Page 8 of A Little Too Forward

Stunned that she’s talking to me, I swallow and think about what I should say next. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have her close up on me. She’s telling me this for a reason, I think. It’s a small step toward us being civil again.

“Why?” is the genius response I have.

“I’d taken over live reporting when the lead got in an accident and theSphereneeded another analyst to step in. I was doing an amazing job—I know I was,” she says with no ego in her voice. It was fact. “But they gave the full-time gig to a male colleague.”

“Who?” I ask, the word out of my mouth instantly. I was absolutely bewildered they didn’t see her talent. I would never tell Sabrina this, not right now, at least, but I’d been watching her blossom as a sports reporter over the last few years. I had been secretly hoping that sometime soon, she would be made to interview me in between periods just so that I would get the chance to interact with her.

“Robert Chamberlain.”

“Are you fucking for real?” I bellow. “That guy’s a complete idiot. I almost punched him the last time he disrespected Crane. And he can’t pronounce any last name that isn’t a colour.”

That gets a giggle out of her.

“Oh, trust me, I am aware of what a complete moron he is. But the higher-ups”—she uses air quotations—“think he’s a better fit for the role.”

There are a million things I could say right now. I could point out the injustice of it all, how bad of a mistake they’ve made, or even continue belittling Robert. It would get a reaction out of her; it would let her know I’m just as mad as she is.

But it wouldn’t really help. And I desperately want to help her.

“I’m sorry, Bean,” I finally whisper out. “That really sucks, and I’m sorry.”

Her head slowly swivels to me, her eyes wide. I brace myself for tears, ready to offer my sleeve if needed. In true Sabrina fashion, she surprises me.

Taking a deep, stuttering inhale, she nods. “Thanks.”

We hold gazes for a long moment. I’m hoping she’ll say something else and I’ll be able to stay with her for a little longer, but the slam of the front door ruins the moment.

Sabrina jumps from the chair and reaches for the half-empty plate of pickles.

“These are coming with me,” she states, then heads back into the house.

Twisting to watch her until she disappears inside, I silently celebrate when she’s out of my line of sight. We talked! She didn’t yell at me or insult me. Our first chat in over a decade was a success.

Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I text my dad to let him know I’m heading out and will see him and Mom in a few weeks. I feel lighter than air as I make my way back to my car and head out.

The one thought that stays with me for the rest of the day is how I can get Sabrina back in my everyday life and if there is any way to help her.

Because if there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s winning.

CHAPTER FOUR

MAX

“You look like a dead man walking.”

I’ve been staring at the back of a plush bus seat for who knows how long when I hear Mason’s voice.

“I’m sitting,” I inform him, blinking up, unsmiling. I watch, still in a bit of a trance, as he shoves his bags on the double seats across the aisle from me.

“Whatever. What I meant was you look like shit, but you’re alive. So you must have run into Sabrina.”

“Yeah. I did.”

The bus begins to fill with my other teammates, and the quiet solitude I was previously enjoying vanishes. It’s a nice distraction from my thoughts as Sabrina’s voice is still circling in my head.

“You okay, Max Speed?” Sidney Crane, the team’s goalie, asks, his body hanging over the back of my seat. The absurdity of the man breaks my glum mood.

“He just had a run-in with a childhood friend who stopped talking to him when he signed with the NHL.”

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