Page 67 of Faking the Play

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes.

“Caleb.” He shoved the panda toward me. “This is for you.”

“For me?”

“There’s a note tied to its neck, and I didn’t open it.” When I made no move to take it, he tried again. “Please take the panda. I really do need to go to work.”

I sighed and took the panda. “Thank you, Caleb.”

“Will you please tell them that I did a good job?” he asked before turning and practically running away.

As I turned to close the door, I caught a glimpse of several open doors and curious people looking my way. Now thoroughly embarrassed, confused, and a little annoyed, I set the panda in the middle of the floor and yanked free the ribbon holding the card Caleb mentioned.

My heartbeat quickened when I recognized the handwriting on the envelope and, for a moment, I seriously considered just throwing it out, but then everything from last night came rushing back. The game. The guys getting hurt. Waiting for hours for some news on their condition. Falling asleep not knowing.

I tore open the envelope and moved over to my bed as I unfolded the paper and began to read the brief, but pointed, message.

Amelia,

We’re assholes. And we’re so sorry for believing the worst. We should have trusted you and believed you. We know there’s no reason for you to ever forgive us, but we’re begging you to come to the next game. All three of us will be there and afterward, we’ll take you out and we can talk. And by talk, I mean the three of us will grovel.

Please, tell us you’re coming.

We miss you and we’re so sorry.

Logan, Ethan, Ryan (aka the biggest assholes in the world)

I stared at the letter for a full minute before tearing it up. That still, however, left the giant fucking panda sitting in the middle of my room, staring at me like I’d done something wrong.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” I asked. “I can’t take you anywhere without everyone staring at me, because I’d be carrying a giant-ass panda.”

If a stuffed animal could look reproachful, this one managed it.

My phone buzzed with a text and I reached for it without thinking, but paused when I saw the name on the screen.

Ryan.

I started to toss my phone down on the bed when the image of what happened last night flashed into my head, bringing back the absolute horror I’d felt when I watched that player slam into Ryan’s back. The need to know if he was okay overrode the hurt I still felt.

I opened the message.

Caleb said he gave you the stuff. Think you’re gonna come to the game next week?

I wrote, deleted, and rewrote my response a dozen times before I was finally happy with what I had.

I’m sorry, but I can’t. Are you and Logan okay?

I’d considered not asking how they were doing even though it might’ve made me look like a bitch, but I couldn’t do it. No matter how angry I was at them, what happened at the game worried me.

I stared at the three dots as they appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again. It took nearly five minutes for him to get what he wanted to say, and at first, I assumed it was due to him trying to get the words right, something he’d always struggledwith, but when I finally read what he sent, I wondered if it took him a while because it was just hard to write.

I got a bad bruise and it’s gonna hurt like hell but I just need to take it easy a day or two. Logan’s not so lucky. Busted his leg up bad. Blew his ACL and a bunch of other stuff. His career’s done. Doc says with work he’ll be able to walk okay. Maybe run a bit.

My hand went to my mouth, covering the pained sound I couldn’t help making. No matter how furious I was, I didn’t want this for Logan. Honestly, there were very few people in this world I’d ever wish to have their dreams be destroyed like that. Not trusting me didn’t put the guys on that list.

But it didn’t mean I could stomach the idea of meeting with them. Not yet. Maybe not ever. That wound was still too raw.

Will we see you after the game?

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