Page 85 of The Right Player
“You’ve gotta let it go, man,” he said. “It’s just one bad game. Shake it off and come ready to work tomorrow.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t find it in me to even verbally thank him. Right now, between the game I’d played in New Jersey and the game I’d played with Belle, I felt like the biggest piece of scum to ever exist on Earth.
Every muscle in my legs ached in protest when I jogged down the few steps and off the bus. I winced against the pain, adjusting the bag on my shoulder and crossing the parking lot with my head down, letting my feet carry me toward where my Lexus was parked on the other side.
It wasn’t until I was a few yards away that I finally lifted my gaze, and when I did, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Belle stood next to my car, her hands behind her back, little mouth pulled to the side as she watched me through her lashes. Her auburn hair had faded to more of that strawberry blonde she’d had when I first met her, and in a long, flowy blue dress with thin straps that accented her shoulders and collarbones, she was a sight to behold — like the goddess of summer, come to say goodbye to her season as fall moved in to take her place.
The longer I stood there and watched her, the more she looked like she was about to cry, or like she regretted that she was there at all. So, I made my way to her as quick as I could before she could change her mind and bolt.
The only light was from the parking lot lights above us, and they cast her in a warm, orange glow, covering half her face with shadows. She swallowed when I stood in front of her, chewing her lip for a moment before she spoke.
“I forgot to ask you something last week,” she said.
My chest was tight, breath shallow as I took her in, still not believing she was standing there in front of me. I somehow managed to clear my throat and ask, “What’s that?”
Belle’s eyes searched mine for a moment, and then she pulled her hands from behind her back, holding out a small, rectangular, white piece of cardstock with gold foil letters on it.
“For the wedding,” she said. “Do you want chicken or steak?”
She handed the card to me, and I glanced down at the RSVP with both our names on it — Belle Monroe and Makoa Kumaka. My stomach somersaulted at the way they looked together, and even more when I saw the checkbox next to our RSVP saying we’d both be attending.
I held onto that piece of cardstock like it was my lifeline, and then my gaze found hers. “You want me to go to the wedding with you?”
Her eyes glossed, and she shrugged, nodding. “If you don’t hate me now, yes.”
I almost laughed. “Hate you?” I shook my head, tucking the card in the pocket of my duffle bag before I dropped it to the ground beside us. “I love you, you stupid girl.”
I swept her into my arms in the next instant, half expecting Belle to swat me away or shove space between us, but she wrapped herself around me, too. Her arms draped around my neck, hands threading where they met as I pulled her in even closer. Her warmth and familiar scent wafted over me, and I realized then that it wasn’t a dream.
She was here. She was really here.
She shuddered in my grasp, her tears wetting my t-shirt as I kissed her hair and told her it was okay, over and over, holding her tighter to secure that promise.
And with her in my arms again, I actually believed it, too.
Belle sniffed after a long while, pulling back to peer up at me. “I am so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you came to me after the game last week. I’m sorry I got so fixated on the fact that you lied to me that I didn’t hear you out when you explained why. I’m sorry that I’m so goddamn stubborn that I dug my heels in as if I was stronger if I turned you away after one mistake…” She shook her head, rolling her lips between her teeth. “I really am a stupid girl.”
I chuckled, sweeping her hair back and thumbing her cheek. “You’re not. You had every right to be upset with me. It’s me who should be sorry.” My jaw tightened. “I betrayed your trust.”
Belle shook her head, leaning into where my hand held her face. “It isn’t that big of a deal. I made it a big deal because I wanted to be right. I wanted to have proof that no one could really love me or be true to me, that I would always be just the good-time girl, that I’d be the girl who was lied to and traded in time and time again.” She chuckled. “You know why? Because it’s easier to be that girl. It’s easier to shove you away than it is to admit the truth.”
