Page 47 of Face Off
“Mommy,” a small voice echoes from behind me. “Why is Uncle Brooky leaking from his eyes?”
A small smile spreads across my face as Everly runs toward me, hopping on the couch right beside me, snuggling deep into my side. “I’m not leaking. I’m a hockey player, remember. We don’t cry. Crying’s for soccer players, or better yet, let’s say basketball players.”
“My boyfriend plays soccer. He’s super good.”
Boyfriend? Did my three-year-old niece just say she had a boyfriend?
“Boyfriend?” I say, looking at my sister curiously. “Since when did you get a boyfriend?”
She runs her little finger under my wet eye before smiling big at me. “Uncle Brooky, I’m Free,” she says, holding up three fingers. “I’m old enough to date. And David Beckham is super good at soccer.”
“David Beckham?” I look at Sydney who is just shaking her head, fighting a small laugh. “Isn’t he married?”
“No. He’s my boyfriend.”
“She watched one soccer game and ever since, she thinks he’s her boyfriend.” She shrugs her shoulders at me. “Okay, Everly. Say good night to Uncle Brooky. He has some thinking to do for the rest of the night.”
“Night Uncle Brooky,” she says, giving me a hug.
I place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Everly.”
Sydney ushers Everly toward the bedrooms, stopping at the hallway entrance before looking back at me. “Not every woman is Tiffany, Brooks. Remember that,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “Good night, Brooks. Tell Hayley I look forward to seeing her again soon.”
And just like that, Sydney has once again pulled some psycho Houdini shit and convinced me to not give up without a fight. But how do I fix what I fucked up? That’s the question waiting to be answered.
???
Normally, I would try to nip this shit right in the ass as soon as I can. I can’t have anything like this plaguing my mind during the season. However, for a surprising change of events, I’ve decided for some reason to give her space, the time she asked for. Yeah, I know. That’s the last thing I should probably do, yet here I am.
For two weeks now, I’ve forced myself to keep distance. Working with other trainers, sitting as far away from her on away trips. It’s been pure hell. And I’ve clearly made it a game in torturing myself. I’d sit on the bench during practice most days and stare at her as she watches from the bleachers, jotting down God knows what in her iPad. Oh, and let’s not forget the days I’d show up to practices early and hover outside her office to catch a glimpse of her as she walks in.
I’ve definitely made it my own personal hell.
“Dude. Did you hear a single thing I said?” Halloway chimes from my side as we sit at the bar inside The Nest.
It’s day one of our three-day break after our last stretch of away games. A stretch of away games that couldn’t have ended in the worst possible way. The other teams obliterated us. My head wasn’t in the game. It was fucked up, thinking about how I just wanted to pull her back to me and kiss the ever-loving shit out of her. But I didn’t. I kept her at a distance.
“Nah, man. What did you say?” I ask, lifting my beer to my lips.
Halloway shakes his head in a knowing way. He hasn’t been totally with it either ever since Cassidy announced her engagement to Vincent Burch. Misery loves company, and Halloway is the company to my misery.
“I was asking if you wanted to maybe go camping tomorrow night. Clear our heads a little.”
Halloway and I camping together is a sight to see. Neither of us can set up a tent for shit, and we just end up burning anything we try to cook on the campfire. Probably should be a no go for us, yet I can’t think of a better escape.
“Yeah,” I say, turning on my barstool to look at the crowd of dancing people. “That sounds—”
Hold up. I pause mid-sentence, blinking my eyes several times to make sure they aren’t playing tricks on me. Yet the image is clear as I spy my sexy little spitfire grinding on some prick. His grimy little hands work their way up her body as she throws her ass right into him. Who gave him the right to touch what is mine?
Halloway nudges me in the side as I find myself once again distracted. “What are you… Oh…” he says as his eyes follow mine to the high-top Hayley has made her way to. Pretty boy is no longer with her, but I know that won’t be for long. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I send her a text.
Brooks: Does pretty boy know he’s touching something that’s not his?
She picks up her phone, reading the message before looking around the bar, her eyes meeting mine before she sends a response.
Hayley: I belong to no one. It seems you’ve forgotten.
Brooks: I bet he wouldn’t know how to worship that sweet pussy of yours like I can.
