Page 24 of Just One Season
“How’s Max?”
“Who?” It takes a second for his question to register.
“I’m sorry about dumping him with you. I kinda hoped you’d invite me in, and we could’ve talked about things?—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” That’s what he apologizes for? Dumping his dumb dog on me? What about cheating and lying and completely betraying me?
“Your father wants you to come back to DC FC. And I… I’d love for us to have another chance.” He stops and sighs. “I missus.”
I hate how sincere he sounds. Like the Ron I fell in love with, the one I said yes to.
“Theusthat you were cheating on the entire two years of our relationship?” I summon the fury he deserves and let it smash whatever fond feelings are crawling out from where I’d buried them.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to come back. To DC FC or to you.”
“Lucy—”
“And it’s Taco, not Max.”
I can’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks. I thought I was over this. Over him. But hearing his voice again makes me remember the way I felt at the end. Discarded. Not good enough. Alone.
I click off before he can respond.
CHAPTER 8
The Best Idea
KELLEN
Friday, September 28
My chest burns as I bench press one and a half times my body weight. Harley is spotting me, and we’ll swap as soon as I’m done with my reps. I’m already sore from practice today, where Coach Jackson drilled us relentlessly to prepare for the season, which starts in less than two weeks.
I need to be top of my game in every way so there is no excuse to trade me, at least from a hockey perspective. That’s what I can focus on right now. Working out. Practices. Playing my best.
Not pissing off the team owner any more than I already have.
Paul and Savannah have been around the arena every day lately. He’s always been present more than most team owners, at least the ones I’ve experienced in my time in the NHL. Some might take it as a compliment that he’s so interested in how the team works… I find it annoying as hell to always feel like we’re performing for him.
I’m avoiding Savannah, and she gives me sad puppy dog eyes each time she sees me. She’s friendly with the VP of finance—I wish she’d focus more on uncontroversial friendships like that one.
“Listen up!” Coach Jackson strides to the middle of theweights area, where a dozen of my teammates are in various states of lifting.
I sit on a nearby bench, rotating my wrists, appreciating the creaky stretch.
“We had a great practice today, and a strong showing at the pre-season games last week. But pre-season is literally only the beginning. We need to focus on our individual conditioning and executing our new plays.”
“We got it Coach,” one of the players calls.
There’s a rush of air at my back and we all turn to the entrance to the gym.
Paul Harrison strides confidently to the middle of the room, dressed in an expensive-looking tailored gray suit. The mood of the room tenses.
“Excuse me, Coach Jackson, I just want to say a few words. First, encouragement. Keep working hard. This is a strong team, but you need to really bring it to every single practice, workout, and especially games. I expect a lot of you all.”
Heads nod all around the room.
