Page 70 of Play It Off

She glances toward the outdoor firepit, where lots of people have gathered. “I need to find Everleigh.”

“She’s probably with Nico.”

Sienna looks back at me, her expression hopeful. “You think so?”

“I’m guessing, but come on. He’s in denial over how he feels about her.”Just like I am with you.

A faint smile curls her swollen lips. “I hope he finally realizes how great she is.”

Her words strike me right in the damn heart, and for a second, I’m tempted to clutch it. Because in this very moment I’m realizing how great Sienna truly is. I’ve been feeling that way for a while, but the force of my emotions for her are coming at me one after the other, and I can’t speak. There’s a lump in my throat that feels like the size of a football, and when I finally swallow past it, my voice comes out like a croak.

“Come home with me.”

She presses her lips together, doubt flooding her gaze, and I worry she’s going to reject me. Bracing myself, I prepare for her to come up with a list of excuses and tell me no. I even briefly close my eyes, desperate to calm my suddenly racing heart.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

I crack my eyes open to find her watching me, her brows lowered like I confuse her, and yeah, I probably do. I confuse myself. “Let’s go.”

I hold out my hand, and she takes it, interlocking our fingers. We leave the party together, sneaking through the house and walking out the front door. Not a single person even notices that we’re holding hands, and I wonder why the hell I’m so stressed about the potential relationship with Sienna in the first place.

Seems to me, no one really gives a damn what we’re doing anyway.

Chapter Twenty-SixGavin

November

I’m in my own personal hell: at dinner with my parents. Slowly but surely dying inside as I sit at a table in a fancy restaurant with a fancy meal in front of me and an equally fancy and incredibly overpriced cocktail to my right. I reach for it and take a fortifying gulp as I listen to my father drone on about what a disappointment I am. After I just played a great fucking game. My entire team played great. And that’s because wearegreat.

What the fuck does my old man know about it?

Apparently plenty if you based it on the way he’s going on. Criticizing my every move.

“You shouldn’t drink so much during the season,” Dad snaps when I bring the cocktail to my lips yet again.

I suck it down, then set the glass on the table with a thump. Spotting the server, I lift my hand, pointing at the drink once I get his attention, and he nods his answer before heading for the bar.

Thank God. At least someone is listening to me tonight.

“Did you even hear me?”

I level my gaze at my father, dread coating my stomach when I see the anger in his eyes. Why is this man so pissed off all the time? I don’t get it. “I heard you.”

“You’re in season. Training every single damn day,” he reminds me.

“A couple of drinks to celebrate our victory isn’t going to make me gain weight.” I lean back and pat my stomach, studying my father’s midsection. He’s gotten a little thick over the last couple of years, meaning he’s one to talk.

Dad snorts and takes a drink from his own glass. I shift my focus to my mother, who’s sitting next to him, her expression impassive. She never rushes to my defense. Never says a damn word, really, and I wonder—not for the first time—if my father has threatened her if she ever speaks up. Or he’s just got her so well trained, she doesn’t dare say a word to cross him.

Miserable son of a bitch. Can’t imagine my mother is happy either. They’ve been married for almost twenty-five years. That’s a big deal. A long-ass time. But why do they bother? I don’t even think they like each other.

Who likes my father? No one I know. Definitely not any of his employees. He leads by fear, and that is the last thing I want to do. My teammates like me. Respect me. I like and respect them. I am nothing without them, and I let them know that on a regular basis.

We haven’t had one of these family dinners after a game the entire season, and I was perfectly okay with never doing it again. They haven’t been around as much since he’s been so busy with work.

Dad starts rambling about our playoff chances yet again, and I cut him off, desperate to change it up. “Mom, what’s going on with you?” I ask her.

She blinks at me, seemingly startled that I’d acknowledge her. She even rests her hand against her chest for the briefest moment, like I surprised her. “What’s going on with me?”

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