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I’m about to text him that I’ve changed my mind when a new message comes through.
Unknown: Don’t worry. I’ll get them to you tonight. Can’t have you losing that game tomorrow.
My throat tightens at the mention of the game. What if Coach decides to pull me out of the starting lineup after the debacle that this week has been? My dad will have a field day.
Unknown: Give me an hour.
Just then, I hear voices coming from the hallway. Apparently, the practice finally wrapped up. I toss my phone back into my bag and turn my back to the door just as it opens and my teammates haul in. Their voices are quiet, and I can feel some of them giving me wary glances, but I ignore them as I take off my equipment.
“What the hell was that?” Nixon asks as he stops by my side.
“Nothing.”
“It was clearly something. Is it your leg? Is it hurting you?”
Grabbing my things, I close my locker. “My leg’s fine,” I mutter. The last thing I need is for people to start questioning if I should be here at all. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Before Nixon can say another word, I turn on my feet and march into the bathroom. It takes all that’s in me to do it, but I somehow manage it without showing a smidge of pain. The moment I enter the bathroom, I let my body sag against the wall. Just for a moment.
Soon.
Everything will be better soon.
As I hear the laughter nearing, I push from the wall and turn on the water, putting my game face on. I quickly wash up so I can get out of there.
Putting on my clothes, I grab my duffle bag and head for my car. I check my phone on the way, but there isn’t a new message from Manolo.
Should I just wait?
He said an hour but hasn’t given me a location where to meet.
What now?
I toss my duffle bag into my backseat.
“Prescott, wait!”
My back stiffens at the sound of my best friend’s voice.
I look at him over my shoulder as I pull open the door. “If you’re here to lecture me…”
“I’m not here to lecture you,” Nixon stops me. “I’m here as your best friend. Not that I know why since you’ve been acting like a grumpy asshat.”
“I’m not in the mood, Cole. Go home to your wife.”
I slide into my car, but before I can close the door, Nixon presses his hands against the door and the car, stopping me from closing it in his face.
“But I want to go and have a drink with my friend.”
I stare ahead, not sure if this is a good idea.
“You in or what?”
“Fine,” I finally agree. “Just stop pestering.”
“I don’t pester,” he chuckles. “I’ll meet you at Moore’s.”
* * *
