“Yeah. I mean, I know about your dad…”
“Can we not talk about him?” I didn’t want to think about any of that. About the way I’d come into a hospital room where he was like a ghost.
And then everything that had come after.
He let out a small sigh. “Alright. But you know we’re friends, right? I’m not just the asshole who tells you when you’re playing like shit.”
“No, you’re also the asshole who points out when I’m playing well like I’ve done something wrong.”
His arm stiffened beneath me. “I—I didn’t mean?—”
“Don’t get fucking soft on me now, Benny. I don’t need that,” I begged.
He laughed and turned, commanding his dog to find the media room. “Fair enough. But the offer stands, okay? We are friends, aren’t we?”
I didn’t know what to say. My list of friends was small and carefully cultivated. I liked Ben. I just hadn’t ever thought of him that way. But maybe that was my problem. One of many.
No, not just many.
Millions.
“We are.”
He moved his hand to the back of my neck and squeezed. “That’s my boy. Now, go in there, play nice, give big smiles, and tell them we’re kissing the cup this season.”
“Even though you and I both know that’s not going to happen?” I challenged. One shutout was notgoing to change the fact that we were not making it into playoffs.
Not this year.
He sighed. “Yes. Be good. Do as I say.”
There was only one person I wanted to take commands from, and it was not Ben. But I grimaced in his direction, knowing perfectly well he couldn’t see it, let out a small grunt of agreement, then pushed my way into the press room for the part I hated the most about this game.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MICAH
Press took for-fucking-ever.The locker room was silent by the time I got in, the stench of cologne, spray-on deodorant, and sweat still lingering in the air. It was better than the fresh hell that came from right after the game, which meant everyone’s equipment had been picked up, and that was something.
I could breathe a little easier, and I’d kept far enough away from Ben’s guide dog that it didn’t trigger an allergy attack. I’d probably pop a Benadryl tonight, but that was for other reasons. Mostly that I was out of Xanax, and my doctor was trying to wean me off my current sleeping pill.
With a breath, I found my phone and checked my messages. There were no new ones from Hunter, but I had one from Ford waiting, sent nearly forty-five minutes ago.
Ford: I’m nearby if you want a ride.
He probably wasn’t anymore, but he would come back if I asked him to. Not that I was going to ask him to drive his ass all the way back to Salem for me. He was more than halfway home by now. He had to be.
Me: I’ve got won, but thanks, bud. I don’t have a game Sunday or Monday. Hang out?
I let the phone drop on the bench just before it buzzed again, but I didn’t bother picking it up. A shower sounded like a dream right now, and since there were no other large, hairy asses bumping around in there, I could take my time.
I could get into all the cracks.
I could?—
“Micah!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was nothing I hated more than someone sitting in a room not announcing their fucking presence. But there was also a good chance I’d been too in my own thoughts to hear the door open.
