Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(97)

Hammer: I was there. He didn’t touch those girls.

And

Hammer: Luuuucy. Not saying he misses you, but if you don’t come soon, he’s gonna turn into a pickle.

Pickle? I assume that’s due to heavy drinking. But regardless of his preserved status, Matt has not texted me once. Or called. Or showed up anywhere he’s showed up before. Even Keith noticed it at the Brew House, asking where the jock crew was. I pretended I was too busy making foam angels to respond.

“Come on, Luce,” she cajoles. “You know you want to. Plus, you getting back together with Matty would make you soar tomorrow.”

“Soaring isn’t a thing. Soaring is what happens to your brain on some quality molly, not from confronting your ex.”

“Hammer’s his best friend. He wouldn’t be texting you if he didn’t think you had a chance.”

“Maybe Hammer’s playing the long game and this is Matt’s revenge. They get me to show up and then I’m confronted by a full-on orgy in the living room. Hammer jumps up, ‘Surprise, bitch! No one here really misses you, but if you want a piece of Matty, you can stand in line behind ho number two.’”

Heather smothers a laugh. “Do you always skip to the worst-case scenarios?”

Probably. That’s what you do when your entire life is one risk assessment after another. “Even if I did want to go, I’m sure it’s a closed, players-only thing. They only do these retreats when there’s real problems and they want to get everyone on the same track.”

“I wonder if you have anyone in your contact list who might be able to help you. Let’s think, hmmm.” She taps the corner of her mouth in mock thoughtfulness.

“I’m not calling Ace.”

“Hmmm.”

“Or Matty.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

“This is totally irresponsible,” I say as I pull out my phone.

“Mmmm.”

Me: Hammer, it’s Lucy Watson. I’m an hour away. Would Matty see me?

Hammer replies before Heather can hum again. Thank Fucking God. I was Googling ‘how to hold an intervention,’ and that shit don’t sound fun at all. Zero fun, Lucy.

Me: What about your coaches?

Hammer: Get your ass here. I’ll worry about the coaches.

I stare at the phone for a minute while Heather drums out the beat to The Replacements’ “Can’t Hardly Wait.”

“So we going or we spending tonight wishing we were somewhere else?” she asks impatiently.

I put the phone face down. “We’re going.”

She starts the engine and backs out of the parking lot.

“Don’t you wish it was summer and we had a convertible?” Heather says as she speeds toward Matty.

“And we’d wear scarves and Brad Pitt would be shirtless in the back and then we’d drive over the cliff and die?” I add sarcastically.

“I was with you until the cliff thing.”



* * *



“Lucy?” Matty’s expression is one of surprise and not the joyful you’ve made my ever-loving week surprise, but more of the what the f*ck are you doing here version.

“I’m...” Here to apologize, to admit that I totally overreacted and that I’m trying to start taking all those risks that I keep saying I’m going to take but never do, but I already feel so vulnerable and stupid hiding in his closet, I can’t bring myself to blurt any of that emotional stuff out. I settle for, “I’m here to see you.”

“It’s a closed practice,” he says. Practice isn’t the only thing that’s closed. His face is a solid wall of nothing. I can’t read if he’s pleased to see me, pissed off, or annoyed, but I’m tired of ducking under the hangers in the closet.

I gesture behind him. “Do you mind letting me out?”

He steps aside but doesn’t change his expression. I stumble out of the closet with as much dignity as possible. The small hotel room doesn’t offer me many options but I’m too uncertain of my welcome to sit on his bed and afraid of what he’ll think if I sit on Ace’s bed. I can’t believe the two are being forced to room together.

I opt for the small, uncomfortable desk chair. “Mind if I sit?”

He exhales slowly, and my heart flips over unhappily as he ponders my request. He’s not sure if he wants me to be here long enough for me to sit down. I plant my ass anyway.

“In my head, this went a lot smoother,” I offer.

“How so?”

“Um, I guess I throw up my arms and say ‘surprise,’ and you say, ‘Goldie, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ and then I respond with, ‘you, too.’ After we get those awkward, trite greetings out of the way, you haul me into your arms and give me a movie star kiss. We pretend it’s raining and that we’re at the end of a Nicholas Sparks movie and you swear your undying devotion.”

“According to my mom, everyone dies at the end of a Sparks movie, so my devotion appears to be short-lived.”

“True, but the promised love is undying, so even after your ticker gives out, the devotion lives on.”

I swear I see his lips twitch, but he sobers up quickly to reply, “I think you’ve got plenty of undying devotion in your general vicinity.”