Page 142 of With the Assist

I don’t blame her for the silence. If anything, I respect it. She’s doing exactly what she said she would. Choosing the thing that matters most. Cutting clean instead of letting it bleed out slowly. I should be doing the same.

Hell, I played great tonight. I’ve played great all week. I should go out to celebrate, but I can’t stomach it.

Instead, I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, the city humming faintly through the window.

There’s a knock at my door, and I assume it’s dinner, until the whispers on the other side grow louder. Wyatt laughs about something, and Liam argues with him about where they’re going. Without hearing his voice, I know Grayson is there, too.

The knock comes again, louder this time, as if to emphasize they won’t be leaving unless I answer. So, I push the door open, already halfway back to my bed by the time it hits the wall.

Wyatt is dressed in his usual laid-back, dark colors. Liam follows, jacket slung over his shoulder, tapping something into his phone. Grayson brings up the rear, eyes sweeping the room in one slow, assessing pass.

They all stop when they see me in my sweats, barefoot with my hair unbrushed. I ignore the stares, yanking my food out of Wyatt’s hands.

He just blinks. “Wow. This is bleak.”

“Jesus,” Liam says. “Did we lose? Why do you look like we lost?”

“We won.” I pull a fry out of the bag and pop it into my mouth. Maybe if I’m quiet, they’ll leave.

Liam squints at me. “You sure?”

“I’m not going out,” I add before they even ask.

Wyatt scoffs. “Didn’t ask.”

“Yes, you did. With your eyes.”

“I didn’t ask you shit with my eyes.”

“You two done flirting?” Grayson eyes the two of us, ever the mediator.

Liam drops onto the chair by the desk. “Come on, man. You need to get out of your head.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Wyatt rolls his eyes. “You look like a man who’s about to watch three straight hours of SportsCenter and pine after a girl that didn’t choose you.”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Liam slaps his arm.

“I’m just saying he’s not fine.” Wyatt shrugs, clueless and careless as always.

“I ordered food,” I say, as if that settles the matter.

Liam snorts.

They start talking over each other then, but I get the gist. I’m Nathan Wilder. I’m on a hot streak. I should be celebrating. It is all true and totally irrelevant.

“Get a drink,” Wyatt says. “Get two.”

Liam grins. “Get a rebound.”

My stomach twists so hard it actually pisses me off.

“Don’t.”

He raises his hands. “What? I’m being supportive.”

“I said don’t.”