and “recklessly endangered myself.” Those words came from Mel when she concluded that I strained the ligament in my shoulder during the bad tackle, made worse when I got on the bench press.
Despite being their top scorer, I have put myself on the wrong side of the whole LA Thunder organization. I thought it was bad before. This is worse.
Does that explain why I’m standing in Savannah’s doorway? Not really.
“No,” I say slowly, drawing the word out. “I leave the pet stuff to Moxie.”
“Then why are you here?”
Because two days ago I sat through an excruciating meeting with Mel, Moxie, Evanson, Coach, and the team’s PT, Carissa, and they unilaterally agreed that I’m a liability. And I’ve been given an ultimatum:
I can walk away from my contract with no repercussions, or I can fix my attitude and take responsibility for my life. Evanson’s words, not mine.
He’s right. They all are. I put myself at risk because my pride couldn’t handle a setback I’ve faced many times before.
Because nothing has gone right since I got to the States.
Because I’m so terrified of losing one of the few good things I have in my life that I can’t think straight anymore and might lose all of them instead.
“I’m here because I’m…” Bad at this. I exhale long and slow, leaving the final word in my sentence thin and quiet. “…sorry.”
She tilts her head, eyebrows jumping upward. “What?”
“For taking out my anger on you.”
“Uh, you didn’t do that, so—”
“I did. You weren’t there, but I did.” I reckon flipping over a table in the training room counts well enough. I’ve already apologized to Mel—and Moxie, for that matter—but my anger had nothing to do with them, and they knew it.
Honestly, it wasn’t the intervention and ultimatum that knocked me sideways and forced me to get my head on straight.
It was the fact that Moxie and Mel remained calm during my outburst and let me run out of steam on my own.
Then Moxie asked what was really behind the anger, and his gentle kindness hit me hard.
He’s the real reason I’m at Savannah’s door right now.
Not rugby, not Lola, not my parents. Certainly not the cat. I’m here because I need to fix things.
My eyes jump to Savannah’s fist. “Could you, er, put the knife down?”
“What?” she says for the third time, then looks down at the blade in her hand and opens her mouth in surprise. “Oh! Right. Um. Do you want to come in?”
Of course I do, but I don’t deserve a place in her home after the way I’ve been acting. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jumper, I glance inside her flat and grimace. “Are you sure?”
If she’s surprised by my hesitation, it doesn’t show on her face as she nods and steps back. “Of course. You’re always welcome here, Logan.”
It’s taken me three days to work up the courage to come here, and this is why. She’s so good. She may be full of sass and cheeky comments, but I doubt this woman knows how to be selfish. A bloke like me can’t hope to compare when my best qualities don’t come close to matching her worst.
I can’t imagine this conversation is going to go well, but I owe her more than just “I’m sorry.
” Stepping inside, I take in the massive amounts of food on her countertop.
She’s in the middle of prepping meals for someone, which makes me feel slightly better about the knife situation.
She didn’t grab it just for me, though I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
Savannah sets the knife on a cutting board full of raw chicken and peels off her gloves, looking wildly uncomfortable as she returns her gaze to me. “So.”
Humility has never come easy for me, more apparent than ever as I stand in her entryway with no idea how to say what I need to say. Instead of talking, I check the living room for a ball of brown fur. For an excuse to delay subjecting myself to more vulnerability. “Where’s Beef?”
A high-pitched series of chirps answers my question from down the hall, followed by a heavy thump and the sounds of scurrying. Beef Wellington arrives at top speed and practically collides with my shins as he starts up his usual game of headbutting me to death while rumbling like a diesel engine.
Savannah groans as she watches her cat weave between my legs and stretch up along my thigh, looking for head scratches. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I frown. “What?”
“Moxie was right.”
“He doesn’t look depressed to me.”
“Exactly.” Sighing, she runs her hand over her hair to smooth some flyaways. “He’s only happy when you’re around.”
Hating the misery on Savannah’s face, I crouch down to pet the beast and ask him, “Mate, why are you hung up on me when you’ve got the spitfire around every day? She’s heaps better company than I am.”
He rumbles in response and sticks the tip of his tail in my face.
“Thanks,” I grumble and blow air through my nose to stop the tickle.
“How’s your shoulder?” Savannah asks, pulling my attention back to her.
My shoulder is worse than it was when I last saw her thanks to my stupidity, though I’m not keen to tell her that. “Healing.”
Glancing at the half-prepared food behind her, she moves back around the counter and slips on a new pair of gloves to resume cutting chicken.
“I’m sorry for overstepping on Monday. I was worried that you were going to hurt yourself more.
” A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, like she can’t hold it back. “And I was right.”
Based on how badly I want to see a full smile on her lips regardless of what prompts it, I reckon this woman is going to be the death of me. Hoisting Beef under my uninjured arm, I stand up straight and continue petting the cat as I approach the counter. “No need to be smug.”
“Says the biggest ego I know.”
“I’ve earned my ego.”
“So have I.” Grinning now, she looks up and nearly knocks me off her feet with the way her eyes are so bright.
There’s so much excitement in her expression, and the sight of it settles warm in my chest. “Mr. Evanson called me this morning and said he wants to hire me for post-practice meals for the team.”
I smile, relaxing for the first time in days. “That’s great, Savannah. They’ll be better for it.”
“I hope so.”
Evanson was skeptical when I suggested the idea at first, but I didn’t leave it alone until I’d talked him into it. To my surprise, Moxie backed me up despite all the trouble I’ve caused him, saying something about how morale is down and ready-made food would help lift team spirits.
Strangely, I think what ultimately convinced Evanson to reach out to Savannah was a comment I made mostly to myself after Moxie added his argument to the mix: “Keeping me off the pitch for a bit should do plenty for morale; I just think the lads are hungry.”
Whether Savannah knows I had a hand in her new position, I don’t plan to mention my involvement. Getting her the gig was the least I could do after the way I’ve treated her.
“Mr. Evanson,” I say, hoping to keep her off my scent. “Did he tell you to call him that?”
She bites her lip. “Well, no, but—”
“Didn’t think so.”
Groaning, she points the knife at me. “The man is friends with movie stars and one of my favorite musicians. I can’t just call him by his first name!”
“Sure you can.” Most of the team don’t use his actual name. They all call him Stitch, the nickname he earned while playing for the Thunder because they all have nicknames.
Except me.
Aside from Moxie, the team calls me Callahan if they call me anything at all. Most of the time they simply ignore me. With my two weeks in exile, they’re liable to forget me altogether.
I don’t especially love that.
“It’s going to take some getting used to, working for Mr., uh, Cole,” Savannah says, and her cheeks flush with pink as she turns her focus on the chicken. “At least he’s not Liam Connolly, right?”
“Your favorite musician?” I guess, and when she nods, I make a mental note to bring that up with Evanson next time I talk to him.
Savannah’s main goal is sports, but I doubt she’d say no to a celebrity or two on her client list. Evanson has connections that could boost True Fuel, which is exactly what Savannah needs.
He hardly owes me any favors, but maybe he’ll make an introduction if I tell him how much it’ll do for her.
“So I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other now that I’ll be feeding your team.” Still blushing, Savannah dumps the chicken in a large bowl. “Is that okay?”