He was a father, and a good father from what I’d read.

A different voice: “You guys seen Aiden?”

The door to the cage rattled, but it held firm. I forgot I’d locked it. It’d been an automatic motion for me, a policy Keith hammered into our heads so no campers could get in and steal the equipment.

That same voice: “Door’s locked. We don’t have any balls to shoot with.”

“Half the guys are heading to the cabins to call their families.”

That guy grunted. “True. We could come back later?”

Cruskinator asked, “When’s Forster showing up?”

The squeak of their shoes on the floor. They were moving away.

The screen door protested as someone hit it open.

“I thought tomorrow…”

They faded away after that, and I let out a deep breath.

Okay. I’d been acting like a twenty-something, which I was, but I needed to rein it in. I was twenty-seven. I was almost an adult. Kind of. God help everyone, but I was annoying even myself.

Yes, these guys were some of my idols. Yes, I had watched them when I was with Damian—and my throat was burning again.

Damian.

Being back here shouldn’t have brought him to my mind, but he was everywhere. Everyone grew up. Everyone had formed a family—got married, had kids, got divorced. One guy went to prison. Working here, we’d all had dreams, together, and my dream had been shattered.

And no one knew why.

I felt a tear slide down my face.

The gym’s lights were on a timer, which chose this moment to turn off. It seemed fitting, so I didn’t move. I remained in place—no questions bouncing in my head, no jokes on my tongue—and for the first time in a long while, I let myself feel. A monsoon of grief pushed through me, tearing everything in me and commanding I deal with it.

Well. Fuck that.

Feeling sucked. Who liked to cry? I couldn’t do it.

I thought I could. I changed my mind.

I was pushing myself up from the floor when the lights switched back on. The screen door shoved open. I heard angry stomping coming across the room as the door slammed shut, and before I could prepare myself, Reese Forster was standing smack in front of the cage, his stormy eyes locked on me.

“I need a ball.”

Shit. I was going there. I tried to stop myself, but, “What’s your criteria for determining who you choose to be a fuck buddy?”

He scowled. “The fuck you say?”

Oh shitty crap.

My idol was scowling at me, and I swallowed over a piece of bark in my throat. I had to go for broke here. If I didn’t, I’d forever be a freak in his eyes. I could not go to my grave knowing Reese Forster—who was overwhelmingly live and livid and lovely—would think of me as that freak fan.

(Though, I kinda was.)

(Slightly.)

(Okay. Completely.)

So, taking a breath, I rushed out, “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” I might’ve. “I have a problem.”

The scowling lessened, but his eyes were still narrowed at me.

“It’s just something weird I do. It’ll go away. I hope,” I explained. “I just—I don’t know where I picked it up, but when I’m nervous or excited or angry or if I just can’t deal with whatever I’m feeling, these stupid questions burst out of me.”

Stop. Take a breath.

The bark was still there. Ouch.

And once more.

“I’m nervous,” I added. “Soo nervous.” I bent over suddenly.

The scowl was gone. His head cocked sideways, and he stepped back, his hands stuffed in his hoodie. I was either back to the alien theme or he was looking at me like I was nuts. Which was still in the freak category.

I waved a hand in the air, puffing out. “I’m good. I’ll be fine. Nothing to see here. Totally normal.”

I felt them coming. More. They were going to burst out of me.

Annnnnd…here we go.

“If you were guaranteed the truth, what question would you ask someone?”

I bent down farther, resting my forehead to the counter, but another question came out. It was mumbled. “Favorite curse word to use while having sex? Or biking? Or having sex on a bike?”

Fuck.

Damn.

Shit.

I’d just answered my own question, and I bit my lip.

It wasn’t working.

I tried my cheek. Ow! And that wasn’t working either.

“What do a mullet and a ferret have in common?”

GAH!

I bit down harder, and this time I tasted blood. I was almost hyperventilating again. If I went down a few more inches, I could just buckle to the ground, wrap my arms around my knees, and hope to disappear.

I’d started to think I should do that when I heard a soft chuckle.

“I would ask my brother something,” he said. “I like the word fuck for anything, and having sex on a bike sounds fun to try. I can’t think of anything they have in common except the words both have two of the same letters in the middle, both have six letters, and you could put a ferret on someone’s head to look like a mullet.”

I…had no idea what to do.

He’d answered my questions.

No one answered my questions.