Page 22 of The No Try Zone
I nod, choosing to focus on Las Vegas instead of the imminent death that it feels like I’m speeding toward. Why can’t I remember more? Matthew…ugh, what was his last name?
“Sam?”
“Mmm?”
“I said you’re really gonna love him.”
I finally look over at Ollie. “Why’s that?”
A tinge of color flushes his cheeks. “He reminds me of Coach back home. I acted like a complete fool when we first met, but there’s something about him. He’s so…I dunno. Wholesome? Helps fill…”
He doesn’t finish the rest, but he doesn’t have to. He helps fill the hole that Dad left when he died. Which is huge. Losing Dad like we did was tough. Massive heart attack in his sleep when we were in high school. No warning. No way to prepare for something like that, and barely a way to recover.
To hear something like this from Ollie is huge. More than huge. So I grin and nod encouragingly. “Yeah? That’s great, Ols.”
“I asked him to be my mentor. It just kind of fell out of my mouth, I didn’t mean to do it, but, yeah.” He shrugs. “He said yes.”
“Ace!” I hold my hand up and he slaps it. “I know that means a lot to you.”
“Yeah.”
“One favor.”
“Anything for you, sis.” He flashes a grin at me.
“Could you try not to kill us on the way there? I’d like to be in one piece when I meet this star coach.”
He laughs. Then speeds up.
By the time we pull up to the new Atlanta Granite coach’s house, I’m in desperate need for that one delicious beer I’m going to allow myself. I climb out of the truck, knees wobbly from the driving and the memory, and stride toward the back. I’m more than a little eager to see if Kari, Elodie and Allyson are here; I’m hoping I can talk Allyson into finally taking pity on me and using those impressive spy skills to find my cowardly husband. Whoever the hell he is.
“Wait up!” Ollie calls.
I do no such thing, pushing through the wooden gate and stepping into a wide, lush backyard. A few kids dart past with water guns, weaving through clusters of people dotted around the lawn. Music streams from somewhere, and I find a table with tubs of beer and ice almost immediately.
I don’t break stride, aiming straight for the beer and twisting the cap off as I raise it to my mouth and take a huge gulp.
“I think I’m in love.”
Keeping the beer at my lips as I swallow again, I turn to see one of the Granite’s players. I’ve not memorized them all yet, but now that I’ve officially accepted the job as one of the team’s physical therapists, it’s only a matter of time. Still, there’s no mistaking this one. Carter Green. Left wing, number eleven. He gives off the same vibes that literally every winger in the history of wingers has given: cocky and incredibly sure of themselves. In most cases, they shouldn’t be, and over the years, I have loved being the older sister who takes the boys down a notch. I lower my beer, but not before taking another fortifying sip.
Finally, I speak. “Carter, right?”
His eyes brighten as he straightens, ready to peacock. “Beautifulandsmart. A dangerous combination.”
I snort. “Why? Because you need your huggers to be vapid little things who don’t think for themselves and don’t plan farther than the next time they can spread their legs for you?”
He barks out a laugh. “Now Ireallylove you. Who are you here with?” He looks around expectantly, and for some reason, I allow my gaze to travel with his.
And then I stop cold.
Because there, standing between team captain Ansel Miles and my baby brother, is Matthew.
Matthew from Las Vegas.
Matthew, my fuckinghusband.
Carter seems to notice my silence because he says, “Oh, that’s the new coach. Have you met him yet?”
