Page 11 of Dirty Pucking Player

She sighs. “Oh, God, Bash. What did you do?”

I shrug and replay the conversation in my head. “Nothing, really.”

“Bash…”

The way she says that sounds so much like Mom, my chest actually tightens. I rub at it absently. “Really, Rach, it’s fine. We came to an understanding.”

By an understanding, I mean I told her off and walked away from her, leaving her speechless. But I’m not about to give Rach a play-by-play. She won’t grasp why what I said to Greer was necessary.

“I know how you can be, Bash. If you were a dick, you should apologize.”

“I wasn’t a dick.” At least, not until we got into the tunnel and she pushed me to say certain things. “Really. I wasn’t.”

“Uh huh.” Rachel says something to someone in the background. “Hey, Bash, I have to run. I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I could use a little mothering every now and then.”

A somber mood settles between us on the line, one I hadn’t intended but that’s there all the same. Mentioning Mom always brings a painful mix of emotions for all of us.

“I miss her, too, Bash. But she’d be proud of you, of what you’ve accomplished.”

“Even though I just got canned, basically?”

She chuckles. “Well, she’d give you shit about that, but she’d still be proud.”

I hope she’s right.

“I’ll talk to you later, sis.”

“Bye, Bash…and hey, I’m telling you, if you fucked up on your first day, it’s not too late to salvage it. Just apologize.”

“You don’t even know what I did.”

She laughs. “No, but I know you almost as well as you know yourself. Just apologize.”

The line goes dead, and I drop the phone next to me on the bed with a sigh. I crank up the volume on the TV and tuck my hands behind my head.

Rach would probably be right about apologizing if I thought I did anything wrong. But…I’m pretty sure I didn’t. Every single word I spoke was the truth. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with speaking the truth…even if it might be painful for the person on the receiving end.

I never wanted to hurt Greer, but if that’s what needed to happen for us to move forward, then it was a necessary evil. One I can live with.

The phone rings again, and I glance down.

It’s probably Rach again.

“Well, shit, will you look at that?” I swipe to open the call. “Caleb fucking Carlson, where the hell have you been, man?”

He laughs, and a car horn honks in the background. The man always seems to be on the go. First, it was jet-setting around the world as a hotshot money manager for the rich and famous, and now it’s racing all over with Tara and the kids, trying to balance being a dad and husband with keeping up with his clients. It’s been weeks since I heard from him, and that’s unusual for us.

I run a hand through my damp hair. “You on the road?”

“Yeah. Sorry I’ve been MIA for a bit. Things have been insane with the kids. I just wanted to call and wish you luck at your new gig.”

New gig.

“Thanks, man.” For not saying I got traded for fucking up again. “I’m gonna need it.”

He laughs again. “I’ve heard your coach can be a real ball-buster.”

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