Page 11 of Just Say Yes

My thoughts raced.

Trent’s face flashed in my mind—his charm, the way he had pursued me, convinced me to trust him, to let down walls I didn’t even know I had. And then the aftermath—the cold, empty silence, the texts left unanswered, the way he’d disappeared from my life like I was nothing.

He had taken something I couldn’t get back and left me with nothing but regret. The pain was still there, lingering like an old bruise.

Trent had talked about his best friend, but he’d never given me a real name. He always seemed vaguely jealous of his friend.Maverickwas just a ghost of a person I had always hoped to meet, and suddenly he was in my life—real, tangible.

That twisted the knife even deeper.

I fought the swell of disappointment that bloomed in my chest. Of course Arthur thought his grandson was a good guy, but I knew better.

Logan was best friends with my ex—Lucifer himself, he who shall not be named, the scourge of the earth—and the company you keep says an awful lot about you.

FOUR

LOGAN

The thudof my cleats hitting the hard concrete floor of the locker room echoed in my ears as I trudged toward my locker. The postgame buzz was subdued—understandable, given the way our asses had just been handed to us.

I shoved my bag onto the bench and ripped off my jersey, biting back the sting in my left knee that flared with the movement.

Thirty-four wasn’t old—not in the grand scheme of things. But on the field, surrounded by a sea of twentysomethings with springs in their legs and no concept of limitations, it felt ancient.

A low whistle sounded, and I looked up to see Jack grinning at me. “Rough game, old man.” He was a winger and a decade younger than me. A smirk was plastered on his face as he peeled off his muddy socks.

“Watch it,” I growled, my tone sharper than I intended.

Jack was twenty-four, fast as hell, and one of the younger guys the team had brought on for exhibition matches. He was talented, sure, but the kind of player who didn’t yet understand what he didn’t know.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Relax, Logan. Just saying you could’ve used some WD-40 out there.” He pretended to run in slow motion from the bench. “Grease the wheels a little.”

I shot him a glare that shut him up, but the words stuck.

WD-40. Jesus.

I hated to admit that he might be right. Every ache, every slow recovery, every half-second hesitation on the field, made it feel like I might as well be dead and buried. Every twinge was a whisper of doubt.

Was this the year my body finally said enough?

I wasn’t ready to listen. Not yet. But, damn, it was getting harder to ignore.

The loss stung more than it should have. Exhibition games didn’t count for anything, but they mattered to me. I needed to prove to myself—and to everyone else—that I still had it.

But today I hadn’t.

Since the age of fourteen, my entire life has revolved around rugby. My success and reputation meant everything—it was who I was. It was what got Mom and me out of poverty. One slip could mean losing everything I’d worked for, and if there wasn’t rugby, what the hell else was there?

By the time I hobbled into my apartment later that evening, my frustration was a living, breathing beast.

The small space felt stifling, even though I’d barely decorated it. On the mantel were a few framed pictures of the Olympic team and one of me standing next to Mom as I hoisted a gold medal into the air. Their glossy surfaces caught the fading light through the window.

I dropped my gear by the door and limped to the freezer, grabbing an ice pack and wrapping it around my knee. The stiffness was worse today, but it wasn’t just the physical discomfort that gnawed at me. It was the thought that maybe my body wasn’t going to bounce back the way it always had.

The couch creaked as I sank into it, flipping on the TV for background noise. Some generic small-town news anchor droned about the upcoming fall harvest. I muted it after thirty seconds.

The contrast between this sleepy town and the electric pace of my usual life was glaring. No sprawling cities, no high-stakes tournaments, no constant movement across continents.

And yet the peace here wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

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