“So you have stuff of mine?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He sounded stiff. “Just a couple things. Like some old sweatshirts. A Forster shirt. I know you loved it. A couple mugs. Nothing big.”

“The same Reese Forster shirt your gramps was wearing when he propositioned me?”

“Uh…” His laugh was strangled. “I can’t promise he cleaned it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes. Just donate it to Goodwill. Hell. Maybe I can get it there at the rate I’m going.”

“Uh…”

I heard someone call his name in the background, a female someone.

“Uh, I gotta go. You sure about donating? Tracy can drop it off at your place, if you’re going to be around.”

“Is that the new girlfriend?”

“Yeah. She’s…” His voice lowered, getting closer to the phone. “She’s not the one, you know.”

“Right. Not the one you cheated on me with. She’s even newer than that one.”

“She’s nice. Sweet.” He chuckled. “I think you’d like her even.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”

“So, um, when will you be around?”

It was close to ten by now. The drive back would take four hours. “I’ll be there this evening. Anytime after six.”

“Okay. I’ll call you when she’s headed over.”

“Don’t call.” Never call again, in fact. “A text will do.”

And after hanging up with him, I texted Owen, Hadley, Grant, and Trent all the same message.

Me: Keith said the board didn’t have enough funds to pay me, so I packed up my stuff. I’m heading back to try to find a job. If you guys want, come and hang out! I love visitors. Sorry I didn’t stick around to say goodbye. Hope you understand.

And to Reese.

Me: I was fired. I got the feeling your coach didn’t want me around, so I’m heading back to my place. I need to look for a new job. Call later when you have time?

I didn’t expect immediate responses from anyone, so I turned the engine back on, tossed my phone to the seat beside me, and raised the volume on the radio.

It was going to be a painful drive back.

By that night, I’d come to two main conclusions.

I was the definition of a broke-ass bitch, and I’d been ambitious in thinking my friends would care about my most recent firing.

I had heard from no one. Not a one. My phone was silent the entire drive back, and through the entire evening since. The only text I got was when Luc-ass told me his new girlfriend was heading over with a box of my stuff.

I was ready to let loose, but when I opened the door, the sweetest petite little thing stood on the other side. Lucas was such a dick, because I knew that’d been his goal. He wanted to avoid me, and he knew I wouldn’t be able to tear into her.

He was right. She was super sweet, and once she was gone, I had to face the music.

My friends’ silence aside, I had just enough money to cover three months of rent. What had I been thinking accepting Trent’s proposal to work at camp for the last few weeks? I hadn’t been thinking. That’s right—I’d been drinking. I was dumped and fired, all in the span of twenty-four hours. But reality was back, and I had to get my shit together.

If I didn’t shape up, I had no idea where I could ship myself to.

My parents’? Someone’s couch? My car?

It could be a new, sad drinking game. Take a drink wherever you end up, and then just get sauced because what’s a better way to handle it?

Sighing, I opened my laptop and clicked on the classifieds.

Five job applications filled out later, I couldn’t deny as I was getting ready for bed. I was hurt. I thought one of my friends would’ve texted—Reese at least. My phone was still blank when I climbed into bed. I turned it off, then on again, just making sure, but it showed the same thing: no incoming texts or calls, and it had worked earlier with Loser Ex, so it was working.

Still. Because I never liked to admit defeat, I texted Reese.

Me: No words? Are you mad at me?

I waited, and five minutes went by. Ten. I brushed a tear away at the twenty-minute mark.

One hour later, I had my answer.

He wasn’t going to respond.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I fell out of bed, no joke.

I’d been starting to wake up. I was stretching and scooting to the end of the bed. Then BANG, BANG, BANG, and off I fell.

Hello, floor.

I winced, rubbing my elbow. That hurt, but then the banging on my door started again.

“You took my phone!” a voice yelled.

That was Reese and, oh shit—had I?

I hurried to the front door. My neighbors were hardcore Thunder fans. If they were home, they would recognize Reese’s voice. They watched every one of his interviews on ESPN. I knew, because I could hear them blasting them from their computer at all hours of the day. I used to think I was dedicated, but they put me to shame.

Flinging open the door, I grabbed him. “Stop talking.”

He was alone.

He was glaring, and he was pissed. Really pissed. His jaw was doing the clenching thing too.

“What?”

“You fucking left, that’s what!”