Page 213 of The Charlie Method

“I heard about you joining Dad Chat,” Hollis says, glaring daggers at us. “And I don’t take betrayal lightly.”

“If it helps, we were removed from the chat,” I tell him.

“No, sir. It does not.” Hollis proceeds to shatter everyone’s eardrums by blowing his whistle. In the fucking locker room. “I will offer no pep until I receive an apology letter in my mailbox.”

“Mailbox? What century does he live in?” Shane murmurs to me, and I choke on my laughter.

We finish getting dressed, the anticipation once again building in the room. By the time we’re in uniform, every single one of us is wired and ready to murder our opponents.

Just as I’m about to head to the tunnel, my phone vibrates in my locker. I almost ignore the alert, but something makes me check it.

Figuring it won’t matter if I’m one minute late for warm-ups, I slide my gloves off and grab my phone, then freeze when I read the email on the screen.

It’s a job offer.

From an ocean conservation organization. In Sydney.

I skim the email, my pulse racing when I see the wordssalaried position. This is an actual position. Not an internship, not some part-time thing. A full-time, real job. The kind of job I’ve always been dreaming about. Actual fieldwork.

“Dunne,” a sharp voice says from the door. It’s Coach. “Get your ass out there and join your team.”

“Sorry, Coach. Coming.”

“Now.”

I shove the phone back in my locker and scramble for the tunnel.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHARLOTTE

How often does it rain in Sydney?

THE PILE OF ACCEPTANCE LETTERS SITS ON MY DESK, STARING AT ME INaccusation. Daring me to make this massive decision I’m nowhere near ready to make. All the programs are phenomenal, but I can’t decide which path to follow. The pressure to make the right choice is so intense, a part of me wants to just run away from it all.

As I pick up one of the rejections in the stack, my phone buzzes with a text from Beckett.

BECKETT:

Hey. Can you come over?

I frown at the screen. His team lost the semi-finals last night, so he’s probably still feeling down. Maybe he needs to talk or distract himself from the crushing disappointment.

ME:

Yeah. I’m on my way.

Fine, I might be looking to distract myself too, using his SOS to once again delay picking a grad school program. Still, as I grab my jacket and keys, I also tuck the stack of letters into my bag. Maybe I can get his and Will’s opinions on the grad school dilemma while I’m there.

When I let myself into their house twenty minutes later, Beckett immediately comes down to greet me. I expect to see some postgame sadness, but he’s not moping around. In fact, there’s a weird kind of energy in his eyes. And he finally shaved that beard, allowing me to see his perfect, chiseled features again. He’s truly one of the best-looking men I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m a lucky woman.

“Hey,” I say, hanging my jacket. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” He shrugs. “Thanks for coming over. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

I follow him into the living room, realizing this isn’t about the game at all. “What’s going on?”

Beckett runs a hand through his blond hair, pursing his lips as if trying to find the right words. “I, uh, got a job offer.”

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