“Let’s spend them at the stadium,” Charlie says.

Charlie doesn’t like living on the edge. With a sigh, I heave myself up. “Fine. Let’s go win us a football game.”

Charlie stands too, turning off the TV with the remote. “We’ll work on your enthusiasm levels in the car.”

 

* * *

 

I’d like to think I’m a good actor. But apparently, my performance today is lacking. Despite digging deep and pulling out all the enthusiasm I can muster, as soon as it’s halftime and we’ve received all the instruction we’re going to get, Jake plops down next to me on the bench and elbows my ribs.

Pads keep me from feeling much but it gets my attention. “What?”

He takes a bottle from a passing ball boy and squirts water all over his head before looking me over. “You’ve been playing better than you ever have.”

He’s right; I’m the best I’ve ever been. Each time I go out on the field, I become a machine, playing as if I have something to prove. The sad truth is, I am trying to prove something. Not to myself. It’s for her. Always for her.

But in the twisted way of things, with every win, I feel worse, the distance between me and Chess bigger. Because what the fuck am I really proving here? That she and North were right? That she was just a distraction? That I don’t need her?

I do. I fucking do.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I say to Jake, as if I don’t care. “I appreciate the pep talk.”

He gives me a sidelong look, but keeps a smile on his face. We might be in the relative privacy of our locker room but someone is always watching when we’re in game mode, and neither of us wants to spook the team. “Wise ass. You’re playing great. But you have dead eyes.”

“Not liking the direction of this pep talk, Ryder.” I swipe a bottle from a basket near me and take a long drink. “Did Charlie put you up to this?”

“He noticed it too?”

I look over the locker room as if I’m on top of the world. “Now is not the time.”

“Your avoidance game is killer. It’s never the right time.”

My smile aches at the corners. “Well, it certainly isn’t fucking now.”

Guys are milling around, some getting their limbs stretched by the trainers, some hydrating. We’ve all got our game face on, counting down the minutes before we go back out.

North sits his ass down on my other side. “What we talking about? Winning? Because I love winning. It’s, like, better than losing, you know?”

“Easy there, Nuke LaLoosh,” I mutter.

He winks. “So?”

Jake leans past me. “Manny’s girl has decamped to New York, and he’s depressed. But he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings.”

“Fuck me.” I groan, ducking my head under the pretense of putting my bottle down so no one can see my grimace.

“Your girl left you?” North sounds surprised.

I don’t know why, since he all but pleaded with me to see the light and concentrate on my career. And since I really don’t want to fucking hear that again, I simply blot my face with a towel and speak past it. “We’re thinking things through while she’s on a job.”

Every man knows that when a woman has to think about things it isn’t good. North is no exception. “Sorry to hear that, man.”

“You?” An incredulous snort escapes me. “Seriously?”

He gives my thigh a slap before he stands. “If it’s responsible for that dull look in your eyes, then yeah.”

“Told you,” Jake says. “Dead eyes.”

North shakes his head as if he’s disappointed in me. “When did I ever say anything about being miserable? If she makes you happy, then work the rest out.” With that, North trots off.

I stand as well, wanting to pace. No, really, I want to chase after North and smack his head. But I don’t. I put my hands low on my hips and pretend I’m watching the clock count down. “That fucker lectures me about focus and now he’s sorry.”

Jake gets to his feet and mimics my pose, all smiles and “we’re fucking owning this game” on his face. Then he turns, his shoulder pads blocking out the rest of the room. Sweat and water bead on his face, his eye black is smeared. “Screw North. He doesn’t know you for shit. And you’re right; I don’t want to talk about this either. I’d rather be exchanging high-fucking-fives and or spewing a ‘Win one for the Gipper’ speech. Because we’re here. In the playoffs.”

He leans in, his voice low and intense. “The fucking playoffs.”

He doesn’t have to tell me what that means. Every football player understands where this road leads. I open my mouth to talk, but he doesn’t let me.

“You should be ecstatic. Instead, you’re a walking sack of misery.”

His words hit like a physical blow to my gut. I grin my teeth against the urge to yell. Not just yell but to scream and rail, because fuck it all. I’ve done everything I could to get to this moment. Including letting Chess go, and this is what he has for me?

Jake faces my rage without flinching. “I’m not trying to bust your balls.”

I glare, unable to keep my happy face. I don’t trust myself to speak.

“Call her,” he says. “Plead, beg, whatever the hell you have to do to get her back, so you can snap out of this funk from hell.”

My reply comes out so sharp, it’s almost a shout. “She thinks…” I take a breath, and lower my voice. “This isn’t on me, all right? She made everything complicated when it should have been easy.”

“Easy?” Jake makes it sound like a bad word.

“Yes, easy. She’s worried about the future. That we’ll eventually want different things. That one day I’ll resent her and want some model wife instead.” I throw up a hand. “As if I’d want anyone else but her.”

Jake’s brows lift. “Wife, huh?”

Heat flushes my neck. “When you know, you know.”

“Does she know you know?”

I blink back at him.

Jake huffs, glancing around to see if we have time, before zeroing in on me again. “Did you say, ‘I don’t give a rat’s dick about having anyone else.’”