Page 112 of King of Pain
I sit up, my elbows hitting the table. “That’s… I don’t understand why. It doesn’t really matter because I can’t afford the rent. I guess I just need to know how long I have to find a place to live.”
Mike shrugs. “Well, that’s the thing. They’ve paid the lease in its entirety. You’re set through November.”
I jolt upright. “Are you joking?”
“No, son, I’m not. All you need to do is sign the paperwork I brought. No need for a credit check since everything’s been paid, and I can see the place is kept clean with no visible damage.”
I rub my hands over my face, exhaling. “Well, that’s a huge load off my chest. Yeah, I’ll sign whatever you need as long as you’re sure.”
“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. These units are family-owned. We understand circumstances. Just make sure you take care of the place.”
Relieved, I nod. “I will. Where do I sign?”
After signing, I walk Mike to the door. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “Here’s my card. My cell number is on the back. Call or text if anything breaks down on you.”
I take the card with a grateful nod. “Thank you, I will.”
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I let out a long breath and drop onto the couch. “What the fuck was that?” I mutter under my breath. My mind is spinning. I’m relieved I don’t have to scramble for a new place to live, but the whole thing is unsettling.
Murph. Chance’s friend from back home. He’s part of The Doves. And Mike had saidtheytook care of it, nothetook care of it. The Doves must have handled all this for Chance.
But why?
Why would he leave me here? Why, when I could have been there for him? It makes no sense. And Guinness—how could he leave Little G? The poor little guy has been looking for him, waiting for him. I love this dog, and I will take care of him for the rest of his life, but dogs feel loss. Anyone who doesn’t think so lacks a soul. He knows something is wrong. He knows Chance is gone.
I shake my head, rubbing my hands over my face. If I see that man again, he’s getting a piece of my mind. I’m so fucking angry and hurt.
But more than anything, I miss him.
I miss the man who made me fall utterly, completely, and irrevocably in love.
That’s the part I may never get over.
TRACK FORTY•ONE
Nothing Compares 2 U
ONE YEAR AFTER
Anthony
The hum of keyboards, muffled conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter fill the sleek offices of Dootson, Rivera & Huerta, one of the top sports talent agencies in the country. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the wall behind me, offering a stunning view of downtown Phoenix.
I have an entire cubicle to myself—a rare luxury in this agency—courtesy of the added workload that comes with being Meg Evers' First Assistant. Meg is the agency’s most formidable force, a powerhouse who commands respect and delivers results. She’s exactly the kind of agent I aspire to be, and landing this role in just six months was no small feat.
Coach and Meg go way back. He helped broker my internship, but I worked my ass off for a permanent position and this promotion.
Or maybe I just buried myself in work to avoid thinking about a certain tall, thick, tattooed man who may as well be a ghost.
Right now, I’m pouring over the marketing and promotions sections of a sponsor contract for Jason Ciccone, a pro baseball rookie pitcher who’s about to start his first year with Atlanta. His talent has the entire league watching, and sponsors are clawing for him. I chew on the end of my pen, scanning the promotional requirements, when an unhelpful thought creeps in.
The man is hot as fuck.
I sigh and shake my head. Please don’t let Meg have me sit in today. I’ll sound like a fumbling idiot.
“Pacini!” a familiar voice calls out.
“Oh God, here we go,” I mumble.
