Page 93 of Game Changer

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Once the tattoo is complete and covered, and we've said goodbye to the artist, we head back outside onto the sidewalk.

“I figured we’d see more stars,” I say as we amble down the street.

“The city is too bright. Not like Red Rocks.”

“No. But it’s still beautiful.”

There’s a text from Mari saying she hopes I enjoy my mini trip, plus a picture of her and Harlan.

They look in love, and my heart squeezes. They haveeverything.

Is it so crazy to want that, too?

Not the perfect job or the man in a suit or the ring, but the happiness.

I tip my face up to stare at the sky.

He threads his fingers through mine. “I need to tell you something.”

My heart accelerates. “Okay.”

“I’m working on a trade to LA.”

I stop walking and stare at him.

Guilt clouds his expression as I try to process what those words mean.

The most obvious one is he’s not staying in Denver. He’s switching sides, joining the same men who were his opponents tonight. Moving to this place of glitter and palm trees.

It hits me hard in the chest, though I can’t point to exactly why. I’m not the one losing him, but it feels like a betrayal. “Does Harlan know?”

“No. And you can’t tell him,” Clay says firmly.

“Because you have a problem with him.”

His lip curls. “Only problem I have is one he caused.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

He shoves a hand through his hair but doesn’t answer.

My head is still spinning about the rest of it as I pace the sidewalk. “I thought it was Harlan’s job to sign off on that stuff.”

“But he doesn’t need to know I’m working on it until he gets an offer he can’t refuse. Locker room rumors sink a team faster than anything, and I won’t do that to the guys.”

I get his reasoning, but hiding doesn’t feel good. “I don’t want to lie to my sister again.”

“Aren’t you already doing that by sneaking around with me?” Clay grabs my arms and spins me to face him.

I frown. “Why did you even tell me if you were going to put me in this position?”

He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I guess because I’m used to keeping shit inside, and it feels good to tell someone. Plus, I don’t like keeping it from you.”

His words, or the vulnerability in them, make my frustration evaporate. What was going to be a hard decision is suddenly obvious.

“Then I won’t say anything,” I whisper.

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