“Round three,” he started, arms folded, and taking his time to look at his team, “it’s one hell of an achievement.” I swallowed hard while Joel shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “One game away from the finals.” He nodded and took a few steps, standing more central to where our lockers were. “It’s been fourteen years since the Eagles got so far in the playoffs.” Coach pursed his lips, and fuck, if he said he was prou— “I’m proud of each and every one of you for getting us this far.”
And there it was. Tears sprang to life in my eyes. I lowered my head and stared hard at the tiled floor before squeezing my eyes shut.
“Was tonight’s game your best?” Rather than any acknowledging chuckles, dead silence greeted his words. “I can’t say it was. Ollie, one thing. Go.”
I lifted my head and focused on my captain. My friend deserved my attention.
“We need to make the plays.”
Several of us bobbed our heads, and we went around the team, all of us contributing. Highlighting our errors, taking responsibility, reflecting on a loss was never fun. It was painful as fuck. Disappointment sat like a heavy weight, threatening to crush each of us. It was only Coach’s plain-spoken reactions, countering every single thing we’d screwed up with something each of us had aced that kept me, hell, all of us from spiraling. He was an amazing coach.
When our debrief was over, Coach reminded us to be ready for seven in the morning for the bus to the airport, which immediately made my heart race once again.
Eddie.
Where the fuck was Eddie?
I scrambled for my phone as soon as Coach left, nearly dropping it in my haste.
Something had to be wrong, right? Eddie wouldn’t just not show. But the thought of something not being okay I didn’t like any more.
“Damn, Malcolm, slow your roll. What’s the rush?”
My teammates were blissfully unaware of the anxiety that accompanied every beat of my heart since I’d realized Eddie’s seat was empty. Telling them would be a pretty clear signal about one of the reasons I’d been off my game tonight. I felt like shit, knowing I was going to disappoint them.
“Eddie and Lottie didn’t turn up to tonight’s game,” I admitted, risking a side-eye to Cassius, who’d spoken to me.
A frown dragged his brows low. “Why not? Something wrong?”
I gripped my phone. “That’s what I’m trying to work out.”
Rather than bitch me out, Cassius waited, clearly expecting me to check and tell him what was going on. I woke my phone. A missed call, a voicemail, and three text notifications. Seeing them, I exhaled.
He’d contacted me.
“All good?”
I shrugged at Cassius. “Not sure.” I opened the texts first, reading through them all. The first was sent forty minutes before gametime—when my phone had been on silent.
“Shit.”
Cassius’s chest brushed against me as he peered around me. “Something wrong?”
“Lottie broke her arm. They’re at the hospital.”
“Damn,” he said. “Sucks. Poor kid. Bet she’s pissed she missed the game.”
I bobbed my head. “I expect so.” I read Eddie’s last message again, telling me he was waiting for the X-ray, and he’d be in touch when he knew more. But it was his “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen” that had me frowning.
With no idea what the hell he was talking about, I hit his name in my phonebook, not bothering to step away for some semblance of privacy.
He picked up on the first ring. “Hey.”
The sound of his voice took the wind out of me. I’d been more freaked out than I’d realized. “Hey, she okay?”
The sound of him swallowing reached me before his “Yeah. The doctor just left, saying it was a clean break.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “That’s good. A relief.”
