Page 83 of Changing Rules

Fuck.

My heart thuds heavily. “I need to talk to her. Meg, please.”

“No. She blocked you for a reason, Walker. Leave her alone.”

“But I need to tell her what happened. I made a statement?—”

“We saw your statement,” she snaps. “She still doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Meg…”

She sighs. “Sorry, Xander.” Her voice is softer now. “But I won’t tell you how to find her. Please, leave her alone.”

With that, she hangs up, and I’m left with suffocating silence in my ear.

Eight months ago

December

I siton the couch in the VIP area, nursing a glass of top-shelf whiskey. Meg is by my side, scrolling through pictures on her phone while waiting for Marco to bring her a drink.

We’re here celebrating Omar Williams’s birthday. I tried to get out of it, but Drew and Marco talked me into coming, reminding me I’ve been a shit teammate by not showing up to any parties.

I regret being here already.

All I do is drink and brood.

And keep my distance from Miller. He has been an insufferable pain in the ass for weeks. Ignoring him is definitely easier now that I’ve learned how to dissociate. Even so, onoccasion, he works his way under my skin, and drinking only increases the likelihood I’ll snap.

“Walker, my man.”

Speak of the devil.

Jake slumps onto the couch between Meg and me and drapes his arm over my shoulder. With a groan, I scoot away, shooting him a glare.

“Leave me alone, Miller. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“I’m not looking for trouble either. It’s Omar’s birthday, and I have no desire to spoil the fun for my teammate.” Miller crooks a smile at me before he turns to Meg. “How are you, Meghan? Where?—”

He snatches her phone from her hand and brings it closer to his face, his eyes narrowed. The way his smile dies makes my stomach quiver.

“What the fuck?” Meg makes a swipe for her phone, but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he shoves it in my face. “Did you know about this?”

Before I know what’s happening, Bella is in front of me. For a moment, everything in me goes still. Then my chest constricts so painfully, I worry I might keel over.

She’s so fucking beautiful…and so happy. Her lips are stretched into a radiant smile, and her hair is pulled up into a messy bun. Her denim shirt makes her blue eyes pop.

God, I miss her so much.

“Walker, stop staring at Isabella. Look to her right.”

Only then do I notice the guy with his arm casually thrown over her shoulder. His white T-shirt is crisp against his dark skin, and his brown eyes are warm. The smile on his face is as wide as Bella’s. With his beard, he reminds me of Steph Curry.

Miller studies me. “Based on the look on your face, you didn’t know. I figured you’d at least be checking in on her now and then. No?”

I don’t tell him that I can’t because she blocked me on every social media site in existence. It’s none of his business.

---