13. JACKSON
THIRTEEN
JACKSON
I’ve been sitting in my car for fifteen minutes. I glance at the passenger seat, at the grocery store bouquet. The petals of the purple flowers are limp and fucking sad. This was a horrible idea. The milkshake I bought has probably melted, and the fries are definitely lukewarm at this point.
I should just go home.
Movement catches my attention. The front door to the townhouse stands open now, and—shit—a very angry Paulie Nebiolo is glaring at me, arms crossed over his chest. He’s half a foot shorter than me, but he’s built like a bull.
I glance down. At my red shirt. I groan.
Looks like I’m facing an enraged bull. I definitely can’t go home now that he’s seen me. This is good. The shove I needed. I had lost my balls, and Nebs clearly found them and is now dangling them in front of me. Come and get them.
I open the door, collect the things I bought, gather my courage, and step out of the car.
Nebs’s stare drops to the items in my hands as I approach. “What the fuck is this?”
I let out a breath. Here we go. “I was hoping to talk to Frankie.”
Nebs scoffs and leans against the doorframe. “Yeah. No fucking way. Think you’ve done enough, Olander.”
I shift. “I know that, Nebs. That’s why I’d like to talk to him. I want to apologize. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’d still like the chance.”
He shakes his head. “And you think, what—” He sweeps a disgusted look over the bouquet. “Flowers are going to fix his broken face? Flowers? Who the fuck even are you? You know a good place for those? The trash. Why don’t you throw yourself in there while you’re at it.”
My gut seizes. Fuck. He’s right. What was I thinking?
“Paulie, stop being an asshole.” Maddox’s voice filters out of the townhouse, then he steps up to Nebs’s side. “Let the man inside.”
“Asshole?” Nebiolo’s eyebrows shoot high. “He broke my brother’s fucking face! He’s not stepping foot in here.”
“You need glasses, bro?” Maddox asks. “Olander is standing at your door, not Dev. And it’s not your place. I already told Frankie Olander is here. He wants to see him.”
Nebs doesn’t budge. Maddox sighs, then palms Nebiolo’s face and shoves him backward inside the house, a muffled what the fuck falling from Nebs.
“Come on, Jackson. I’ll hold back the overprotective little brother while you sneak upstairs.”
I step inside, Maddox dramatically boxing out a grumpy Nebiolo like he’s a star NBA player. A Nebiolo who isn’t even moving.
Nebiolo rolls his eyes. “I hate everyone. You’re all exceedingly annoying.” He looks pointedly at me. “Fine. You can talk to my brother. But I’m standing by the door the entire time.”
“No, you won’t,” Maddox sings. He shoots me a small smile and nods his head toward the living room.
A small piece of the weight I’m carrying breaks off at Maddox’s support. I have no idea what I did to deserve it. I head the way he nodded, assuming that means I’ll find Frankie in that direction.
Winters is standing at the bottom of the stairs, eyeing me curiously. He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “Frankie’s in his bedroom. Turn the corner when you get to the top. He’s the bedroom at the end of the hall.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks, man.”
Maddox promised me he wouldn’t tell Winters about me, so Winters’s small gesture of support just shows how deep the trust lies between those two.
And it’s kind of incredible. Especially considering the awful things I’ve said in the locker room.
Spring Training comes rushing back. Nebs and Michaels looking like they were on the verge of pummeling me and Dev after making jokes about being queer.
Winters’s pale face. And that’s just one of the many times I’ve made jokes like that.
I pause two stairs up and turn back to my teammate. “Hey, Winters.”
He shifts back toward me and cocks his head.
“I’m sorry. For all the shit I’ve said.”
He stares at me for a long time. The cold of the milkshake seeps into my hand, and the plastic wrapping of the bouquet crinkles as my fists tighten.
Finally, his chest lifts in a heavy breath. “Frankie’s waiting for you.” He turns and walks away.
I trudge up the stairs, each footstep like a lead weight. I wonder if there’s anyone who doesn’t need an apology from me.
The fact that I have to ask myself that is probably a pretty big sign I haven’t been living my life the right way.