Prologue
5 years ago
The Tap, a sports bar in downtown Boston, is filled with the Boston Bandits, my teammates, nursing our loss today against the New York Falcons.
It’s not just the loss that bothers us; it’s who we lost it against that wedges the knife of defeat deeper into our chests. If you pride yourself on being a Bostonian, a Bandits fan, you know losing to your biggest rival in the league is akin to losing the playoffs.
As I sit surrounded by somber faces within the wooden walls and the light playing music, and Scott, the middle-aged owner, changing the channel on TV when a reminder of our epic loss flashes on the screen, I can’t help but blame myself. If only I had done a better job of being the goalie that I’m supposed to be, then we might’ve been here for an entirely different reason. Letting down my team is not something I wanna ruminate on.
It’s like Oliver, our center, can read me because he reaches out, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Winning and losing are literally in our job description.”
My jaw clenches, his words only weighing my shoulders down and reiterating what I believe—itwasmy fault.
I know Oliver would disagree with me; everyone here would, but it doesn’t make a difference, because it’s not just today’s game. For the last few games, I feel like I’ve lost my edge. I’ve been playing like trash, and seeing my father outside my apartment building today was the last straw.
His uninvited presence made me rethink, and that’s how I ended up here instead of brooding at home alone.
Not wanting to allow that man to steal more of my peace, I take a sip of the half-empty glass of beer. Meanwhile, I wait for Ezra, our rookie this season, to come back in. The guy went outside almost half an hour ago.
Worried, I put the glass on the round table and turn to Oliver. “I’ll be back, man. Gonna go check on Ezra,” I inform him, standing up.
The doorbell rings when Ezra pushes the wooden door open. Though what has me slumping back in my seat is the beauty behind him. I’ve never seen her, but one look at her and it feels like there’s not a single moment I’ve lived when I didn’t know her.
The flip of my heart as it struggles to resume its natural rhythm has me pressing my palm to my chest just to be sure that I’m not dying.
What is this weird sensation?
Just as I wonder if she’s with Ezra, he turns back and smiles at her, draping his arm over her shoulder with such familiarity that it has my stomach dropping.
She must be his lady for the night. Our rookie has a bit of a Playboy reputation. Sometimes, I get the sense that he’s hiding pain behind his charming, and what the ladies call a panty-dropping smile. Maybe that’s why he feels like a kindred spirit.
I reprimand myself for looking at a woman my friend is with. By the time they reach our table, all the guys stare at her with the same look in their eyes—lust, attraction.
That makes me grind my jaw. “Behave,” I warn.
All of their heads instantly swivel to me. All of them regard me with various levels of surprise. Before any of them has a chance to grill me, Ezra’s voice grabs our attention. “Hey, guys,” he greets as he pulls up a chair for her.
She gives him the most beautiful smile, and for an entirely foreign reason, my heart burns. I have this sudden urge to grab her chin and make her keep those bright eyes on me, as I become the sole receiver of those smiles she so freely lets slip.
My hands curl into fists, hidden under the table from anyone’s view.
“Who have you got here, rook?” Lucas, one of our defensemen, asks, his thumb running across his bottom lip suggestively.
As soon as those words are out of his mouth, the air in the room gets sucked, leaving behind a heavy cloud of tension hanging over us.
Ezra’s eyes turn to slits, his glare pinning Lucas, making his smug grin drop. Lucas shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s mysister, Lucas,” he grits, his face screaming murder.
Lucas winces, and a chorus of mutedoh shitsrings around us as Ezra drills holes in him. But it’s not them I’m focusing on. My body is attuned toherproximity, and for a second, Ezra’s words and his relation to this girl make me feel like I can breathe again.
All’s not lost, I think.
The relief is short-lived because the next words from his mouth wrap around my neck like barbed wire, constricting the flow of air, preventing oxygen from reaching my lungs.
“Andie’s off-limits,” he warns. “Keep your STD ridden dick away from my sister, you understand?”
Lucas dramatically feigns offense, making the guys snicker. Meanwhile, her nose scrunches ever so cutely at her brother’s choice of words.
“You don’t have to speak for me, Ezra,” she reprimands her brother, leaning back in her seat as she rolls her eyes at him.