Page 40 of Falling Offsides

Then, faint through the speakers—her voice, crooning. Soft and off-key and perfect—murmurs above the muffled sound of running water.

The edges of the screen blur as I dim it down in case she comes back out of the bathroom. Just enough to black out the video. Leaving me only with the audio.

I’m not a creep. Or a fucking pervert.

Just a man spiraling—too far in to crawl back out.

I close my eyes, dragging in a breath to the sound of her sugary voice crooning a sad tune. Meanwhile, my heart pounds to it. As off-kilter as her key.

Courtney’s behind that wall. Not even twenty feet from where I’m standing—phone in one hand, watching the progress of her dinner update with a buzz while my other hand scratches at the pups short coat.

Another buzz brings my attention away from the pup and back to my phone.

Maman.

With my throat tight, I croak, “Hey, Mom.”

Her voice is comfort wrapped in concern. “Auggie, how’s the first week going?”

“Busy,” I say. “Trying to keep my head down.”

“Your father said you’re missing home already. Everything okay?”

I glance at the dark screen, thinking back to the conversation with Étienne earlier. “Yeah, all is good. You know how it is… hard hustle...”

“Baby boy…” she sing-songs. “You have to take it easy, child. Training is supposed to prepare you for the season ahead, not wear you out.”

The laugh that escapes me is hoarse. “I know, Mom?—”

“Do you?” she asks, always gentle even when she’s teasing. “Because divine wisdom tells me you’re still my cocky fifteen-year-old trying to be the whole team himself?”

I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “I’m not. I know better now.”

There’s a pause, like she hears it—the edge in my voice.

“Hmm… there’s something else,” she says again, softer this time. Musing.

I sigh, knowing full well I’m about to get dissected by her, and the best way to stop it happening is to give her a distraction. “I got a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yeah, a boxer puppy. Just picked him up this afternoon.”

“Lord,” she breathes. “You finally caved. I told you forever ago to get yourself a reason to call LA home. Youfinallylistened to your maman.”

My hand rubs over my prickly jaw. “Itfinallyfelt like the right time. He was the only one left. The runt.” I glance down at pup giving me his belly. “It was fate.”

“Uh-huh.” That knowing lilt in her voice deepens. “You’re telling me you—Auguste Broussard, of emotionally constipated fame—spontaneously adopted a puppy… just because?”

She’s not buying it.

Of course not,I sigh.

“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

“Nope.”

I exhale, eyes flicking to the darkened feed again.

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