Page 78 of Scoring Position

He meant to stop there, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t when Nico’s face looked like that. “You deserve better than me anyway.”

Nico stared at him. His face was blotchy and his lips were chapped and his expression…. Ryan knew that well. That was the expression Nico had worn in the beginning of the season, when the Fuel were awful and Nico couldn’t score and he thought everything was his fault.

“Fuck you, Ryan,” he said quietly. “Find your own way home.”

RYAN SATin his car and let his engine idle as he stared at the picture-perfect house lit up by street lights.

He didn’t want to go inside, but he dreaded the other options more. Living with your boyfriend left you in a bind if you had a big argument and didn’t want to go home.

He had hightailed it home after the fight, easily beating Nico despite having to call for a ride, and after a moment of indecision, grabbed his go bag and left. He hated driving, but the thought of staying in the house, waiting for Nico to come home, made him want to climb the walls. So he’d left and driven around aimlessly.

It might be cowardly, but he wasn’t ready to go a second round, to face Nico’s anger and disappointment. Or worse, his resignation. But if Ryan didn’t go home to face him, where could he go?

He had the money for a hotel room, but being in his “home town” made that prospect dicey. If he got caught, and he probably would, the internet would have a field day—hell, the beat reporters would have a field day. The rumors would ramp up, and it would come up again and again, especially if Nico or Ryan played badly—or God forbid, better—over the next few games.

Which left option three—staying with a friend.

Ryan did not want to air his dirty laundry to anyone, especially not this. Dating Nico had been a dumb move, and having a fight bad enough to chase him out of the house? Well, no one else on the team would be any more impressed by Ryan’s choices than he was. But he didn’t have any friends in Indianapolis outside of the team.

Which left him in his current dilemma—go home, or confess part of what had happened to one of his teammates. The only other teammates he was close to were Yorkie, Kitty, and Chenner, and the thought of telling a nineteen-year-old who couldn’t get laid about his current relationship drama made him want to shrivel up and die. Kitty was in the hospital, and if Ryan told him what happened with Nico, Kitty would make him wish hehadshriveled up and died. Ryan only had one option.

Sighing, Ryan turned off his car, grabbed his bag, and headed for the house.

“Ryan?” Yorkie stood in his front doorway, backlit by a warm glow. He frowned and quickly took in everything, including the bag.

Ryan tried not to flinch. “Hey, Pudding,” he said, aiming for charming and failing. “Can I crash here tonight?”

Yorkie’s eyebrows shot up, but he stepped aside to let Ryan in. He watched silently as Ryan took off his boots and coat, and then led him to the kitchen. He shut the door on the way to the den, cutting off the sound of a low murmur.

“Sorry for interrupting your evening,” Ryan said with a wince.

Yorkie waved him off. “Don’t worry about that. Have you eaten?”

“No.” He hadn’t felt like it. Still didn’t, but he knew better than to argue with his captain when he pulled some leftovers from the fridge and fixed a plate.

Once they were settled in the breakfast nook with two beers and the food, Yorkie said, “So, I want to respect your privacy, bud, but I got to pry.”

Ryan made a face and shoved a forkful of casserole into his mouth. As much as he didn’t want to talk about it, he knew that Yorkie deserved answers.

“I need to know anything relevant to the team,” he said gently.

“Yeah,” Ryan croaked and slugged his beer. “We had a fight. I know, world’s shittiest timing.” He shrugged and tried to play it off. “Sometimes you just don’t want to be in close quarters after a blowout, you know?”

Yorkie watched him for a moment, and Ryan ate some more. He thought the casserole might actually be decent, but it tasted like ash.

“Look,” Yorkie said slowly, “you don’t have to tell me the sordid details—in fact, please don’t—but this fight, was it as teammates, roommates, or…?”

Ryan flinched.

“Because if the fight was between lovers, then it’s none of my business unless you want to share.” Yeah, no thanks. “And beyond helping to make sure it doesn’t affect the locker room, I’m happy to stay out it.”

Ryan resisted the urge to say anything, not wanting to confirm or deny.

“But I got to know what the play is. Do I need to run interference? Are you planning on making up in the morning and being disgustingly cute again by the end of the week?” Ryan’s stomach curdled and he pushed away the food. Yorkie hissed. “That bad?”

“That bad,” he agreed.

“Well, shit.” Yorkie drank his beer and they sat in silence. “To be honest, I was not prepared for this. You two are so… you, I wasn’t actually worried about a breakup.”

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