The Locker Room(83)

“Did you just say the Bobcats?” Dottie asks, on the edge of her seat.

“Yeah.”

“As in . . . the baseball team?” Lindsay pries.

“Yes, the baseball team.” Confused, she looks between us. “Are you huge fans?”

Taking the lead, Dottie says, “We’re going to need the details, right now. Don’t skip out on anything.”

Looking uncomfortable, Cora shifts, clutching her margarita to her chest like if she says the wrong thing we’re going to snatch it out of her hand.

“Um . . . well, I saw they were doing community outreach with a bunch of schools. I have a friend who works over there and asked her how to get Cedar Pine’s library in the mix. She gave me the name of someone to talk to. I emailed them and applied to their program. I got the email this morning that we were chosen as one of the facilities to receive a grant from the team. I didn’t want to say anything to you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s twenty thousand dollars.”

I momentarily forget who it’s from as I blink rapidly at Cora. “Twenty thousand dollars? Holy Crap, Cora, we could do so much with that.”

“I know. We can actually get those plaster trees and new media center we’ve dreamed of.”

“Exactly.” She looks between us and then asks, “So why does everyone look like they’re about to throw up from the news? This is good, we should be happy.”

Dottie sets her now empty margarita glass on the coffee table and folds her hands together. “Is there any media behind accepting the check?”

“Yes.” Cora lights up. “That’s also really exciting. We get to take pictures with some of the players.”

My stomach drops and nausea quickly rolls my fresh margarita around.

“Oh shit,” Lindsay says before gulping down the rest of her drink as her voice cracks. “Yan, we’re going to need a refill.”

“What players?” I ask frantically, my margarita instantly wanting to make a return.

“Uh, I don’t know. They didn’t say. Why?” Poor Cora, she looks so confused and I feel bad.

Dottie exchanges a look with me, silently asking for permission. I nod and scoot deeper into the couch, pulling a blanket over my legs.

“The reason we ask is because we know one of the players.”

“Seriously?” Cora apparently doesn’t read the room well, because she’s nearly bouncing in place. “Who is it? Wait, let me guess.” She taps her chin. “Uh, ooo, is it Walker? No, it’s Lincoln. Wait, no, he didn’t go to school here like you guys did.” And then her eyes light up even more. “Oh my God, if you say it’s Knox Gentry I might fall over and die. Is it him? Is it Knox?”

“Yes.”

Dottie barely gets out the one syllable before Cora starts freaking out. “Holy shit, you guys know Knox Gentry? Like know him, know him, or just you know . . . we went to school with him, saw him at a party kind of thing.”

Dottie goes to answer, but I stop her, needing to say this myself. “Knox and I were a thing.”

“You were more than a thing,” Lindsay says. The sad look on her face digs up the many unresolved, unsown memories I have of him

“Wait”—Cora spreads her arms out to the side—“you and Knox Gentry went out?”

“They were boyfriend and girlfriend. He was obsessed with her,” Lindsay says. “Like, obsessed.”

Bringing my knuckles to my chin, I try to vanish into the couch, hating this is coming up when I’m trying to enjoy an evening of drinks with the girls. If I’m honest, I’ve never gotten over him. How could I? He was . . . God, he meant everything to me. He was the man who showed me there were great men out there. Men with honor, patience, strength, and faithful hearts. He showed me what true love could be, even though we never said those words to each other. And God, he was the man who picked me up and pieced me back together after Neil tore me apart. That seems so long ago now, but it’s another thing I am thankful to Knox Gentry for.

And setting him free was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I hadn’t been strong enough to fully break it off, which was why I found myself with his lips over mine months later. On and off we hooked up, never going past anything but kissing and feeling each other up, but still, I’d craved his comfort.

One night before graduation, before he was drafted by the Bobcats, Neil kept texting me, over and over, wanting to talk to me. He was drunk and decided to poke the hurt he’d inflicted. Before I knew what I was doing, I was at Knox’s loft, bawling my eyes out. I’d broken up with him, but he still took me into his arms and offered his love and comfort. We didn’t do anything that night but hold each other, and it broke me all over again, knowing I was saying goodbye forever to my heart. That was the last time I saw him in person.

Even though we live in the same city, our wavelengths have been on completely different tracks.

He doesn’t know I live here. But at this point, would he really care? It’s been eight years, he dated Mia Freaking Franco, and has had many supermodels draped over his arm at events. To be fair, they’ve often been friends rather than lovers, so I’ve heard, but the bar has certainly been set high for any woman vying for his attention.

We barely speak to each other, only really texting on birthdays now. The friendship we promised each other completely fizzled out and now . . . we’re mere acquaintances. Friends who once meant more.