Page 116 of Under Pressure

How can things have changed so much while I’ve been stuck in a constant sense of brokenness? I’m still that angry, untrusting girl who looked at the world with a point to prove and a head screwed on crooked.

My fingers shake when I head back the way I came and fumble with my phone, trying to free it from my pocket. Instinct guides me to choose his contact. The line rings twice before I bring it up to my ear, waiting.

It keeps ringing before cutting off entirely.

“You’ve reached Beck. I’m unable to answer your call, but you know what to do. If you need me, text me.”

I reach my car and dive inside as the tears begin to fall. The phone falls into the console, screen still bright with his name and the picture he made us take that first morning in bed. Hurt flames in my chest, and I make no move to ease the pain.

He didn’t answer, and I shouldn’t have expected him to.

Not yet.

40

“Nobody saya word about the loss around Roman,” Jett demands, giving the group of us a threatening look.

Kellan salutes beside me. “Got it, Daddy.”

“You’re an asshole, but thank you. Tonight isn’t about the team.”

“We know. I’d rather not spend the next several hours yanking Brielle’s heel out of my ass for saying the wrong thing,” Wes chimes in.

I almost laugh at the comment, but that would involve removing the mask I’ve slid into place for this party. I’d rather keep my emotions hidden than let anyone see how upset I am. If that means keeping quiet and letting myself fade into the background, then that’s what I’ll do.

Tomorrow, I’ll go back to licking my wounds.

“Asher said he’d be here. That’ll help distract the happy couple when one of you inevitably does something stupid,” Jett says.

The door to Pretty Little Pour swings open. I taste my heartbeat when the frail thing jumps into my throat. Finn enters and shakes his wet hair out behind Wes before making a beeline for his girlfriend. The useless organ falls back into place with a splat.

“Is he staying in Vancouver now?” Wes asks, twisting behind the pink velour chair he’s leaning against to check out the late arrival.

Jett takes a long sip of his iced tea. “Should be.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Kellan jostles me when he lifts his arms above his head. “I love this team, but we’re shit defensively right now. J can only do so much at short.”

I nurse my first beer and stare at the closed door, willing it to open again. But just as quickly as that hope appears, it shrivels up and dies. Four days is nothing compared to the nine I was on an away trip, yet it feels a million times worse.

Maybe because she isn’t sitting at my place waiting for me this time, idiot.

She’s gone, and the longer we don’t speak, the more I’m starting to believe that she isn’t coming back to me.

“What did I say, Kell?” Jett huffs, shaking his head. “No team talk tonight.”

Kellan chuckles, brushing the scolding off. With a tip of his chin, he greets the man who sidles up to the table. “Hey, Coach. Congrats, hey?”

Roman Shore runs his intense eyes over each of us, his body language still a bit off. His black hair is greying a bit at the sides again, prematurely aging him. For forty, he could pass for thirty-five. His body’s still bulky, and he has these ear piercings that clearly work well for him. To be able to snag a woman like Brielle is a feat in and of itself, and he did so despite his grumpy demeanour.

He’s far from the man he was six months ago, though. More open and considerate, with a new interest in hanging around us outside of the clubhouse. I’ve gotten to know him on a personal level recently, and I like what I’ve learned. The guy is good shit, and he’s worthy of Brielle. If he weren’t, Wes would have kicked his ass to the curb already, regardless of his manager position. We all would have helped him do it.

“Thank you. I’m a lucky man to be loved by her.”

Wes’ eyes sear into the side of his face, approval glimmering there. “Yeah, you are.”

“You guys gonna hug now?” Kellan asks.

Roman ignores him and gives Wes his full attention. I almost look away at the seriousness of their silent conversation. Without a doubt, they’ll have some sort of more permanent one before the wedding, but this moment feels heavy. It isn’t a warning, exactly; the black eye Roman sported a month ago was the aftermath of the one Wes gave.