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We end the call after goodbyes and I sit down on the end of the bed.
I’m a little overwhelmed with all my conflicting feelings.
I’m not needed back in Chicago.
I have to admit, it’s nice to not have to be the man in charge all the time.
But I want to be needed, what’s so wrong with that? Luna’s words echo in my head.
There's something really great about being able to fuck up and be loved, anyway. About just being wanted, instead of needed.
I toy with the idea of calling her. Though what the hell would I say?
But my phone lights up right then, and it’s her, which makes my palms sweat.
“Hello?”
“I’m so sorry about Brady,” she blurts out. “I shouldn’t have sent him alone.”
I’m happy to hear her voice, but upset that she’s upset. And that she didn’t call because she misses me. She called about Brady.
“No, no, it’s fine. Don’t feel guilty. There was no reason he couldn’t go alone. You hired him to do a job and he should have been more careful. Cam seems to have everything under control. I just wish I was there. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to worry,” she says, sounding worried herself. “Did you talk to Chelsea? Cam told me about Brady staying here and I’m good with that if you and Chelsea are okay with it.”
“Chelsea was fine with it. She trusts my judgment, and I trust you.”
Her voice softens. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a pause. She doesn’t say anything.
It grows uncomfortably long. I clench my fist closed and open it again. I need to say something.
“Well—” I start to say.
“So, okay, bye—” she says at the exact same time.
We both pause.
I start to talk again. She also starts to talk.
Luna laughs softly.
I’m not laughing. I wait this time for her to speak.
“Bye, Owen.”
“Bye, Luna.”
Two hours later, I’m staring at my lunch in the hotel restaurant without eating it. There is activity all around, with several of the players talking and joking. Small favors, Alexsei isn’t here. I have no idea where he is, but both him and McNeill are absent.
Hearing Luna’s voice was torture.
I’m going through everything I said and wondering if I should have said more.
“Hey, Coach, you on a diet?” Wilder asks me, strolling past me and snagging a sticky bun off of my plate. He takes a tearing bite of the bun. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you are getting a little thick in the middle.”
