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Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Rylan

“H ow are things going with your guy?” Mads asks when we finish a morning yoga class and everyone else leaves the workout room at our practice facility. He got me into doing yoga with him, and I must admit, it’s really helped my flexibility. Mads is a stretchy fucker, but he’s also into it for the relaxing and meditative part, which I haven’t fallen in love with.

“Good. We’re actually going to his friend’s house tonight so I can meet them.”

Mads cocks a brow. “So, you guys are doing things in public together?”

I ignore the stab of disappointment that lands in my chest. Why am I taking this so personally? I don’t even think it’s a good idea for everyone to know about us, but every time I think about it, I feel…hell, I’m not totally sure what I feel. Like he doesn’t believe in me, like he doesn’t believe in us. Which is unfair of me, I get that, but fair or not, it doesn’t change my emotions. “Nah, like I said before, we’re waiting until the end of the season. We’ve got the playoffs coming up, and our record is fucking fire. We don’t think it’s a good time to risk it.” I can’t help fearing that Hayes will want to hide us even then, that he won’t be ready. And I should understand that. I do understand it. Being with someone famous is a lot, and his history doesn’t help, but that disappointment is still there.

“Gives him time to change his mind after he sees your playoff beard,” Mads teases.

I tackle him, wrestling him to the mats, just as the door opens and I hear, “I’m going to kick your asses if one of you gets hurt,” in Coach’s deep baritone.

Before I realize what’s happening, Mads scrambles out from under me and pushes to his feet. “It was all Pierce’s fault.”

I stand too. “Way to throw me under the bus, buddy.” I turn to Coach. “He’s a liar. I was defending myself.”

Coach can be a hard-ass, but he’s a good guy, a great coach, and cares about his team and players. He offers a small smirk. “Just be careful, both of you. Pierce, can I talk to you for a minute?”

I nod, my gut twisting. It’s like getting called into the principal’s office when you’re a kid. Even knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s scary as fuck.

Coach Warren slips out, and Mads asks, “Want me to wait?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, man.”

He claps me on the shoulder, and we each grab our bags, then head out—Mads going left, me right, toward Coach’s office.

“Is everything okay?” I close the door and sit down.

“Yeah, everything’s great. Your play is at a whole new level this season. I just wanted to make sure you know I see it, that the Rebels organization sees it, and I can assure you, the whole league does too.”

I…don’t know what to say. A cocky response sits at the tip of my tongue, but that’s mostly because cocky responses are my go-to. This moment is realer than that, though. Coach has never pulled me into his office just to say something like that before. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I want to do well for the Rebels.”

“That’s what we want to hear. Keep it up. We’re counting on you. You’re what we need to finish this out. Keep your head in the game, and we got this.”

While in some ways those words fuel me, they also land heavily in my chest. I always feel pressure to succeed, but getting pulled aside by your coach who tells you how great you’re doing and then basically says, Don’t fuck it up, everyone is depending on you , nah, that’s not a big deal at all. “I won’t let you down.”

He dismisses me, and I head out, trying not to let myself stress too much about what he said, but it does hammer home that Hayes and I are making the right call by not being public. It’s a distraction we don’t need until after June.

*

I’m thinking about what Coach said all day. When I leave the arena, I have a meeting with some guys from one of the companies sponsoring me, but I can’t help worrying about meeting the Jilted Exes. Hayes hasn’t told them who I am. He said he’s bringing a friend, but now all I can think is…what if we can’t trust them? What if one of them ends up wanting to make himself internet famous in a different way and decides to out us? Just a few hours ago I was all up in my feels that we couldn’t go public, and now I’m freaking the hell out about meeting his friends.

I leave my meeting and head home, still distracted. Puck gives me a dirty look when I come in, like he can see my thoughts and he’s not happy with them. The little traitor likes Hayes more than me.

At six, when Hayes shows up, I open the door and word-vomit, “Maybe we should put off meeting your friends.”

He flinches, and guilt floods me.

“Shit. That came out all wrong. I just—actually, fuck. Come in. Why am I broken?” I pull him inside and press my lips to his. A good boyfriend should at least greet his man with a kiss before being a dickhead.

Hayes kisses me back, but not as passionately as he normally would, and when I pull away, he asks, “Are you breaking up with me?” and damned if that doesn’t shatter my heart.

“What? No. God no. You know what? Never mind. I’m being an idiot. Let’s continue as planned.” There’s no reason to believe we can’t trust his friends.

“I don’t want you to go if you don’t want to go.” He walks away, going deeper into my living room. Hayes doesn’t stop until he gets to the glass doors, looking out at the ocean.

Fuck. I’m such a dick. I walk over and wrap my arms around him from behind. “I want to go. I just…Coach was telling me how good I’m doing, how happy the Rebels are with me, and to keep my head in the game, that they’re counting on me. Which, for whatever reason, fucked with my head. I started stressing over meeting Anthony and Donovan and them outing us and it being a big story right before the playoffs. I don’t want to let the team down.” This is my dream, and we have a better chance to go all the way this season than we ever have. But I don’t want to let Hayes down either. Him asking me to meet his friends was a big deal. And the fact is, I want to meet them. I want everyone to know about us.

“It’s really not a problem, Rylan. I’ll just say you’re sick. It was probably a dumb idea anyway.”

“What? It wasn’t a dumb idea. Come on. Let’s go.” Everything will be fine, and if it’s not, we’ll deal with the consequences later.

“No.” He turns around but doesn’t move.

“No?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“I know you. You’re superstitious as hell. Now you have it in your head that something will go wrong, and even if they don’t tell anyone about us—which they won’t—if you don’t play well next game or your team loses, you’re going to think that’s why.”

My first instinct is to gasp—he just put that shit into the universe—but this time, I’m not stupid enough to let myself say it. “That’s…not…true?” Fuck. Way to sound convincing. It’s totally fucking true.

“You can’t even reply without it sounding like a question!”

What the hell is wrong with me? He’s right. I have no idea what I’m doing here, why I’m making such a colossal mess of things, but I’m not sure I have it in me to stop. “We can just get through the playoffs like the original plan. Then we won’t have to worry about anything. We can have the guys over here. That would be fun, and hell, we can hang out with them all summer if you want. I just…maybe it’s better if we get through this season first.”

“Sure. That sounds good. I should go.”

Damn it. I forgot this whole thing means he has to leave tonight and go see Anthony and Donovan without me.

“Will you come back afterward? I don’t want to lose any time with you.”

“Okay,” Hayes replies, but there’s something off about his voice.

“See you soon,” I tell him, then watch like an idiot as he walks out.

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