Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Avery
"A super-fan?" I hiss at Noelle, running my hands over my face to hide my frustration from the eyes I can feel watching me. "Way to throw me under the fucking bus."
"Whatever, brother. I saw the way you were practically drooling over her while she was performing. You were like the human version of the heart eye emoji." She laughs, and if we weren’t in a public place where people can and would recognize me, I would’ve put up more of a fight.
Instead, I shake my head and walk to where Ryder and Harley stand, chatting away. Orlando is nearby, deep in conversation with a woman named Josie, who's apparently Olivia’s manager.
No good can come from it, but I’m ignoring it. At least until whatever they’re whispering about inevitably slaps me across the face.
"She’s not wrong, Avery. I watched you for an entire song, and you didn’t blink once. It was like you didn’t want to miss any of it." I turn a scowl at Leah, and she snaps her lips shut.
"Are we just going to pretend you didn’t spot her in the front row of your game the other night? Like you didn’t shoot that winning three because you knew she was watching you?" Ryder teases, wiggling his eyebrows at me, but I ignore him. It’s easier to do that than admit that he’s right.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake. Let’s get out of here before there’s a stampede," I say, but their eyes are all glued to something behind me.
"I said, get your hands off me," a familiar voice spits. Equal parts angelic and absolutely infuriating.
Not that I’d ever say that out loud.
I whip around to see a man about my height and size towering over her, trying to hold her to his chest.
"Oh, don’t be like that, Olive. I want the photo I paid for."
She shoves him away, her body shuddering, and I realize too late that my legs are moving on their own, with Harley and Ryder right on my tail.
Unfortunately and fortunately for me, I get there first.
"She told you to get your hands off her." I clench my fists by my side, my nostrils flaring at the sudden burst of rage I feel.
Red hot fire bubbles inside of me, instinct taking over.
"I have it handled." Her eyes shoot daggers my way, and I take a step back, raising my palms in the air, letting her take control of the situation she claims to have covered.
"Yeah, Jones. Don’t want a repeat of that night, do you? Ended the season last year on such a low. Wouldn’t want this one to start the same, would you?" He tilts his head to the side, a wicked smirk slapped across his face.
I hate that he’s using that shit against me especially when I’m, again, trying to protect an innocent woman.
I don’t bite. Not here. Not now.
But my jaw clenches anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing—bringing that night up like this. Like he was there. Like he knows everything.
"Security, have this guy escorted out before one of these three men does something they’ll regret," Josie says, nodding to me, Harley, and Ryder.
"I’m going, I’m going," the man says.
Then his hand swoops down to give Olive’s ass a quick squeeze. Like he just couldn’t help himself. He raises his hands in the air right after, all innocent, probably hoping nobody saw.
But I did, and that’s enough to make me snap.
Enough to turn my vision from clear to a cloud of red smoke rage.
I don’t even know this girl, but I feel a deep need to defend her.
Protect her, like I would Noelle or Leah.
"Absolutely fucking not." I storm over, clenching the collar of his shirt, his jaw now resting on it. "You’re lucky I have a game soon, or I would break your wrist," I whisper through clenched teeth, grinding them together as I work my way through my anger.
"Avery. Let him go." It’s Noelle’s voice I hear, cutting through the ringing in my ears and bringing me back down to earth. The same voice I heard that night, only this time, her voice is real and not in my head.
Dropping my hands by my sides, I shake my head in disbelief, ignoring the blinding lights around me. I shove past security, who are cuffing the guy, and head out the back door with the green neon Exit sign glowing above it.
The footsteps that follow me are familiar. I know who they belong to without even turning around.
No one says my name.
No one tries to get me to wait or slow down.
They know that I’m pushed to my fucking limit and won’t listen to reason. I just head for my car, and start it. I want to get out of here, as fast as I can.
"Get in the car," I say to Noelle and Leah. I don’t look their way, but I hold the door open anyway. Ryder shakes his head at me from behind them.
"You all good, brother?" he asks, pausing before opening the passenger door of my car. "I’ve only ever seen you get that riled up over a girl one time, and that was your—"
"I know who it fucking was. I know when it was, and I don’t want to talk about it."
He shrugs, slouching his shoulders as he takes his seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
Orlando’s been observing me in silence. But when he opens his mouth, I cut him off.
"I don’t need to hear it." I sigh, running my hands over my fresh buzz cut. "I know I fucked up. I don’t need you to tell me."
"I wasn’t going to say that, Avery. I was going to ask if you were alright.
I’m your friend first, manager second. I hate to see you get pissed off over people that don’t deserve an ounce of your time," he says, his voice a little louder to reach over the volume of the music coming from the speakers in my car.
Music we just sat through only moments ago, in a crowd full of screaming girls.
Like the night hadn’t already screwed with me enough.
But now it feels personal. Now it feels like she carved out space in my head that I never gave her permission to take.
Just what I need. Another reason to lose sleep—like I don’t have a game to win in a few days.
"As a manager, though, it has given me an idea…" He trails off, hesitating, and I see something flash across his face. Fear, maybe? Or is it…excitement?
Please be fear.
"Can it wait? I just want to go home and unwind. I have an early training session in the morning, which will no doubt include an earful from Coach, and I’m just really fucking over it."
I don’t elaborate. I’m not ready to tell him that I’m over the game.
Over the early wake-ups. Over how destroyed my body is after every practice and every game.
Ice baths don’t work anymore. Neither do massages. Physio barely keeps me going.
My body’s had enough, and now it’s starting to say so.
But honestly?
It’d be easier to tell him the game just doesn’t bring me joy anymore than to admit I’m at breaking point.
Because if I said that out loud, he’d just tell me to push through it.
And if I admit I can’t, then I’ve let him down.
"We’re going to be seeing your name on the cover of every article tomorrow, Avery, whether you like it or not, in ways you’d probably expect, but also in a way you probably won’t.
Just know that I have it handled, okay? You can deal with Coach.
I think I have a way to control the narrative on this.
You've just gotta trust me." He gets into his car, closes the door, and rolls down his window. "Remember, the auction is coming up. Don’t worry about donating an item. I’ve got that sorted, too. "
I don’t like this.
I don’t like this at all.