Thank god, because I don’t think I can wait much longer to hear what she’s going to say.
Avery flips on the light switch, flooding the locker room with a pale yellow glow. Like the men’s version, it’s not aesthetically exciting. There’s basic white tile everywhere.
But it’s private, and that’s all that matters right now.
She stops and turns to face me when we’re only a few feet in.
“How are you feeling after the game? Sore?”
Small talk is where she’s starting, huh? I search her face for clues of the larger purpose for her visit today.
I don’t find any, but I do become acutely aware of the fact that I’m alone with her for the first time in twenty days.
Fuck, I’ve missed her.
“I’m okay. Nothing that won’t be fine in a couple of days.”
“That was my first football game in forever.” We’re still standing in the front part of the room. “You looked like a natural out there. Training camp’s been going well?”
“It’s been great, to be honest. Better than I could have hoped.”
“Oh, that’s awesome. I’ve seen some of the coverage of how you’re doing, it all seems positive.”
Okay, enough is enough. This isn’t why she’s here, to talk to me about training camp.
“Avery.”
“Yes?”
“What’s going on? Why are you here? Not that I don’t want you here, but…” My voice trails off, as I look at her expectantly.
“You’re not going to let me get away with procrastinating, are you?” She moans a little.
“Aboutwhat? Put me out of my misery here.”
Her eyes widen, like she didn’t anticipate I would be stressed.
“Should I sit down?” I ask, testing the level of emotional damage I should prepare for.
“Um, no—I mean, yeah we probably should.”
Okay, she’s nervous, which is not normal. I take a seat on one of the benches, and she mirrors me, sitting within reach.
She takes a deep breath. “So Rawley—” And then stops herself, like she’s trying to figure out where to start.
My nerves make me push her again. “Avery, I don’t want to rush you, but I’ve had a couple hours to think about what you being at the game means, and I’m dying here.”
Looking apologetic, she squeezes her palms on the bench. “I’mtrying. I’m not good in moments like this.”
“Moments like what?”
She links our eyes. “Saying how I feel. Telling someone I’m sorry.”
I digest that.Okay.This is sounding better? Maybe. I don’t know.
“With the Stefani situation, you didn’t do anything wrong. I know that.”
“Okay.”Good.
