Page 98 of Delay of Game
The carefully planned apology I’d mapped out in the car escaped me. The perfect lines I’d come up with jumbled together into an incoherent mess. I raked a hand through my hair, sucking in a fortifying breath, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“I want to accept your apology.”
Ethan’s jaw dropped. Not the reaction I’d expected.
“Oh, great,” he deadpanned after an awkward moment. “Three months later, you want to accept my apology? Well, bad news, it’s rescinded. Fuck you. I wish I’d actually fucked up your leg.”
I winced. “Okay. I deserve that. I wanted to very belatedly accept your apology. Then, I wanted to apologize. I am a shitty teammate.”
Ethan sat up in the pool, eyes wary. “What else?”
“I am a terrible captain and an even worse mentor. I didn’t give a shit about you at the beginning of the season, and the offsides hit just gave me a reason to continue to not give a shit.”
“You’re not done.” Ethan pitched forward, his arms folded over his knees.
“I mean, I don’t really regret making you take us out to dinner, but I clearly should have stopped there. Asking you to take Astrid out was completely out of line, and how I treated you when you actually did what I asked sucked.”
He sat back with a nod. “And?”
“And I should have figured out you were too good to go undrafted in a league with a pitiably low number of competent middle linebackers?”
“Keep going.” His voice stayed as smooth as velvet. Unbothered and unwilling to accept my damn apology.
“Keep going? That’s it. It’s more apologizing than I’ve done in the entirety of my career. What else do you want? Because I hate to tell you, but there’s nothing else to give.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” he asked. “Sincere apologies are accompanied by a change in behavior. If you think standing here and telling me you’re an asshole is gonna change anything, I’ve got bad news for you: I already know you’re an asshole. An ‘I’m Sorry I’m an Asshole’ apology isn’t fixing anything.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. How many times had I told Mila something nearly identical? The rookie had a point. “I’ll stop giving you shit during practice. And you can shadow me when I’m talking to the coaches.”
He weighed the offer, working it over with a bob of his head. “And I want to go over game film with you. At least once a week.”
I tipped my head back. “I hate game film.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got questions during the game, and I know that’s not a good time to ask. I want to go over some of your moves, figure out how you’re making decisions on the field so I can get to your level.”
I bit back my prediction that he couldn’t reach my level. He could, but he needed a good tutor. He needed me. “Fine. One hour a week.”
“And an hour of practice.”
“You’re pushing it,” I warned.
He gritted his jaw. “I just want to practice with you. You don’t even have to add another hour. An hour when you’re already running plays and working with the coaches, I want to be there too, running them alongside you.”
I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. He asked for a lot, but then again, I owed him. “Okay. One hour of game film, one hour of practice. Are you done?”
“And Gracie?”
My heart lodged in my throat. I didn’t want to talk to my best friend about Astrid. I certainly didn’t want to talk to him.
“Have you talked to her yet?”
I shook my head.
“Good. I’m stuck on this team with you and I burned too many bridges not to spend a few more years on the roster. So, I have to put up with you. But Gracie? She doesn’t need your bullshit or your trash apology.”
“Are you giving me tips now?” I asked, only half-joking. My eyes slipped to the hickey still bruising his neck, nausea sliding through my body.
He pressed his palm to his neck, rubbing it. “Gracie’s a friend, and you treat her like shit. So, no, I don’t have any tips for you. No more than I’ve already given.”
