Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
brUCE
After the game the hype in the dressing room is loud and proud. Coach Young gives an epic speech, with a lot more happy-profanity than usual, and Remy follows his speech up with his own praise for us. Mostly praise for me. I relish in it—I’m a words of encouragement man. But the pride in his eyes as he tells me how honored he is to have the best goalie sitting right here in this room causes my stomach to wave and sway uncomfortably. I’m beginning to know this guilt all too well; this pit in my stomach is just a foe who resides inside me now, even thought he was uninvited.
I just want to come clean and tell him about me and Farrah. But I also want to know that he’ll be happy for us, and I know he won’t be. These thoughts lead me to ask myself the same question that has gnawed at me for weeks. Why doesn’t he trust me with Farrah?
I stare blankly at the area right behind Remy’s head. I don’t even realize the guys are chanting my name until West slaps me hard on the back.
“Bruce, Bruce, Bruce!” he cheers, his eyes twinkly and happy in the bright overhead lights.
I stand, dragging a hand across the back of my neck. “Thanks, guys,” I say to my teammates, needing to raise my voice to be heard over their noise. “I couldn’t have done it without you all there to have my back, eh?”
The room erupts again, and this time, I can’t wipe the grin from my face. I cling to that joy, trying desperately not to let my sour feelings toward Remy back inside my head.
Eventually, the group calms down and heads to the showers. I take mine quickly, ready to get outside of this smelly dressing room and into the orbit of one Farrah Remington. She smells a helluva lot better than these guys.
I finally heading out of the locker room, dressed again in the game day suit I arrived in—black and white pinstriped with a royal blue shirt and tie beneath—my eyes scanning the broad hallway for Farrah. I spot her standing and laughing with all the wives. She looks beautiful, but I can’t help but notice she’s the only one not wearing a jacket that matches the other girls’.
My hands flex at my sides, itching to pick a fight. But the only one I could fight with is my damn self. Or Remy. But he doesn’t fight.
I want Farrah to be mine, openly. I want her to wear a WAG jacket—with my name on it—to every single game. I want her to share that last name someday, if she wants to. And I want to hold her and kiss her no matter who’s watching.
And you know what else? I want to park my stupid, old truck smack in front of her apartment and not care who sees it and knows I’m inside with her—probably making out on her couch.
And I could have all those things, if only we weren’t nearing the final round of playoffs and if only my team captain wouldn’t throw a gasket about it.
Last week I was so happy that Remy was talking to me again, that our friendship was right once more. But now I’m pissed. Because he has no right to tell me, or his sister, who to date. And there’s an ache in my chest that he doesn’t trust me the same way I trust him. We’ve been teammates and friends for five years now.
I’ve babysat his daughter, for shit’s sake. If he can trust me with her, he should be able to trust me with his sister.
Farrah glances over her shoulder like she feels me nearby, and a coy smile plays on her lips. I unclench my fists, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and burrow my nose into her hair. There’s a desperation to the way I want her arms wrapped around me, embracing me. I need her.
My skin itches with the urge to go to her and kiss her. But I stay glued in place.
Farrah’s face falls, and she moves like she’s about to walk toward me, but then Remy appears by my side. He doesn’t seem to notice me; his eyes go right to Amber. Her face lights up and she runs to him and throws her arms around him. I have to move to the side to get out of their way.
I’ve never felt bitter while watching my teammates with their wives. Ever. Not until right now. The unfairness of it seems stifling in this moment.
Before I know what’s happening, Andie is walking toward me. She pulls me into a big hug. One of my arms reluctantly comes up to hug her back. But she’s not the one I want to hug.
“If you can hug me, you can hug Farrah. Now stop pouting,” she whispers before pulling away.
I blink, wondering if I heard her correctly. But then Mel comes up and hugs me as well, then Noel. Noel is great, but this is definitely the first time she has ever hugged me. Next, Farrah walks over.
When she hugs me and whispers great win, McBride , I don’t hesitate to hug her back. I squeeze her tight and smell her hair, savoring the sweet, floral scent I’ve come to know and love. She pulls away too soon and I hesitate before letting her go.
“I’m glad you came tonight, Yeux bleus,” I say in a low voice so no one else can hear.
“I’ll see you all at practice in two days!” Remy yells through the crowd with a wave, then wraps an arm around his wife’s waist and gives her a look that says let’s go home, Baby. Amber rests her head on his shoulder, and they walk toward the parking lot together.
Farrah looks up at me, smiling shyly. “They’re my ride.” She jabs a thumb in their direction then turns to follow them. Her steps are slow, like she doesn’t really want to leave.
I watch until she’s all the way down the hallway and through the doors that lead outside, before sighing and taking in who’s around me for the first time since spotting her in the crowd. I’m surprised to find Mitch, West, and Colby staring at me and shaking their heads. Their wives are giving me similar looks as well.
“Dude,” West says. “You might as well just tell him if you’re going to look at her like that.”
Colby nods. “What about the girl on the phone?” His eyes widen as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Ohhhhh. You’re in for it.”
I nod slowly. “Yep. She is the girl.”
Mitch emits some sort of growl. “I told you this would happen.”
Andie pats his chest like she’s calming a wild bear. “Bruce, you two care for each other, so just tell Remy. He’ll understand.”
Mitch, West, and Colby all nearly snap their necks to look at her, all of them clearly unhappy with her idea.
“That’s the worst thing he could do,” Mitch argues. “It needs to wait until after playoffs.”
I groan, not wanting to hear this and not wanting six people involved in my dramatic love life.
I walk away from the group, leaving them arguing in my wake.