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When he didn’t say anything, Anton continued, more conciliatory this time. More like the man who was as close to a father as Dex had ever had. “The Rebels are a good org, son. I think you can make an impact there, but you have to want to do that.”
“I do. It was going well for a while and then … I don’t know.” He could barely articulate why he couldn’t get his act together.
Anton coughed slightly. “I know the thing with Tara didn’t work out, but I’m not even sure you cared all that much.”
His ego cared. His heart? Nah. For a while he’d thought that Tara was one of the success signifiers he craved. The trophy wife, the sign of a winner. Breaking off their engagement had left him feeling somewhat hollow, like he couldn’t even get the pro-athlete-meets-hot-WAG equation right. (The most basic of the sports world equations.) But he also preferred where he and Tara had landed, as friends.
“She’s happy as Larry with Fitz. They’re a super couple, kid and everything.” He tried not to sound bitter. He didn’t want kids, but that feeling of belonging … maybe. When he’d found out he was going to be traded to the Rebels eighteen months ago, he’d been so excited. There was something destined about it, Clifford Chase’s team, the place where it all started.
But Dex was still Dex, and not even a change of location could change the person you’ve always been.
“I’ve got to go. I’m having breakfast with the guys before practice.”
“That’s the ticket!” Anton sounded more animated at the mention of food, or maybe the notion Dex was making friends. “I’ll check in with you later.”
Of course he would.
Twenty minutes later, Dex walked into the Sunny Side Up Diner in downtown Riverbrook and looked around. Bast Durand waved him over, and Dex took a seat beside never-shuts-up D-man Theo Kershaw, opposite quiet-spoken forward Hudson Grey and center Dylan Bankowski, a recent trade from Nashville, Dex’s old team.
“Gentlemen, how goes it?”
Kershaw grinned. “We should be asking you, Oh-Em-Gee! Heard you’re going to be knee deep in dog shit for a while.”
“That’s the plan. Not sure people won’t see how transparent that is, though.”
“People love puppies, man,” Bast said. “And people love athletes covered in puppies and kittens. A few photos, a nice character reference from whoever’s in charge, and you’ll be golden.”
It sounded as easy as the amazing cherry pie they served up at the diner.
“Tara said Kennedy works there.” Kennedy was married to Reid Durand, Bast’s brother, also a Rebel.
Bast stirred his coffee. “She used to volunteer, but her concierge business has taken off and with the baby on the way, she doesn’t have much time. Trying to get an in before you go?”
Right, another Rebel pregnancy. This team was constantly pumping them out.
“Just curious if I’d see a friendly face.”
“Other than the puppies?” Banks gruffed out. “I think you’re going to be fine.”
“Yep,” Dex agreed because he wanted to move on. “I’ll head over after practice and turn on the charm.”
“You’ll have them eating out of your hand,” Kershaw said while perusing the menu. “Literally.”
The conversation shifted to the home game tomorrow against their old rivals, the Detroit Motors. After they put their menu orders in—the French toast here was out of this world—Dex considered that now was as good a time as any to get something off his chest.
“So, I wanted to run something by you guys.”
His teammates looked up, curious.
“Are you guys pissed at me?”
Rolling his shoulders, Kershaw settled back in the booth. “What makes you think that?”
“A little bird told me there’s a poker game at Hunt’s place once a week, and I’m guessing my invite got lost in the mail.”
“And you think we’re pissed at you? Nah, we kind of assumed it was too boring for you.”
Shit. They were pissed at him.
