Page 97 of Dirty Pucking Player

I shove a spoonful into my mouth and try to concentrate on the flickering images on the screen.

The doorbell rings, and I jump at the sound.

Who the hell could that be?

Visitors aren’t common for me since I don’t have many friends here in town other than Jill. And I’m not expecting anyone today.

I make my way to the door and glance through the glass on the side of it. A delivery man stands on my porch, holding a bouquet of flowers. My heart leaps into my throat.

Bash.

I fling the door open.

“Delivery for Greer Waterson?”

“That’s me.”

He hands me the flowers with a smile. “Have a nice day.”

The beautiful scent of the arrangement, including my favorite stargazer lilies, fills my nose, and I bury my face in them and walk toward the kitchen.

A small white envelope sits nestled inside them. I set the flowers on the counter and tear open the envelope.

I miss you. - S

He misses me.

The sting of tears burns my eyes, and I blink them away so I can read the note again and again. Each time, the words bring with them a tidal wave of conflicting emotions. I’m not the only one feeling this way, but I don’t know if knowing that makes this worse or easier. Because it doesn’t matter that we miss each other.

Sometimes, love isn’t enough.

Bash might not even recognize the emotion if he feels it, and if he does, he’ll just push it away to protect himself and—in his head— me.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I sigh and pull the flowers from the wrapping to put them in a vase. Part of me wants to dump them into the trash. Their beauty only reminds me of Bash and what we’ve lost. But I can’t bring myself to throw them away.

Not yet.

Maybe tomorrow when I get sick of seeing them and breaking down.

My phone rings, breaking through the fog of despair threatening to envelop me, and I scramble back to the couch to grab it. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

He means how am I doing with the loss and being out of the playoffs. How am I doing with the way the season has turned out. Because he doesn’t know about Bash, and he doesn’t know that I’m on the cusp of being fired.

Goddammit.

He’ll be so disappointed in me. He taught me better. He taught me to always be aware of the fact that I’m a woman in a man’s world, and therefore, my actions will be scrutinized ten times harder than any man. He taught me to appreciate the opportunities given to me and not to squander them. He taught me all of that, and I still made a mess of everything.

The tears well in my eyes despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. “Oh, Daddy. I’m really not doing well.”

It comes out on a sob, and I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from completely losing my shit and panicking him.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Everything!

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