The Problem with Players Read Online Brittainy C. Cherry

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
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She called back again.

And again.

It was clear she needed me when the fourth call came in. That was enough to slice through the room's silence—people needed me. Her persistent calls were a telltale sign of that fact. I didn’t have time to freeze because people outside counted on me to defrost myself to help them with their own issues.

I reached for the phone with shaky hands.

“Hello?” I asked as my voice croaked.

“Avery,” Yara cried with a frantic tone, a tone that mirrored the turmoil within my own soul, yet it was external, real, and urgent. Not like my issues. My issues were not as important.

Her tearful tone made me prop myself up to a sitting position.

“Yara. What is it? Are you okay? Is the baby all right? What do you need?” I said, pushing down my own issues to focus on hers. That was the quickest way to knock me out of my darkness. I’d focus on other people’s issues and put mine on the back burner.

“The baby’s fine. It’s just…can you come over? I need you.”

I need you—three words that got me out of bed. I didn’t have time to be sad. I was needed by others. At that moment, the fog of depression that clouded my thoughts began to lift slightly. Not enough to dispel it, but enough to give me a sliver of energy to go to my sister’s to make sure she was all right. That was my job as an older sister, after all. To be altogether for others so they felt safe enough to fall apart.

With a resolve that seemed to come from outside myself, I swung my legs off the bed. My body protested, but I forced myself to stand. The room swayed around me, a sign of the effort it took for me to simply exist at that moment.

I steadied myself.

I had to.

For her.

I’d always steady myself for my sisters.

“I’m on my way. Be there soon,” I told her before hanging up the phone.

After I hung up, I stood still for a moment. I shut my eyes and took in a few deep inhales. Each one was a reminder that I was still here, I was still breathing, and I could still go on.

Then I shook off the shadows hanging on tightly and headed over to Yara’s to make sure she was all right.

“I’m so sorry,” Yara cried, covering her mouth with her hand. She was in a state of full panic as she stood before me wearing her bridesmaid dress, which was clearly too small. The black silk gown set tightly around her stomach as she had a full-blown meltdown. “I tried everything, and I mean everything, to get it on,” she swore. “I even laid down on my stomach to try to have Alex zip it that way, but it wouldn’t get past my hips.” She sobbed.

I sat in front of her on her couch with a slight snicker slipping through me.

“Avery! It’s not funny!” she ordered. “Your wedding is in three weeks, and my dress doesn’t fit! How can I be your matron of honor if my gown doesn’t fit?”

My wedding was in three weeks.

That sent a panic through my system that I wasn’t prepared for.

“It doesn’t matter,” I swore. “You could wear a trash bag, and it would look good, Yara. Who cares?”

“A trash bag is all I’ll be able to fit in soon enough,” she said, still crying, still convinced she would ruin my big day. Truthfully, though, I didn’t care. If I had it my way, my bridesmaids could’ve worn any dress that they felt comfortable in. Wesley had a very different idea of what our wedding would be, though. I never really saw myself as a woman who’d have a wedding, let alone be married, but I knew it was important to Wesley. Therefore, I let him take the lead.

He wanted a formal black-tie event, with the ceremony in our small town, then the reception at a fancy mansion on the outskirts of Chicago, which cost more than I was willing to admit.

Daddy covered many of the wedding costs even though I told him not to. It was just last year when he paid so much for Yara and Alex’s nuptials, yet he said it was not a big deal at all. “I’d been saving up for these days,” he told me. I asked what he would have done with the money if we didn’t get married. He replied, “Given you a big check to use of your free will.”

That was a tempting option to me instead of having a whole wedding. I did not like the spotlight on me, and the idea of wearing a wedding gown all day instead of jeans and a T-shirt was enough to make me groan from discomfort. A nice courtroom wedding would’ve been fine with me. I didn’t need the glints and glimmer. Unfortunately, my fiancé did.



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