Page 35 of Second Quarter Comeback
The thing is, I don’t have a plan. Not yet. But I know one thing: I’m not giving up. Not on her. Not this time.
Because even if she doesn’t believe it—especially if she doesn’t believe it—I’m not the same guy who walked away all those years ago.
I’m going to prove it to her, even if it kills me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Killion
What to Expect When Your Family Meddles
I’m back at home late, and in the few hours I could get some rest, I’m . . . well, restless. Even after my morning swim—the one sacred ritual that usually drowns out the noise in my head—I’m back to pacing my penthouse like I’m auditioning for the roleof the world’s most pathetic rom-com lead. The worst part? Ben, the allegedly adorable orange tabby, is perched on the balcony railing, basking in the January sun like he’s a Mediterranean prince on holiday. Meanwhile, I’m two espressos deep, spiraling.
Ben stretches, flexing his absurdly tiny, murder-capable claws, then turns to shoot me a look through the glass. It’s not a regular cat look. No, this is judgment incarnate. If he could talk, I imagine he’d sound like an old-school English butler saying,Pull yourself together, man. She’s not going to be impressed with this.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I shout. Ben yawns in response, the picture of indifference, and then does that dramatic cat thing where he flops over onto his side like his only worry is whether the sunbeam will shift.
Lucky little asshole.
I drop onto the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at my phone like it’s going to spontaneously combust into a set of instructions for winning Camille back. I know what I want to say to her—I’ve rehearsed it so many times I could perform it as a TED Talk—but saying it isn’t enough. I need a moment. Something bold. Something unforgettable. Something that screams,I’ve evolved from the emotionally stunted idiot you once knew.
Ben meows again, louder this time, and I swear it sounds like,Tick-tock, buddy, your time is almost up.
Grabbing my phone, I scroll to Leif’s contact and hit call before I can talk myself out of it. The secondring barely finishes before he picks up, his voice already saturated with that signature smirk of his.
“Well, well,” Leif drawls. “To what do I owe this honor? Don’t tell me you’re calling to gloat about having the best game of your season. Wait—no. That’s not your ‘I’m amazing’ voice. This is something else. What happened? Did you finally figure out how to parallel park?”
“I think I’m about to do something crazy,” I blurt out, skipping past hello, because time and pride aren’t on my side right now.
Leif laughs, low and lazy, like he’s leaning back in a chair somewhere. “Crazy like you bought a yacht crazy, or crazy like you’re thinking of running for public office? Because if it’s the latter, you should really call Kaden. He’s got that politician’s fake smile locked down.”
“Leif,” I snap. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Do you need the number for a therapist? Or, I don’t know, a life coach? Maybe a priest? Because from the sound of your voice, you’re one breakdown away from joining a monastery.”
“You’re hilarious,” I mutter. “I hope your dog eats one of your favorite shoes.”
“She’s a very well educated lady, I doubt she’ll ever do anything so beneath her,” he says because his dog is the most well trained dog in the world. “You calling me to vent, or do you want to swing by this weekend so we can discuss your game and bad decisions over tequila?”
“Did you watch the game last night?” I ask, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.
“Nothing else was on, and I needed a laugh,” he says, but there are laughs crackling on the other end of the line.
“Oh, we’ve got company,” I say, wondering if he has some chick for the weekend which will be weird since he doesn’t date when the hockey season is on. “Should I call back later?”
“Nah, it’s just Hailey,” he says like she’s not the center of his entire universe. He’s fooling no one but himself. The guy’s been orbiting her since high school, insisting she’s just a friend.
“You know, you’re going to lose her if you don’t get your act together.” Unfortunately, I say that from experience.
“And you’re going to stay miserable if you don’t get to the point of this call,” he fires back smoothly, as if I haven’t just warned him. “What’s this crazy idea of yours? I assume it has something to do with your new neighbor?”
I freeze, my grip tightening on the phone. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, just a wild guess. Kade already told us who moved in next door. Don’t growl at me—it’s not like he was gossiping. Okay, maybe he was. And now we’re all dying to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“You all?” I repeat, incredulous. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“All the Crawfords, obviously. We’re taking bets.Even the ones who don’t know hockey from figure skating—that’d be Val. And, for the record, Dad said, ‘Stop meddling in your brother’s life.’ Though he probably didn’t say meddling. He’s not that polite. Pop only growled something about ‘not this again.’”
