Page 72 of Made Better Together

You don’t love your job.

You’re drawn to her in a way no one else has ever pulled you.

It’s clear where your priorities are…

When I woke up the next morning, the logical progression of those thoughts was countered by equally compelling arguments.

I need this job. And I wasn’t going to embarrass Grace by quitting early. There’s no reason to piss Milo off needlessly either. He’s going out of his way to give me a chance.

At the same time, I didn’t resist the urge to Google him. Jake. High school All-American. Organized a team fundraiser last year for kids’ hockey gear. No criminal record (I was thorough, alright?).

Why would Eden not date him? If she did, I may never get my shot with her.

My thoughts were in relentless tension the whole day. I was in such a shitty, distracted mood that my siblings caught on.

“What’s eating you?” Rawley asked as I slammed down a plate of the scrambled eggs he made me.

“Do you need more coffee?” Grace offered when I grumbled in the office after she asked me to pull some numbers.

“Dude, you okay?” Landon asked when I cursed at the knots in Grover’s leash after I volunteered to walk him during Monday family dinner.

I didn’t tell my siblings what was really bothering me. My answers were “nothing,” “sure,” and “yeah,” in that order.

Which definitely didn’t satisfy Rawley. Because when we got home from Landon’s, he was unusually bossy with me.

“Whatever’s got you in this crap mood, figure it out before Avie’s playoff game tomorrow,” he said, as I headed to my bedroom. “Because you’re radiating bad energy.”

Now, waking up two days after the game, my irritability is a low-grade constant—like someone rubbing an unsharpened blade back and forth over my chest.

How long is this feeling going to last? Unfortunately, I know the answer. If I’m going to be Eden’s manager while watching her date someone else? A fucking long time.

When I get to the office, I turn on my computer to read some contracts and slump into my chair. God, this sucks.

Deadlines and the fear of disappointing Milo are the only things that keep me marching through my projects. By the time I walk into Rawley’s apartment to get ready for the night, my mood is low. He’s right, I can’t bring it to the Surge playoff game.

Go drink a Red Bull and snap out of it. I owe Rawley and Avery a better version of myself for tonight. I throw on the Surge T-shirt I wear to games, and then head to the kitchen.

A couple of sips of the energy drink, and the caffeine does lift me. Artificial or not, I’ll take it.

“You got your gear on, I see,” Rawley says as he walks through the front door, just home from grocery shopping, based on the bags in his hands. “Excellent. Let me go change into my Surge jersey, and we can head out.”

That’s right, my smitten brother wears Avery’s name on his back to every game he attends. Without any shirt underneath the sleeveless jersey, I might add. I could do without his guns being on display, and often give him shit about the attire choice, but Avery seems to like it.

I put away the groceries, and he comes out five minutes later. “No jokes about showing off these babies tonight.” He points to his biceps. “I’m way too superstitious to wear anything other than her jersey for a playoff game.”

I let him off the hook. “Smart thinking.”

It’s the first round of the WNBA playoffs, and the Surge won game one of the series on the road. This second game is their first at home, and since the round is best of three, a win tonight secures they advance.

Rawley tries to make every game he can, regular season and playoffs. There’s serious overlap beginning in late July with the start of Waves’ training camp, so he does miss some home games in the back half of Avery’s season. The fact that he can be here for a playoff game on a Tuesday, his off day, is major.

The fans are always hyped at Surge games, but when we step across the floor to take our courtside seats, the energy is a whole other level. They cheer once they recognize Rawley—and he waves across our section of the arena.

“Playoff vibes,” he says as he sits down. “They are elite.”

The excited fans and banging music add to my improved mood. The energy is contagious, and the players haven’t even come out of the locker room yet to warm up.

I’m almost feeling normal until Rawley speaks up again.