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“Nah, man, we did it,” I correct, pushing off and throwing my arm over his shoulder as I pull him over to where Coach waits for us, a beaming grin on his face. He holds his fist out when we reach him, and I bump mine against it, laughing. “Told you I’d make sure we took it all the way this year.”
“Now don’t be getting cocky, kid,” he says, his eyes moving over the team as the guys crowd around. “We’ve still got work to do. But keep it up and that trophy is all ours. Now, go, disperse. Party. Celebrate. Because starting Monday, the real hard work begins, and you all need to be on top form. Got it.”
A chorus of agreement sounds out around us, and the team rushes off, their eagerness to get their night started palpable as they head through the team entrance, moving into the changing rooms.
Instead of following, Nash, Beck, Gray, and I bypass the lockers, heading straight to where the girls wait at the cars. Maisie and Harlow rush us, the latter flying into my arms, as is tradition, but rather than bask in my usual celebration with my friend, my eyes zero in on Beatrice.
There’s a frown playing on her lips, but she dips her head, kicking the gravel with the toe of her sneaker as she avoids my gaze. An ache settles in my stomach, a familiar memory tickling my mind.
The only reason I pick Harlow up after a game, swinging her around, is because of Beatrice. It started with her, way back when I started playing for the high school team. That first game she told me that if I won, we’d celebrate that way, and I’ve done it ever since, afraid that without it, my luck would run dry.
Only now, it doesn’t feel right . . . at least not with the blonde in my arms. Instead, I imagine it’s red hair whipping my cheeks as my eyes zero in on a freckle-dotted face as melodic laughter trickles over my ears.
“You okay?” Harlow asks when I place her to the floor, stepping back.
“Yeah, never better.” I toss my arm over her shoulder and guide her to the cars. “Meet back at the hotel?”
“Fuck yes. Dad set up the mini bar for us,” Nash says, sliding into the passenger seat of my truck. “So, race to the room, and the last car there has to do shit shots.”
“What are shit shots?”
Turning to Beatrice, I send her a wink, pulling my door open. “I guess you’ll find out when you get there, Grandma.”
“I don’t drive like a grandma,” she grumbles, running to her door and flinging it open before diving into her seat. “Get a move on, whoever’s riding with me. I have an old grudge to settle.”
“Bring it on, babe.” My engine roars to life, and the guys are quick to split up, hopping into either car before we both peel out of the spots, rushing into the traffic. Laughter rings through my car, and my eyes meet hers in the lane opposite me.
The smile on her face is wide and fucking radiant as she shakes her head before revving her engine and pushing through the gap. It’s been a while since we’ve played like this, and I’ve fucking missed it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Beatrice
Softsnorescomefromthe couch, Gray and Beck lost in their slumber as I pick up the mess of beer bottles and cards strewn across the floor.
Noise sounds from the room Nash and Maisie claimed, giggles and thumps to the wall, and I wince, plugging in my second headphone and turning the volume up on my phone until soft melodic piano music fills my ears instead.
It takes me about half an hour to clear away the mess made this evening. After the game, instead of going to a party or out for the night, we came back to the hotel and spent the night playing drinking games, eating snacks, and enjoying each other’s company.
If anyone told me this time last year I’d be spending time with friends, laughing freely or even smiling without forcing it, I’d have never believed them. But over the last couple of months, my entire life has changed in the best way.
Well, mostly . . .
My eyes linger on the door of Maverick’s room as I fumble with the trash. He tucked himself away a little while ago, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do the same. Instead, I sat quietly at the kitchen island with a cup of chamomile tea before getting a head start of tidying up.
The thought of going to bed fills me with dread. Being alone again, after a night of being surrounded by people hurts, and I don’t know why. Or I do, I guess.
Since the envelopes started showing up in my dorm, I’ve barely been able to close my eyes without the nightmares coming. My therapist suggested I take sleeping medication after our last phone call when I told her about the nightmares, but I can’t bring myself to add yet another pill to my daily routine.
I don’t read the letters, each of them being stuffed into a drawer in a bid to forget they exist. Logically, I know I should tell someone—Maisie, at least, or my mom and dad—but I can’t. The only thing I feel when a new one shows up is shame and fear, and I don’t want to admit that to anyone, not when they all think I’m doing so well.
I am doing well. At least, I think I am.
Stuffing the black bag in the trash can, I swipe over the counters for a final time, clearing my mug away before flicking the light off. I drape a blanket over Gray and Beck as I pass the couch, the door to my room for the night taunting me.
My hand closes around the handle, but I don’t push it down, flicking my eyes to Maverick’s once more. I release my fingers one by one, making a decision I’m sure to regret in the morning. But what’s one more regret added to a long list of others?
Rapping softly on the door next to mine, I hold my breath as I wait. The seconds trickle by, and after what feels like a lifetime, I step back, but before I make it far, the door creaks open.
