Page 102 of Overtime
CHAPTER 29
ARAN
Iclimb up the stairs slowly, one by one, just going through the motions.
That’s how the entire week has been through school and practice. I’ve managed to go to class, take notes, sit exams, and even ace my essays. And if Coach has noticed something weird, he’s had too much on his plate to even look my way, what with Jamal being down with a wrist injury and a first line that doesn’t work so great anymore.
Why does doing the right thing and being honest feel so shitty?
Because I went to that party last week with the sole intention of taking Maddie aside and telling her… I don’t know. All the words went up in smoke the moment I saw her sitting in the living room. But I intended to hit the brakes on the book research and stay friends.
We’re not even that now. She won’t answer my texts. She canceled our official tutoring sessions. The one time I ran into her here, on the apartment stairs, she nearly tripped in her haste to run from me.
And I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m out there catching pucks during practice by rote, my mind churning her wordsover and over. I’ll be calculating cashflow and remembering something we did before.
There’s a before and an after. Huh.
“Rodriguez.”
I lift my head. Ryan stands at the top of the stairs, a garbage bag sitting at her feet. Her arms are folded and her expression gives no warm fuzzies.
I blink slowly, frankly about to pass out from exhaustion. And I sound like it when I say, “Avery.”
“We need to talk.”
“Later, I’m tired,” I mumble and drag my feet for the last of the climb. I walk past her for my door, and it takes me two tries to jam the key in the hole.
My plan is to order pizza and watch film from our opponents until I can’t keep myself upright anymore, but I don’t know if I’ll even make it to dinner. At the rate I’m going, I’ll drop dead asleep the second I hit the couch.
And maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. That way I don’t have to think about how she’s at her sister’s wedding tonight, sans plus-one. I texted her several times, asking if she still wanted me to back her up, but since she left me on read, I assumed the answer was a big hell no.
I drop my duffel bag onto the living room floor and dump my stick on top. Leaning against the wall, I toe out of my sneakers and leave them there. Slowly, I lower myself onto the couch and rest my elbows on my knees. I try to rub the bleariness out of my face, but it’s bone deep. As if I completed years’ worth of practice this afternoon alone.
Of course, Ryan doesn’t let me be. She makes her way into my apartment, sets her trash bag down on my floor, and makes herself comfortable on my couch.
“What did you do to Maddie?”
I draw in a deep breath and let it out before speaking. “Why do you think I did something?”
“Because now, if anyone so much as mentions your name, she looks like she’s about to cry or puke or both.”
I flinch, and there’s no hiding it. Even then, I say nothing.
“Listen carefully, Aran. I like you, but I like Maddie more. If you hurt her, I will end you.”
I glare at her. “You know damn well I’m not in the business of assaulting women.”
“No, but you sure have a talent for hurting them here.” She taps her chest repeatedly. “And I warned you, didn’t I?”
She did, weeks ago, when she caught me walking out of Maddie’s room to head to practice while she kept sleeping off her period pain. Ryan was sitting by the kitchen counter, munching on baby carrots with so much violence I suspected she was pretending they were my head.
“What’s the deal between you and Maddie?” she asked point blank.
“Nothing.” My response was a total lie, and we both knew it.
“That in there didn’t look like nothing. It looked like some real boyfriend shit.”
I remember rolling my eyes and saying, “We’re just friends. Friends give a shit about each other, right?”
