Page 17 of Hard Count
“Frankie, I would say I’m sorry but you aren’t the person I need to say that to.”
“No, I’m not.” She juts a hip and glares at me.
“Can you please give me your address or her number so I can call her?”
She scoffs. “I don’t think so. If she wanted to talk to you, she would.”
Irritated with myself and frustrated with the situation, I take a pleading step in her direction. Eli cuts me off with his phone in his hand. “I texted you their address.”
“Elijah!” Frankie screeches. “You can’t do that,” she says to him and then turns to me. “She may not even be home. She was having dinner with her dad.”
The thought of her spending time with her dad by herself adds a new layer of worry. They weren’t in a good place the last time I saw her. She was hurt by both of us. I glance at my watch. It’s ten o’clock. She has to be home by now and if she’s not, I’ll wait for her.That wouldn’t be weird at all.
“Are you good here?” I ask Eli. It's just him and Ozzy home tonight. Gage had other plans. He's been acting a little off ever since we came back to school. I'm not sure what's happening with him. He rarely missed a party last year and now it's a complete one-eighty.
“Yeah, Oz and I will get everything shut down in a few hours.” He nods to Ozzy whose arm is carefully placed on his girlfriend’s shoulder. She drops her hand on his knee and he about jumps out of his seat. “See what I mean.” Eli chuckles. “Awkward.”
“But funny,” I agree. “Are you going to tell her I’m on my way?” I ask Frankie.
“What do you think?” she sasses.
“Can you at least give me a five minute start?” I ask, handing Eli my beer.
She huffs but sets a timer on her phone anyway. “Three minutes and I’m texting her.”
“I’ll take what I can get. Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask Eli. Hesitantly he follows me toward the basement door. “Are you going to be okay with Frankie and her…friend?”
“It won’t be a problem.” He cracks his neck before glancing in her direction. They aren’t dancing but they're talking intimately.
I nod. I had a feeling that would be his answer whether it was true or not. “Any chance you can distract her for me?”
“She looks pretty distracted already,” he grumbles. Then walks in the opposite direction toward the kitchen.Damnit.
“Tick tock,” Frankie mouths silently as she taps her wrist full of gold bracelets.
With a groan I yank open the door to the basement and rush down the stairs to grab my car keys. I hesitate a moment by my nightstand before opening the drawer and collecting all the papers with Drew’s notes.
It’s only a five minute drive to her apartment. I don't know what I can say to make her help after the way everything went down this week. I should tell her the truth but I'm not sure if that's something either one of us are ready to confront.
I knock on her door a few times and wait. The apartment complex is nice. It’s not one of the newer ones on campus but it looks like it’s well maintained and relatively safe. Why does that give me a sense of relief?
“Go away, Nash,” she yells through the door.
“I can’t do that. Not until I talk to you. If you don’t want to answer the door, fine. I’ll say what I need to from here and hope the message is clear.” I pause to see if she’ll let me in but I’m greeted with silence.
Here goes nothing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder with your dad. I should have told him we do this with youor not at all. I shouldn’t have left his office without him knowing it was you that had me seeing the game in a whole new light.”
One of her neighbors exits their apartment. I offer them a brief nod. I already know there’ll be gossip about this tomorrow. Hopefully they don’t know it’s Coach’s daughter behind the door. That’s all I need right now.
“Thank you,” I say, once the hallway clears. “Without you we probably would've lost the game.”
The door swings open. “Probably?” She glares up at me but I’m distracted by her oversized sweatshirt, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. Her long, blonde hair is free in loose waves that frame her face. She's not wearing any makeup and all of her freckles I like so much are glowing in the fluorescent hallway lighting. It’s also impossible to miss the dark circles under her eyes. Is it from the lack of sleep or stress?
Stepping forward, I rest my shoulder against the door frame. “The team isn’t bad. We’re playoff contenders even without this.” I pull the rolled up papers from the back pocket of my jeans.
“Then do it without me. Go win Newhouse another championship.” She starts to close the door.
“I don’t want to do it without you,” I say, holding the door open with my forearm. Her eyes widen at my confession.
