Page 11 of Offside Devil

“Yeah, four years,” I grit out. “It’s been a long time. I barely know her anymore.”

And now, she’s dead.

“Whatever you’re looking for, lady, I don’t have it.”

“What I’m looking for—” She runs a hand down her tired face. “Who I’m looking for, rather, is Aiden’s father. According to Ms. Foster… that’s you.”

7

ZANE

Paige is asleep on the couch where I left her. In the six weeks we were broken up, I’d managed to stay clean—but the discarded bottles on the coffee table and the reek of tequila rising up from my carpet are enough evidence that I fucked up last night.

In more ways than one.

She showed up at my place late, already tipsy, with her foot heavy on the gas towards drunk. Within an hour, I was right there with her. That’s the way it goes with Paige. She’s a whirlwind and she sucks everyone else down with her.

“We always have a good time together, Z,” she crooned, trailing her hand down my chest, slipping her other hand down the front of my pants. “Why can’t we just have a good time tonight? It doesn’t need to be anything. To mean anything. We can just have some fun.”

So we did. We had fun.

Now, I’m standing at the counter with her phone in my hand, staring down at a string of messages from the five different guys she’s been with in the last week, at least.

I missed you last night, baby.

U up?

Come over. I want to see you.

“It’s rude to go through a girl’s purse.” Paige snatches the phone out of my hand.

I was so focused on the messages that I didn’t even hear her walk over. “Considering I’m just one of many dicks you’re using to get yourself off, you shouldn’t talk to me about being rude.”

I don’t even care. Not really. Paige is only fun when I’m high. It’s during the comedown the next morning that being with her starts to lose its shine. I can see the cracks.

In her.

In myself.

“They’re nothing. Meaningless. There’s only you, Z.” She curls around me, her cold hands dragging over my chest. “It’s only ever been you.”

The door to the locker room swings open and I jolt back to the present. I have no idea how long I’ve been staring at my name engraved above my locker. Long enough that I’m the last one still in here.

I pull my sweaty jersey off and toss it in the laundry basket in the center of the room, just as Daniel walks in.

“What are you still doing here? You’re usually the first one gone.”

“I stayed to run a few extra drills.”

More like, I stayed to burn off the anxious energy that’s been eating me from the inside out. It’s been two days since a social worker stood on my doorstep and told me I had a son.

That I might have a son, actually. Paternity results are still pending.

“Putting in the work to make sure you’re the next captain?” Daniel claps me on the back as he walks past. He bends stiffly to grab a few jerseys that missed the hamper. “Sure, just throw your shit everywhere, guys. Let the dude with the prosthetic leg clean up after you. Real nice.”

Daniel was one of the guys until four years ago. Now, he’s the equipment manager with a titanium leg. Yet another person caught in the carnage of Hurricane Paige.

I had a role to play in that, too.

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