Page 41 of Until He Scores

I threw my phone on my desk before scrubbing my face. Even as I tried to reconcile my feelings about the messed-up situation Thierry and I were in, the sinking of my heart and the turn of my stomach said what I’d been denying all along. I was in love with Thierry, but our time had passed. Had things gone differently all those years ago, and I hadn’t been such a dick to him because I didn’t want to hold him back, maybe there’d be an us.

No. I shut him out because I couldn’t handle being kissed by my best friend. I had to stop lying to myself. I wasn’t altruistic.

Fuck!I hated circling thoughts.

Nothing good ever came from them.

When my phone rang, hope filled me. Then just as quickly disappeared.July.Disappointment settled within me like a heavy weight. On the third ring I answered. “Hey, July. What do I owe the pleasure of a phone call? Did you want to get a tattoo?”

“We’re going to theMountaineer’sgame tonight,” she said with a laugh. “You’re coming with us.”

I blinked, not sure I’d heard her right. “Us?”

“Yes,” she replied mischief coloring her tone. “We’ll have fun. You can even wear Thierry’s jersey—er sweater—or whatever they’re called.”

“Sweater... I don’t know if I should,” I said then stuttered out, “W-Why?”

“Well, whatever they’re called. They’re heavy, warm, and Wes likes it when it’s all I wear sometimes.”

Not something I needed to know about. “Um, TMI?”

She laughed again. “Look, just be ready at seven. See you then.”

July hung up before I could say another word, throwing me into a tailspin. If they’d been doing this to Thierry while he dealtwith a sleazy ex or whatever the hell he and Derrick were now, I couldn’t blame the guy for not wanting to answer my calls. Nevertheless, I checked my schedule for the day to make sure I didn’t have any late appointments then I set out to get ready for my three-thirty. I cut a three-hour block for the piece, which only gave me a half hour to shower and “be ready,” like she said.

I swear I’m going to make them matchmaker patches for their kuttes.

I’d only had seconds to spare by the time I traipsed down the stairs of my apartment and came around the front of the building when July drove up. Swore I heard her a block away. She rolled down the passenger window when she stopped and told me to hop in. In the back was Kayan, Posey—Hunter’s wife, and Ireland—Mack’s wife. Each of them had some kind ofMountaineergear on, from hockey sweaters to shirts or wristbands. They’d also painted their cheeks with theMountaineerlogo.

It appeared I was a little underdressed.

As if reading my thoughts, July threw aThunderbirds’sweater at me with Thierry’s name on it. The heavy materialappeared to be an authentic sweater worn during a game. The question of how she got it sat on the tip of my tongue, but I shoved the inquiry aside and shrugged out of my jacket to put it on.

“That asshole better not be there tonight,” Ireland said. “He’s been hanging on Thierry’s ass for way too long.”

A round of agreements filled the interior of the car.

“Man,” Kayan said, “Wes and the guys should’ve come with us tonight. Taught him a lesson in manners. You don’t poach.”

“You forgot they’re our babysitters for the night,” July reminded her.

“Should’ve brought them anyway,” she grumbled. “Maybe they’d chase Derrick back under his sewage covered rock.”

“Venomous,” I said, glancing at her. “Why do you hate the guy so much?”

She gave me a look that screamed, “as if,” then curled her lip in disgust. “Haven’t you seen the gossip about him?”

I had and the guy pissed me the fuck off. But I was biased. I’d rather have an outside opinion before I was called jealous. “Tell me.”

“Well, if you listen to Dickwad’s fans, Thierry is a self-absorbed hockey douche with a penchant for hitting his partners and cheating on them. The truth is, there have been times over the years when Thierry wasn’t playing, and he had bruises on his face. Derrick also had a wandering eye and when Thierry got hurt this last time, douche-baggins jet-setted off to St. Lucia to be with his sidepiece.”

“Yep,” July agreed. “Worst part, Thierry never asked for help. He never drew attention to himself and sure as fuck never came home.”

“So,” I said, trying to tamp down my anger, “y’all saw this and no one stepped in?”

“Why would they?” Ireland snorted. “Thierry didn’t ask for help nor had the words to ask for help. I understand exactly where he’s been and where he is now. That shit gets stuck in your head. It’s imprinted on your memories. You don’t know who will believe you or who you can trust. Believe me, I’ve given Mack a run for his money more times than I like to think about.”

“It’s what the abuser counts on.” Posey’s soft voice surprised me. “Isolate, control, strike. I bet Thierry doesn’t trust himself let alone anyone else.”

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