Page 130 of Winning Brynn

“One can assume,” I mimic, my tone haughty and sarcastic, “that you know the answer to that already.”

He completes the drill and waits for me to catch up, head tipped up to the clouded sky, his hands on his hips. “He may have had a few choice words to say about you, but they don’t bear repeating.”

Twisting the ball around the final cone, I scoop it up and launch it at Roman’s chest. He catches it with a grunt, staggering back a few steps with a cock of his brow. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re being a prick,” I grumble. “And why are you trying to do a British accent?”

He laughs, like this whole situation is one big joke. “It was good, no?”

“It sucked. Stop it.”

Holding his hands up in surrender, his expression morphs from one of teasing into something gentler. “Sorry, bro. I was only trying to lighten the mood.”

“Learn to read the room.” I turn my back on him to walk back to the locker room, where we’ll freshen up before the game starts.

His heavy footsteps sound behind me as he jogs to catch up. “For real, though, Alex seems to be handling it quite well, all things considered.”

“He won’t talk to me.”

Roman winces. His hand shoots out to grab my shoulder, giving me a solitary pat in a move I’m sure he means to be reassuring. “Yeah. But he hasn’t hit you yet.”

I snort but say nothing.

Alex’s silent disappointment hurts more than a punch ever could.

“He’d actually have to look at me to hit me.” A huff of a laugh scrapes up my throat, bitter and sad. “Doesn’t matter. It’s my own fault anyway.”

He says nothing, and when I glance at him over my shoulder, I find his attention trained on the stands, where Brynn is sitting with my daughter. She’s wearing my jersey today, the number eleven displayed proudly on her back. It’s the first time she’s worn it without covering it up with a sweater or jacket.

“No reason to hide anymore,”she’d told me this morning.

When I pointed out that it would only be rubbing salt in the wound for her brother, she scoffed and said, “We haven’t done anything wrong. If he’s got an issue with us, then that’s his problem.”

Needless to say, we’re dealing with this situation differently: me with untameable anxiety and soul-crushing guilt, and her with a sort of calm carelessness that is both impressive and deeply unsettling.

“Can I ask you something?” Roman asks quietly, his expression tentative. “Was it worth it? Potentially losing your best friend?”

“If you’re asking ifsheis worth it, then the answer is yes.”

It isn’t even a question. I’ve fucked everything up—there’s no doubt about it—but I will never regret falling in love with the hurricane that is Brynn Wolfe. Aside from my daughter, she is the best thing that has ever happened to me. So, I would take a lifetime of sacrifices and pain if it meant I got to keep her.

Roman frowns. “I don’t get it. You could have picked literally any other woman.”

My gaze finds Brynn in the stands again. She has one arm wrapped around my daughter, singing a nursery rhyme with unrestrained enthusiasm. I can’t hear the song from here, but I can decipher from the animated hand gestures that it’s most likely "Baby Shark."Salem squeals with her head thrown back before snapping her little hands together like jaws.

Warmth explodes in my heart at the sight of my family.

Roman follows my line of sight, noting the love-dazed expression on my face. He says nothing, but he nods shortly to himself as if, maybe, he understands now.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “But none of them would have been her.”

The cheering of the crowd echoes around the stadium as I jog on the spot, waiting for Arun to send the ball up the field following the opposing team’s failed goal attempt.

It falls closest to Alex, who struggles to control it but manages to wrangle it closer toward the goal. The Philadelphia defense players swarm him within seconds. He runs at full speed, and though he’s one of the fastest players on the team, the defense is able to catch up to him. Flanking him on either side, their feet strike out in attempts to steal the ball.

I dodge a defense player of my own, ducking around him to create a clear line for Alex to pass to me.

His eyes flick to me for the briefest of seconds. He sees me. I know he does. He sees that I’m clear, that all he has to do is tap the ball to me, and we’ll have a decent chance to score.

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