Focused: A hate to love sports romance(64)

He eyed me. "What do you need?"

I slung my arm around his shoulder, and we walked back toward the building "The way I see it, you and Rick owe me, right? For ambushing me in front of Beatrice. But I guess I owe you too, for bringing it up in the first place. I can be a little ..."

"Blind?" he helpfully supplied. "Clueless?"

"Hyper focused," I amended, "when I'm in football mode. So that little trailer he sent me? I'm going to need more from you."

"I was afraid you'd say that." He sighed. "If she doesn't have a phone, how are you going to get in touch with her?"

I glanced back at the Wolves facility. "I know a guy."

"Just ... let me film it when you ask him, okay?"

I laughed. “Shall we get it over with now?”

Marty's face blanched as he looked at the building with me. “Now?”

“Why do you look so nervous?”

His eyes never wavered. “Because I’m worried I’m about to catch your death on film. And Rick will never forgive me.”

I let out a deep breath. “Logan won’t kill me.”

Marty glanced over at me.

“Okay,” I hedged. “It won’t be pleasant. That’s why I’d rather rip off the Band-Aid now.”

He swept a hand forward. “Lead the way.”





I knocked on Logan’s door. Marty shifted behind me, probably making sure he had the optimal angle to catch whatever happened next.

“Come in,” Logan said.

My exhale was slow and steady before I pushed the door open. His head was bent over his computer, face hidden by the brim of his black hat.

“Do you have a minute, Coach?”

Logan’s frame froze imperceptibly at the sound of my voice. As he lifted his head, I braced for what I’d see on his face.

It wasn’t pretty.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Logan’s expression was forbidding, carved from granite for as little as he gave away.

Right. Another member of the Ward family who would wait me out and force me to talk today.

“I’m assuming you know what happened,” I started.

His jaw clenched.

“And I’m also assuming you aren’t very happy with me right now.”

His nostrils flared. I’d take that as agreement.

“But even if that’s true,” I said, holding his terrifying gaze as steadily as possible, “I have no way of getting in touch with her, and I’m hoping you’ll help me with that.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and behind me, Marty shifted uncomfortably.

“Her?” he spoke slowly. “By her, you mean my little sister? The one you slept with after I told you to stay away from her?”

“Yes.” I lifted my chin a fraction. “That’s who I’m talking about.”

The line of his mouth flattened.

“Logan,” I told him, hands raised by my sides, “I can find another way to reach her if you won’t help me.”

He tilted his head. “Do you think that’s the best angle to take when you’re trying to convince me this is a good idea?”

“I’m being honest because I respect you enough not to lie to you.”

One eyebrow rose on his forehead, slowly, incredulously. I felt my face flush hot, because disbelief radiated off him in strong pulses.

“Your sister is important to me. It … it took me a while to realize just how much.” I swallowed roughly. “And I could stand here all day trying to convince you of that, but no offense, I won’t admit anything to you that I haven’t said to her first.”

His face went slack with understanding.

I fell in love with Molly, and now he knew it.

Slowly, Logan unfolded his arms, his gaze searching my face for … something. Proof. I wasn’t sure. Then he ran a weary hand down his face and nodded. “I’ll help you. Just tell me what you need.”

I glanced back at Marty, who was grinning behind the camera. “Right now, I just need a little time to pull something together.”





Chapter Twenty-Five





Molly





When I left, I knew I could've gone home to my apartment with Isabel. But the only thing that waited for me there was the temptation of day drinking and the inevitable crying into my pillow.

So I kept true to my word and drove straight from the Wolves facility to Paige and Logan's house about thirty minutes away. The neighborhood had tall, mature trees and shrubs, and the houses were set back off the road. They were big but not obnoxious. And selfishly, especially at moments like this, when I felt my most vulnerable, I wanted to return to the place that felt like home.

And nothing felt more like home to me than here.

I parked my car behind Paige's and ascended the concrete steps to the solid oak door, opening and closing it quickly since it had started to rain on my drive.

"Back here," Paige called from the kitchen. I smelled garlic and carbs, and instantly applauded my decision to come here.

Emmett skidded around the corner, knocking into me with an oof. His skinny arms wrapped around me in a hug, and I leaned down to kiss the top of his head.