Page 46 of Fighting Chance

“Nothing about this is okay.”

“W-well no but…” He sighs, closing the trunk and clapping me on the shoulder, no doubt trying to catch my eye. “I’m right here, Ashford. You’ve got this, and if you don’t, I’ll be right there beside you.”

Meaning every word he vowed, Grayson remains by my side like glue as we walk into the arena together. All the while, I chant the mantra over and over in my mind.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

Grayson won’t stop staring at me.

Probably because I haven’t been able to rip my tongue from the roof of my mouth long enough to form a coherent sentence. I’ve never been so terrified to let someone down.

The last time I felt this way was when I accidentally broke one of Allie’s favorite paintings. Grayson tried to assure me it was fine but I was so nervous to tell her I ended up puking all over her shoes instead.

And telling my team I have a daughter is making my stomach roll.

Irving also won’t shut the fuck up, which doesn’t help matters.

“I swear to God, she said she was from Switzerland. A Swiss! Do you know how attractive Swiss women are?”

“Yes, because you’ve been yapping about her all fucking morning, but I’m sure that won’t stop you,” Johnson grumbles from the other end of the locker room.

Irving fists his hands on his hips. “You’re just a grumpy old bastard.”

“And you’re a young pesky fly that won’t stop fucking bothering everyone.”

“No one’s bothered by me.” Irving looks around the locker room, waiting for someone to back him up, but when it remains quiet, he deflates. “What the hell, guys? I’m not annoying!”

Mitchel strides into the locker room, dropping his duffel on the floor. He takes one look at Irving and sighs. “Jesus Christ, Johnson, don’t make the poor kid fucking cry again.”

Irving’s eyes bug out of his head. “He only made me cry once!”

Johnson looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. “Fucking hell,Irving, just stop your jabbering about your Swiss woman and we’ll be okay.”

Mitchel’s brows rise. “You banged a Swiss?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t fucking believe the story I have to tell you.”

At that, the entire locker room groans.

Usually I wouldn’t mind Irving’s stories—they’re legendary and funny as fuck—however he’s told it every time a player walked through the locker room doors. I’ve heard it eleven times already.

Johnson growls under his breath, rushing for Irving and crowding his space as he hisses, “If you tell that goddamn story one more time, I’m going to buy Swiss cheese and shove it so far down your throat you’ll never speak again. Got it?”

Irving gives him a small smile before patting him on the head like a dog. “Seems like someone forgot to pull the stick out of their ass this morning.”

“No one wants to hear about the Swiss woman!”

“I do,” Mitchel declares with a wave of his hand, dooming us all.

“All right, who’s ruining Swiss women for Johnson?” Ellington asks as he rounds the corner.

Johnson points incredulously at Irving. “That fucker! He’s ruining dating Swiss women for me!”

Ellington tsks. “That should be a crime, Irving.”