“Rider is free to bed whoever he pleases, as we are not dating. Now please get off my porch.”
Free to bed whoever he pleases.
That does not sit right with me. The idea of sleeping with random girls has zero appeal. It hasn’t for a while, if I’m being honest. Even having my usual fuckbuddy situation doesn’t feel right these days.
I mull over what she said, about not needing a conversation to commit to someone, not if you want them badly enough.
And I’m starting to wonder if Gabby meets that criteria, whether she means to or not.
Except I’m not in a position to pursue her. No matter how badly I want her.
26
RIDER
I rap on the door,and Sully calls out for me to enter.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I love Sully like a father, but paternal relationship or not, no one wants to get called into his office.
“Have a seat.”
I drop into one of the plastic chairs in front of his desk. At this point in his career, he could get nicer chairs for his office, but he’s so old school, I’m not sure he’s ever considered it.
His rheumy eyes study me for a second, and I make an effort to not squirm. “How you doing? Saturday was rough, but you pulled out a win. Wanna talk about it?”
He does this sometimes after an emotional game, has these heart-to-hearts, but usually in the locker room. I must be really putting out some fucked-up vibes for him to do this right now. In the last three years, I’ve had rough games—losses even—that have only gotten me a pat on the back and a “hang in there, kid.”
I run my hand through my hair and push it out of my eyes. “I couldn’t find my rhythm in the first half. I know I let you down.”
“Nonsense. You got yourself back up again at halftime like any good leader does, regrouped, rallied your guys, and pulled out a win. I’m wondering if you wanna talk about what’s going on in your head. What’s been bothering you all week.”
I nod slowly. There’s a reason we all view Sully like some kind of guru. He has this way of looking into you and pinpointing what’s wrong. It’s why so many of his old players stay in touch with him. Because he really cares, and I swear he can see shit other people can’t.
Swallowing, I rub my palms along my thighs. Time to bite the bullet.
“Got some news last week that’s been messing with my head.” And my pregame routine. Sleep. Homework. Sex life. Social life. The works.
But I think of that toothless grin Poppy gave me this morning before I left her with Bree, and my heart melts a little. That kid wrapped me around her pinky faster than Cal Winston’s release off the line.
She slept clinging to me like she was afraid to let go, which is better than crying. But still. I can’t get her down at bedtime the way Gabby does, and I can only ask the woman for help so many times a day. I know this is my problem and mine alone.
His chair creaks as he leans back and steeples his fingers over his stomach. “Tell me about it. Let’s work through this. I want you clear-headed for our away game this weekend.”
Son of a bitch.I need to get someone to watch her while I’m gone.
He taps a finger on his desk. “This about a girl? Nine times out of ten, when I have to call one of you in here, it’s about a girl.” He chuckles.
Immediately, Gabby comes to mind, and I almost agree with him.
Except,no,I remind myself.
Wait.I guess he’s right in a way.
Fuck, I can’t even think straight anymore.
“Yes, this is about a girl.” I pause. Take a breath and try not to let my balls crawl up. I’m worried I’m letting him and the team down. I haven’t spoken to my own father in weeks—he hasn’t called me since I almost emptied my bank account to pay his rent and buy him groceries. But Sully is here worrying about me. I owe him the truth. “It’s about my daughter.”
His eyebrows lift. “Come again?”
