Page 39 of Game Misconduct

sixteen

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Nick

My phone rings as I walk into the practice facility. I scan my security pass at the gate and lift a hand in greeting to the guard, Paul. He nods to me, then goes back to his book.

“Hey, girl,” I say when the line connects. “How’s married life? Keep it PG-13, please.”

Elsy’s melodic laugh chimes in my ears. “You know I won’t give you any dirty details.”

With her exes, sure, she’d divulge things I didn’t want to know about my pseudo-sister. But with Whitney? That’s crossing too many boundaries. He’s a dick; I don’t need to need to know what he does with it. She’s made it clear she’s satisfied, and that’s all that matters.

I keep the details of my hookups—few and far between—close to my chest. Ever since the time she sat me down and said she didn’t like Stephanie, but wouldn’t let that impact our friendship, I’ve held back on giving her the inside scoop. Looking back, I can see why she didn’t like my ex, but at the time, it cut fucking deep. Nobody wants to hear that their best friend hates their girlfriend. No matter how justified she may be.

“How is everything settling in?” Elsy asks. “You doing okay?”

“As well as I can be.”

She sighs. “Okay, real talk. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

I navigate through the halls, finally reaching the lounge and settling onto a sofa in the corner. A few of the other guys are grabbing lunch, and I nod at them, so they leave me alone.

“You just sound… down. You aren’t texting back, and I know the team’s on a winning streak, so⁠—”

“I’m in a shitty place,” I cut in. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s all me.”

“Oh, Mitchy.” She clucks. “What am I going to do with you?”

Goody, she’s patronizing me.

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

“Do I need to send you a fruit basket?” That’s her solution for everything—sending me food. It’s something she’s picked up from Whitney, and I can’t decide if I like it or not. I know she means well. But I don’t need to eat a cookie bouquet the size of my face. Again.

The first time was fun. The second didn’t sit well in my belly. And by the third time, I left it with my doorman because I couldn’t stand the sight of it in my apartment, taunting me.

So she switched to fruit baskets. At least they’re on the nutrition plan.

Although… the bottle of bourbon she sent me after the trade did get put to good use. That one, I didn’t get too upset over.

“Please don’t.” I love my best friend, and I miss her like crazy, but her way of showing she cares sometimes borders on smothering.

“I miss you, Mitchy.” Her voice softens. “I know this trade has been rough, but I’m here for you. Always.”

The cold stone in my chest thaws a smidge. Knowing someone’s seen you at your worst and didn’t walk away? Nothing can break that bond.

“I know, and I appreciate you.”

My next game against Austin isn’t for another ten weeks, right after New Year’s. Luckily, it’s an away game, so I’ll be able to see her, too. Whitney and I usually get together for dinner when we’re playing each other. Sure, we grimace the whole way through. But we do it. We’re putting aside our differences. Or, at least, trying to.

Partners don’t get to travel on the team plane, and although Elsy could book a separate flight, we’re so busy with game prep, we barely have time to say hi-bye-see-you-later. It’s a big ask for her to fly halfway across the country for one meal and maybe coffee the next day.

“I’m thinking of coming up over Thanksgiving,” she says.

“You’re not spending it with Whitney?”