Chapter 43
Forty-Three
I’m not even dressed when my phone rings with a call.
It’s Maggie.
I grin at her name on my screen.
We beat the Rhino’s two to one. I had an excellent game. And I’d bet money that my girl is still in the building. I am in a very pleasant mood.
I walk back toward the showers and hold my phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“I need you to come here.” She whimpers more than speaks.
“Maggie?” I say, feeling the blood drain from my face. “What’s the matter?”
“Just come.” Her voice cracks. “I’m in the locker room.”
I don’t waste time putting the rest of my clothes on. I’m in sweatpants. No shoes, no shirt. And yet, if I were in my boxers, I’d race from this room as is. No time to dress.
I charge through the crowded locker room.
“Lucca,” Roman says. “Where’s the fire?”
But I ignore him. I hurry through the exit and down the quiet hall, pushing through the door of the women’s locker room.
“Maggie?” I round the first set of lockers to see her sitting in front of the large floor-to-ceiling mirror. There are tears on her cheeks, and her nose is as red as a strawberry.
She runs a hand down her face. She pushes herself up from the floor, and I rush over. But she holds out a hand, not allowing me to embrace her.
Did I do something wrong?
“Why didn’t you argue with my call today?”
My brow furrows and I search the ground, making sense of what she’s saying. “I—I don’t know.”
“It was a lousy call. But you didn’t argue.” A cry heaves from her chest, and tears fill her eyes.
I step one inch closer, but she shakes her head. So, I did do something wrong? “Uh—it was a decent call. I clipped the guy.”
“Barely!” she bellows. “You barely touched him. You were clearly going for the ball.” She exhales and, in a low voice, huffs out, “It was kind of a fire move.”
I can’t stop the grin that tickles my cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I gave you a yellow card!”
“I noticed.” I don’t understand what’s happening here. “Are you saying you disagreed with your own call?” I lift one brow, waiting for an answer, utterly confused.
“Yes!” She flaps her arms at her sides.
I scratch the whiskers on my chin. “This is new. And I’m sorry, I should understand what’s happening here, but I’m a bit confused at the moment.”
She covers her face with both hands and cries into her palms.
“Maggie Pie,” I whisper, stepping closer. I wrap both arms around her, and she cries into my chest. “Shh,” I tell her. “It’s all right.” I never imagined one lousy call would make her this upset.
With her hands on my chest, she tilts her tear-streaked face up to mine. “I was biased today, Lucca. I knew you wanted to win, and I wanted it, too.”
I blink. “You do understand that gifting me a yellow card isn’t helpful.”
Maggie groans. “Yes, I know that. That’s why I did it.” She presses her forehead into my chest. “I realized my feelings, my biases during the game, and…” She hiccups with her next breath. “That’s wrong. I can’t be biased. It’s ethically wrong. So, I overcompensated, and you paid for it.”
I’m starting to understand. The fog is clearing. “It’s okay.” I rub my hand over her back. “We still won. No harm, no foul.”
“It’s not okay,” she cries. “It’s the very opposite of okay. A whole lot of harm. A whole lot of foul.” Her back shakes with another onset of tears.
“Okay. Okay. You’re right. It’s going to be fine, though.” I kiss the top of her head. “Promise.”
“It’s not.” She blinks up at me, then her eyes skirt to my bare chest. She sniffs, her head shaking. “Especially when you come in here like this. Lucca, where is your shirt?”