Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Son of a donkey’s ass,” I mutter. She laughs and then quickly apologizes.
“You should call an Uber.”
“Or I can ignore them?”
“You’d be safer in an Uber.”
She’s right, but they’re a waste of money when I can easily walk. I pull my phone out and request a rideshare. The ETA is under five minutes. Basha waits with me.
“They’re going to start as soon as I leave here.”
“I’ll distract them.”
“How?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’ll dance or pretend like I know one of them.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to do this for me.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, it might be fun.”
The car pulls up and Basha heads outside to verify the license plate and then motions for me to make a run for it while she works to divert the group of people toward her. I feel ridiculous, but here I am running to a car with my head down, to avoid having my photo taken. And for what?
Nothing.
I shouldn’t care.
Truth is, I don’t. It’s the invasive questions that I care about. If these people need to take my photo and watch my comings and goings, so be it. Just don’t ask me how I feel about Alex. My feelings toward him are off-limits. I text Basha, thanking her for saving the day, and sit back for the three-minute car ride.
It’s all for naught though because as soon as the driver pulls up to my curb, there’s a man with a camera talking to the doorman. I don’t think it’s a passerby or some coincidence. He’s waiting for me.
I get out of the car, keep my head down, and ignore him calling my name. Thankfully, he doesn’t get past the front door. I’ve never been so thankful for a secured apartment building in my life.
Once I’m back in the comfort of my apartment, I change into sweats, grab a glass of wine—because let’s be honest I need it—and the manuscript I’m editing before sitting down on the couch and turning the game on. I rarely watch television, let alone sports, so I have Alex to thank for today’s broadcast. If he hadn’t left me a note on which channel to find the game on, I wouldn’t have a clue.
During the National Anthem, the video pans over the players. They focus on Noah for a bit, before zooming past the rest of the Pioneers. I barely have time to spot Alex before the camera switches back to the singer.
Alex warned me that unless I’m paying attention, I won’t see or hear much about him. His role, while important, isn’t talked about often. Unless of course, he’s messing up, which he says, rarely happens. If ever.
I still don’t understand the game, but it’s on in the background while I edit. I manage to finish another three chapters and then take a break to refill my glass of wine. It’s then that I focus on the television for a moment. The Pioneers are losing, and the commentators are talking about the uncharacteristic errors Alex Moore committed during the game.
“Bert, it’s the reason he’s been benched.”
Wait, what?
I move closer to my television and look at the number on the jersey. Sure enough, the guy in front of Noah, who is pointing at other players, isn’t Alex. Immediately, I download a sports app to see what they’re saying about Alex. If I thought the articles about us on Friday night were bad, these take the cake.
SIXTEEN
ALEX
We lost the game because of me. I couldn’t get out of my own head enough to feed Noah the ball. The one job I’m good at, and I couldn’t do it. While Riley gets his reps in during practice, he hasn’t seen the field since the preseason. Probably something Coach will change now that he knows I’m a total fuck up. I have never, in my years of playing, had a game like I did today. I’ve never let my team down in such a way they couldn’t count on me. and I’ve never been benched.
I don’t know what happened, whether it was the stupid articles, hearing how upset Kelsey was and feeling like she didn’t trust me, or knowing Maggie planned to return to Portland. Whatever caused the spiral, I need to figure it out. I can’t afford to hurt our chances of making the playoffs. The day after we won last year, we all decided we wanted to repeat, and we had the team to do it. If I can’t do my part, I need to step aside.
I avoid everyone on the entire flight home. During the game, after Coach benched me, they’d pat me on the back or shoulder, tell me it’s okay, even though none of this is. I’m not hurt. I’m not bleeding, and I definitely don’t have any bones sticking through my skin. There’s zero excuse for the way I played. I put everything in jeopardy, including Noah. He could’ve gotten seriously hurt, or more than he already is, because of me.