Page 48 of The Home Grown
“The playoffs last year. Langer opted to aim a dirty hit at me and I ended up in the hospital. Concussion. My mam took it to the extreme and kept me at home all summer, which meant my job was off the cards.”
He looks down at his shoes and the memory of Mike’s brother, Jeremy, rises to the surface. He died from a head injury, and it was heartbreaking. A swell of emotion creeps through my chest and all I want to do is reach out and squeeze him tight.
But I don’t.
“Oh, my God. That’s awful,” I say instead, putting a hand over my mouth.
“It wasn’t ideal,” Mike says. “But he knew I was a problem for him, and he targeted me specifically. Though, the jokes on him because we won, anyway. Honestly—everyone talks about death and taxes being dead certs, but there’s a third thing that no one mentions.” He pauses, only offering me insight when I raise my brow. “Rick Langdon having it out for me. He knows I’m better than him.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Rick I know,” I say, though I’m not sure why. “He seems laid back and—” I’m about to say ‘flirty’ but Mike’s scowl deters me.
“He’s not laid back,” he snaps. “Honestly, I reckon it’s because he’s probably in Matt Rodgers’ inner circle or something.”
Mike reaches for the bottle of Macallen and pours himself another measure.
“I don’t know who that is,” I say.
“Yeah, well … I wish I didn’t either. But he’s another Rick—except probably worse because…” He clenches his jaw. “He’s the reason someone’s posting shit about me online … well, part of the reason.”
Mike stops abruptly, and I realise I’ve not been able to mask my expression. His eyes lock on mine as his mouth hangs open.
“You’ve read it, haven’t you?” he says.
“Well … yeah. But?—”
“You didn’t believe it, right?”
But when I take longer than three seconds to answer, Mike shakes his head.
Hepulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the screen, tapping rapidly. Then he practically shoves it into my hands.
“Read that,” he says.
It’s a message thread with a contact he has saved as ‘Rochelle – DO NOT ANSWER’ followed by ‘You have blocked this contact’.
I skim read the last few messages — all vile insults, and threats — before deciding that I’ve seen enough.
I hand him his phone back.
“That’s what I’ve been dealing with,” he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “An obsessed stalker-ish person who has nothing better to do than to ruin my life. You know they can’t prove Rochelle made those posts, but there’s not a doubt in my mind.”
“But what’s this Matt guy got to do with it?”
“It’s a long story,” he says, reaching for the bottle of tequila. “One I don’t want to go into.”
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. But be careful. I mean—I can’t tell you who to date or whatever … but Rick Langdon?”
“I’m not dating him,” I say.
“Well … regardless. He’s still a prick,” he says. “We were about to kiss, and he cock-blocks me.”
I gape at him, my cheeks flaming as his mouth twists into a half-smile.
And there he is. Back to being the usual confident, self-assured self.
“We were not about to kiss,” I say.
