Page 97 of Delay of Game
“I fucked up, huh?” I wiped my face with my palm.
“Damage was done.” Noa picked up his daughter, cradling her in his arms as she reached for the bottle.
“Did he really turn down the team that drafted him?” I asked.
Broaching the subject of Astrid felt too raw. My throat tightened just thinking about her disappointed frown and the tears threatening her eyes. Fieste…Ethan was a safer subject.
“How did you not know that?” Noa wrestled with the infant for control of the bottle, finally giving up and letting her tiny fists grip it instead.
“I don’t keep up with that shit,” I admitted. “Alright, I didn’t care. I don’t keep track of the rookies. Or the walk ons. Half of them don’t last more than a season or two, anyway. And when you’ve been on as many teams as I have, it’s not worth the effort.”
“Everyone else knew.”
“They could have told me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would it have made a difference?”
“Probably not,” I admitted with a sigh. “I suck. What the hell do I do about it?”
“Where would you like to start on your apology tour?” Lena set a plate of bacon and toast in the center of the table.
“The team might be a good start. Work your way up to Fieste.” Noa moved Kalani onto his shoulder, patting her back.
“And Astrid?” I asked, unsure whether I could claw my way back into her good graces after what a disappointment I’d turned out to be.
He blew out a long breath. “I think you’ve got to decide what you want before you reach out to her again.”
“She was pretty pissed,” Lena added.
Defensiveness flooded my chest. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m keeping her away for her own good. She doesn’t need someone else to look after.”
Lena placed a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table and sat down beside Noa, a frown marring her face. “Who? You?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. And Mila. She’s still young. Astrid doesn’t need a kid.”
“Doesn’t she teach kids? I think she’s qualified to decide if she wants to date a guy with a kid.” Lena piled her plate and then Noa’s.
I followed suit. “It’s not the same.”
Noa shrugged. “Sounds like you’re making excuses that have nothing to do with her.”
“She’s…way too good for someone like me to fuck up.” I buried my emotions in a pile of bacon, jamming two slices into my mouth before I said something else stupid.
If the tension in the locker room faded over the last two weeks, I decimated it with a single accusation. When I stepped into the stadium, conversations stopped mid-sentence and heads turned, but no one said a word to me.
“I suck,” I announced to the weight room. “I’m here to apologize. Where’s Fie…Ethan?”
My teammates eyed each other nervously, no one eager to offer his location. And after last night, I couldn’t exactly blame them.
Jonas, one of the strength coaches, nodded toward the ice baths. “He just got done with weights.”
“Thanks, man.” I clapped him on the back and marched towards the door at the back of the weight room.
I couldn’t have come up with a better place for an apology. Body exhausted and submerged in ice water, Ethan was trapped. I pushed open the door and gratefully found the room empty.
“Hey,” I greeted him, posting up at the end of the bath.
Ethan had his head tipped back, earbuds in. Chunks of ice floated around him. He startled at my greeting, pulling out his headphones and glaring. “What the hell do you want?”
