Page 88 of Dirty Fighter

I blink, looking up to find Ben standing in my apartment. He’s wearing track pants and a branded T-shirt and one of those foam neck rings for sleeping on planes.

“Who let you in?” I ask, not trying to be a dick. But like… really.

“A lady never tells.” He’s not joking.

“What?”

He looks me over and crosses his arms. We’ve met before, so I’m familiar with this mini flex he pulls out from time to time. The broadening shoulders. The hard stare. He can’t hold it very long without cracking a joke, but usually he gets what he wants first. Today? I glance out the windows. Make that tonight?

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Noon.” Truth. I’ve got a service that showed up, and the kid who brought it in looked at me a little funny and then stuffed a chicken grain bowl into my hands and told me I looked like I needed it.

He blinks, suddenly uncertain. “Oh well, good.”

Yeah, I don’t bother telling him I’m not quite sure when I ate before that.

“Ben, man. I’m fine.” Lies. “I just…”

He waits, coming over to drop onto the couch beside me. “You what?”

“I need to find her. Talk to her. I need to know she’s happy.” I rake my hand through my hair for maybe the millionth time today. “That there isn’t any small part of her wondering if maybe she could have been happier with me.” And even if there isn’t… I still need to see her. Just once.

Ben nods, his hand landing on my shoulder. He gives it a squeeze.

“You don’t think she’d be able to find you if that was what she wanted?”

I huff a short laugh. “I think she could do any damn thing she set her mind to.” I drop my head, turning it to look over at him. “The problem is that I’m not sure I gave her enough of a reason to.”

I push up from the couch and walk over to the wall of windows overlooking the lakefront while he mutters something about oral and when will these guys learn.

I’m thinking about when I mentioned her coming to a game. It wasn’t so much how she looked at me as… “I just need to talk to her.”

He stands. “You found her?”

“No. But I know how to.”

Then he’s beside me, scrolling through— yep, my phone. Time to change the lock screen code again. “Dude, how many medical aid groups have you been through?”

I palm it and take a few steps before dialing.

“Hello, Marsha.”

Jason

Thirty minutes later…

“Boomer, for the last time,” I growl, backing him out of the elevator and into my lobby, “get the fuck out of my way.”

His lips are pinched together, his hands planted on my chest as his sneakers skid against the marble floor. “Training camp starts in three days. You cannot go to Madagascar!”

“The hell I can’t.”

Fucking Marsha was more than happy to tell me where Rowan was. She was damn near gleeful, asking if she’d see me at the wedding on Saturday. All I heard was, She’s not married yet.

I hung up on her mid-rant, starting for the door when Ben slid in front of me. Suggested we take a beat. Sit down and talk it through.

Then, when I picked him up and moved him out of my way, he asked if I was actually planning to crash Rowan’s wedding smelling like that.