Page 82 of On the Line

After my stitches, I shower and change as quickly as I can, skipping the celebration in the locker room so I can go meet Lauren.

I saw her for a brief minute before we took the ice, but since she was working, I couldn’t push her up against the wall and kiss the shit out of her. She was so in her element, telling everyone what to do and where to go, and it was unbelievably hot to see her exert control as she orchestrated media coverage, sponsors, and even the players.

I can’t wait to get back to her place tonight and show her how much I missed her. And then we need to have the hard conversation I’ve been dreading since I learned about Sophia.

I find her on the club level, exactly where she texted me she’d be. She’s got her head tucked in conversation with her friends Jackson and Sierra. She’d told me they were going to be in town for the weekend, and staying at a hotel in the city. I know they all have plans together tomorrow, so hopefully they won’t mind me stealing her away tonight.

I reach out and tap Lauren’s shoulder once I’ve come up behind her, and she spins around, pressing her entire body into mine and squeezing her arms around me so tight it’s hard to breathe.

“Missed you,” I whisper against the top of her head as I breathe in the scent of her.

“Missed you more,” she says, then tilts her chin up and gasps when she sees the stitches along my jaw. “I didn’t realize it was that bad!”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The area is still numb, but I’m sure it’ll hurt again once the novocaine wears off.

We chat with Lauren’s friends for a few minutes, and I’m about to suggest I take Lauren home when I hear, “Jameson!” The man’s voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. When I glance up, I see Lauren’s neighbor, Greg, barreling toward us.

* * *

LAUREN

Jameson looks uneasy as the man approaches us. Seems like the guy’s a fan, and it makes me wonder if this happens a lot, or only at games.

“When we met the other morning,” he says, holding his hand out for Jameson to shake, “I didn’t realize who you were. Then there you were tonight, on the jumbotron!”

“Yeah,” Jameson says, pulling his hand back. “Good to see you again. Could we catch up another time?”

“Sure. Good to see you,” the man says, then as he turns to leave, he catches sight of me. “Oh, you’re my new neighbor. I see you and the kids coming and going, but with the weather I haven’t really had a chance to introduce myself. I met Jameson the other morning when we were both taking the trash out real early.”

The guy seems nice enough, so I extend my hand. “Hi, I’m Lauren.”

“I’m Greg. I’m so glad you’ve done so much to the house. The last owners were just starting a renovation when he died in a ski accident—”

Jameson puts his hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Like I said, let’s catch up later.”

“Wait!” My voice is surprisingly firm, given that I feel like I can’t breathe. “The last owners? Plural?”

Greg looks at Jameson, who gives him a nearly infinitesimal shake of his head, so slight he was probably hoping I wouldn’t notice. “You know what,” Greg says, “I already told Jameson everything I know about Josh and Sophia. I’ll let him share with you.”

Jameson closes his eyes and his jaw ticks.

“Nice to meet you, Lauren,” Greg says, and then he’s walking away.

“Let me see if I got that right. Josh was renovating that house with another woman, who he presumably was having an affair with? And you knew about it?” I need to get control of myself, because I’m fuming and I’m technically at work. But I’m confused, and upset, and horrified that he could know something like this and not tell me.

Jameson’s voice is low and reassuring when he says, “I only found out the other morning as I was leaving, and I planned to talk to you about it tonight.”

Behind me, I feel Jackson and Sierra’s hands on me—supportive and reassuring. I take a deep breath and look up at him. “So you’ve known for three days?”

“Not even, and I was in LA—”

“You weren’t in LA when you found out!” I know my anger should be directed at Josh for his betrayal, more than at Jameson for knowing about it and not telling me immediately. But it’s hard to direct your anger at someone who’s dead, and Jameson is standing right here.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I had more information to share with you. Which I just got last night,” he says, and when I raise my eyebrows at the idea that he’s had that information for twenty-four hours, he plows on with, “but I wanted to tell you in person, so I could be there for you when you were understandably upset.”

He reaches out like he’s going to take my hand, but I step back. Jackson and Sierra each wrap an arm around me, supporting me.

And then tears are pricking my eyes even as I will myself to be stronger. I just helped run one of the most successful fundraising events in the history of the Rebels, and I’m standing here about to cry, instead of basking in the success of my big night. Why? Is this what happens when I let another man into my life? He hurts me just like the first one did?

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