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“Hey. Did you hear me? What happened out there?”
I tried to think of an answer to satisfy Coach Nelson, to get that big vein to cool down and quit throbbing. His brows had finally met in the middle, his glare was so deep, his pique so profound.
“I got distracted,” I said.
“Distracted? By what?”
I couldn’t tell him the truth. The truth was too stupid. How had love made me stupid, but Izzy stayed smart?
Because she wasn’t in love.
“Losing,” I said. “My head got all messed up. Picturing us losing, me screwing up. I got so caught up trying to keep that from happening, I guess I forgot we were out there to win.”
Nelson’s whole face scrunched up, a mask of disgust. “I’ve told you not to do that. Didn’t I tell him?” He cast about the locker room, though it was mostly empty. The few players still changing kept their backs turned. “I told you a million times, you picture us winning. Visualization, I told you. It’s key. Whatever you visualize, that’s how it happens. You picture us losing, you get us killed.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, ‘sorry’ won’t win any games. What I need to hear from you is, you’re gonna do better. You’re done with this bullshit, this… this… It’s like you want to lose, almost — or, no. That’s not right. Like you’re so sure you’re gonna lose, so sure you’re a loser, you can’t help but picture it, and then we do lose. You need to snap out of it, and make it fast. You screw up our next game, we’re out of the playoffs.”
I knew that already, but it still hurt to hear. The whole team was counting on me, and so were the fans. Tonight had been my fault, not Izzy’s, just mine.
I needed to step back from her before I hurt us both. Before I blew up our friendship and my career.
CHAPTER 20
IZZY
Ineeded to tell him, but not tonight.
Tonight, he was salty, fresh off his loss. I’d tell him tomorrow, or the day after that. Or after his next game, assuming he won it.
Anger flared up in me: I was having his baby. I was the one with nine hard months ahead, the pain of labor, then whatever came after. Finding a nanny, or daycare. A sitter. Did my new work have daycare? Could I bring a child there? I didn’t know anything and I was scared, and yet it was Spencer in need of kid gloves? I was walking on eggshells, dodging his moods, but I was the one with adult, real-life problems.
I needed to tell him, and I’d do it tonight. It might be a lot for him, but so what? So what? When our kid came along, she was going to need him, not when he felt up to it, but right then and there.
I smiled at the way I kept calling her “she,” though I had no idea one way or the other. A girl might be easier, or at least more familiar. A boy, I’d need Spencer to coach me along. Either way, I’d need him. No, we would.
I stood up and paced around the kitchen. Leon had ducked out to check in on work, but he’d left me some nibbles in case I got hungry. I opened the fridge and reached for a pastry, only to drop it at a sound from outside. I held my breath, listening, and I heard a key in the lock. I heard Spencer grunt something and his bag hit the floor. He kicked off his boots, one thump, then another, then he trudged down the hallway and straight to his room.
“Spencer,” I called.
He made a harsh sound, an audible sigh. I nudged the fridge shut and headed out to the hall.
“We need to talk,” I said. His shoulders went stiff. Any other time, I’d have told him to forget it. But not tonight, with so much at stake. Tonight he would listen, and we’d make some kind of plan. I squared up my shoulders and set my jaw strong. “Leon left us some pastries. Come on. Let’s talk.”
“I get it,” said Spencer. “And I agree.”
I blinked, confused. “What?”
He turned his back on me to stare at his gym bag, lumped where he’d left it to the side of the door. His shoulders slumped over. He rubbed at his face. “This thing between us, I get it. It’s done. And, honestly, it’s a good thing. It’s been a distraction.”
My blood boiled up hot. “A distraction? Excuse me?”
Spencer still didn’t look at me. “I’ve been distracted. It’s messed with my game. And it’s messing with us, which is worse. With our friendship.”
“Our friendship?” I echoed, fury coiled in my gut. Was this how he treated his friends? Blaming them for his screwups, for hurting his game?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is my fault. I was being an idiot, calling you my good luck charm. I should never have let it go as far as it has. I roped you into this, and?—”
