Page 90 of The Underdog

“I don’t think you can say the same for yourselves.”

TWENTY-NINE

W A R R E N

I’ve chasedafter many things in my life.

My hopes.

My dreams.

My goals.

But absolutely none of that is comparable to the chase that is going afterher.

It’s a marathon. One I never thought I’d partake in, but one I’d run for the rest of my life if I had to.

“Delaney!” I’m desperate to try and catch up to her. She made it so easy in London, but the truth is, I think she wanted me to catch up back then. Now, her long legs are putting me to the test as I pick up my pace. “Delaney!”

She stops dead in her tracks, turning swiftly on her heel as her hair whips over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes narrow in on me. “Why are you here?”

I freeze.

I pause.

I stutter.

It’s a simple question, one with such a complex answer.

There are so many reasons why I’m here. So many things I want to say. But the challenge is, where do I start?

“Delaney.” I seem only to be capable of repeating her name at this point. A comfort to the chaos in my mind. “I needed to talk to you. I want to talk to you.”

A few pavement stones separate the two of us, and despite how much I want to break the distance, I know it’s the one thing we need between us to have any sort of productivity in this conversation.

She folds her arms across her chest. Impatience is plastered all over her face—although she’s also found refuge in the pavement, I know she wants to listen.

I nervously clear my throat, and right before I’m about to speak, she juts in. “I thought you said you wanted nothing to do with me, huh?” She steps forward. “I tried explaining everything to you, Warren. Ibeggedyou to listen to me. And you didn’t bother to hear me out. So, why should I give you that chance now?”

She leaves me at a loss—a feeling I hardly find comfort in. I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say on the plane the best I could. Hell, I had 10 hours to do just that. But now that I’m here, now that she’s standing in front of me, I’m drawing a blank. I can’t process a single thought.

“You know what?” She shakes her head and throws her arms up in frustration, visibly fed up with my silence. “I’m over this. I’m done.”

It takes her turning on her heel, ready to make another run for it for finally my sense to kick back in. Instinctively, I take a step forward and clutch onto her wrist, spinning her back around and pulling her in.

“No,” I speak, peering down at her—into those perfect brown eyes that could get me to do absolutely anything she wanted. Ones that now kill me as I realize that I’m the reason for the tears escaping them and falling down her cheeks. “Please, Delaney…I just…”

It’s a pitiful attempt at conveying my feelings, but as the water starts to well up in my own eyes, it’s as if hers turn dry—a deep-rooted sense of anger, betrayal festering beneath. “Now you show emotion, Warren?” She roughly pulls back from my grasp, leaving my arm hovering. “Now you shed a tear for me? Save it,” she scoffs. “You didn’t need to come all the way here to put on this show.”

“Show?” I have to shake my head to even remotely process the word. “Delaney…no. Is that why you think I’m here? Because you bought the team?”

“That’s what you said at dinner, isn’t it? So, you tell me.”

“Well, I’m assuming then you’re here to speak about the new owner.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.”

I’m reminded of Hank and I’s less than amicable exchange at the dinner table, where my words, yet again, hardly encapsulated their true meaning.

---