Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

FORREST

Ejected. What the fucking fuck. I'm so fucking pissed at that asshole I could hunt his ass down and go to blows with no referees around to save him. As I shower, I let the hot water pound against my back, but it does nothing to relieve my anger.

Maybe I'm taking it out on him… I have had a shit day. But then I remember the way he talked about Brooklynn, and I decide that I didn't take anything out on him that he didn't deserve.

After I dress, I sit on a bench and wait for the game to end. It ends a few moments later, and judging by the excited way everyone walks into the locker room, we've won. Well, thank fuck for that, at least. I don't get to relish in the win because Coach screams my name from his office, and I know I need to face the music.

It's almost as if I can hear the drums as I march toward the office. He is good and pissed, his face almost purple by the time I walk in and close the door behind me. Although, I should probably leave the door open so that everyone can hear because I know they're straining right now.

"I should be pissed at you, but I'm not," he begins, taking me completely off guard.

He clears his throat, then leans back in his seat. His face is still a little purple, so I'm not sure what is happening.

"Coach?" I ask.

"I'm pissed at the other guy. He used something that he knew would get you and kept goading you. But that doesn't mean you should have let it get to you. That shit was on you, Westwood."

He's right. I don't want to admit it, not in a million years. But I dip my chin. That's all I can give him to let him know that he's right. I let that asshole get under my skin. It's a sensitive subject, especially today.

My birthday.

My money isn't going to be coming my way anytime soon.

I am well and truly fucked when it comes to that.

"Get some rest. Come back ready to kick ass at practice, and it will blow over."

Thanking him, I stand from the chair and clear my throat. "Coach?" I call out again. He grunts, and his eyes find mine. "Thanks for not busting my balls too much."

I'm not sure what I expect, but it isn't a smirk. "Just get your shit together. That's the only thanks I want."

With that, I walk out of his office. My friends, teammates, and brothers—they're all of that rolled into one—are waiting for me by my locker. Arching a brow in question, I approach them. Alexei clears his throat and then rocks back on his heels.

"Coach rip your ass apart?" he asks.

Shaking my head, I let out a chuckle. "Not the way I thought he would. Basically, he told me to get thicker skin and get my shit together."

Lev laughs, then shrugs his shoulder before he speaks, his Russian accent not as thick as it was even last season. He almost sounds American now. I miss his and Alexei's thick accents that nobody could understand. They also sounded scary as fuck. It was great.

"Getting your shit together doesn't sound like a bad idea, but I can understand why it's not in this case. The social media storm is intense," Reid murmurs.

I feel like he's trying to tell me something without actually saying it. This makes me think that he's been following things, and it's bigger than anything I could have imagined. I have only seen Kiki's original video. I'm sure she's done more. She wants the attention, and she's getting it, so she's not going to stop—except from me. She's not getting shit from me.

"I don't want to know," I grumble.

"I think you should know," Otto says.

He's been quiet about all this. Almost too quiet. The fact that he's speaking up right now makes me hesitate.

"Well, I know that people have been harassing Brooklynn a bit, calling the salon and stuff. There's zero truth to anything Kiki is saying. It will blow over."

It's Otto who groans, and then Lev clears his throat, but it's Otto who speaks. "Grace said that Brooklynn has lost over half of her clients," he says, his voice gentle, as if he's speaking to a spooked animal.

What the fuck.

"She didn't tell me," I murmur. Then I respond to my own observation. "She wouldn't."

I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends.

I fucked up.

Big time.

Shit.

brOOKLYNN

The Tipsy Tavern is buzzing. Sascha and Jake have joined us, along with all the players' girlfriends and friends. The cake is in the back.

Thankfully, Ayden helped me out with that, no doubt understanding how upset I've been. But I did preorder pitchers of beer and appetizers and paid to have the whole bar closed down for the night.

Twenty-five was supposed to be his big birthday, and I wanted to give Forrest everything he's dreamed of for this day. But I didn't account for all this drama with Kiki, for his father talking to me or for me having a conversation with my own.

I didn't account for my having to break up with him so he could succeed in life.

That part sucks the worst.

But I won't do it tonight.

No, for tonight, I'm going to plaster on my biggest and fakest smile. I'm going to kiss him and tell him Happy birthday . We're going to have fun, eat cake, and then we're going to have mind-blowing sex one last time.

Tomorrow, the truth will have to come out. I won't be able to pretend for too long. I'm not even sure I'm going to be able to pretend for the whole night tonight. I'm going to try, though, because this whole situation is stupid as hell.

The moment the doors open and the men start filing in, my eyes search for him. When he steps over the threshold, the entire room erupts with cheers of " Happy birthday" and whistling.

Forrest's eyes widen, and then his lips curve up into a smirk, which turns into a smile when he sees me standing across the room. I'm sure my smile is strained as I watch him make his way toward me.

He reaches out, wrapping his arms around my body before he picks me up off the floor, our faces just inches apart. "Happy birthday," I whisper.

Forrest's lips touch mine. "Thanks, honey," he rasps before he kisses me in a quick, hard touch of the mouth, and then he slowly lets me down to my feet.

The rest of the night, he stays right beside me. He's never far, and some part of him touches some part of me the entire evening as if he's trying to keep me from running away from him. He has no idea that against every fiber in my being… I'm already gone.

In an effort to save his future life, I am going to leave his current one. Maybe it's just too early for us. Maybe we were supposed to meet later in life. I'm not sure, but I can't be the reason he doesn't get what's his, why his children don't get what they're owed.

In that same breath, I also can't stay at the salon. I need to sell my ownership and leave. My sisters, my best friends, do not deserve the shitstorm that has come toward them from all this drama.

So, at the advice of my father, I'm offering to let the girls buy me out, and I'm moving back home. I'm going to regroup and figure out what comes next for me. Maybe by then, everything will have calmed down a bit, and I'll be able to rent a booth at a salon in Raleigh. A place where I can just do hair, go home, and not be anything to anyone.

That thought alone makes me feel devastated. Brushing off the sadness, I open my mouth to sing "Happy Birthday," my eyes watering as the cake is brought to the middle of the bar. The candles are lit, the room is darkened, and Forrest leans down, his hand in mine. He squeezes my hand as he blows the candles out.

I really hope that his birthday wish wasn't about me because I'm going to feel like an even bigger asshole tomorrow when I break it off with him. Forrest stands and turns to me, and my breath hitches when his eyes find mine.

Wordlessly, he lifts his hand and cups my cheek, and then his thumb slides across my bottom lip before he leans forward and touches his mouth to mine. He tastes perfect, just like he always does, even though his face is starting to swell in a few spots from his fight.

He's beautiful and perfect. I want to remember this moment, this time, for the rest of my entire life, until the day I die. I will always know that there was a small moment in my life when my heart was whole.