Chapter Five
MILLER
“That hurts!” I roared, slamming my hands down on the therapist’s table. “Are you trying to kill me? Maim me? Show me how strong you are? Damn it! Stop punishing me!”
Wendy’s eyes were steel. Just like her hands. She didn’t budge, but continued to roll out my IT band like she was trying to snap the thing in half.
“Breathe.” She pushed harder.
I clenched my teeth and tried not to pass out. “I’m trying!”
“You’re tense.” Her soft voice was the reason I’d always loved working with her. She was four foot ten and ninety pounds of absolute terror.
The first time she offered to work on me, I’d laughed at her.
And left with a slight limp and four ibuprofen.
She claimed her family came from a long line of ninjas, and since she’d been working for the Pittsburgh Pilots, we all believed her. Even our quarterback gave her a wide berth.
“Almost done,” Wendy soothed, patting my leg one more time before digging in with her elbow.
Sweat poured down my face as I closed my eyes and tried to go to that empty space in my head.
Only, whenever I closed my eyes . . . I still saw her.
No matter how hard I tried.
I saw curves.
Big blue eyes.
And honeysuckle blonde hair.
I inhaled that hair in my dreams. I let it slip through my fingers.
And then anger spread through my veins.
“Hey,” Wendy snapped. “I said to relax!”
“Sorry.” I swore and took a deep breath. “Are we almost done?” I didn’t want to be around anyone.
Hell. I hated being around anyone when I thought of her.
I needed solitude.
Or maybe just a really great game.
Not that I wasn’t known for those. I was the best tight end in the league.
It was my second year in the NFL, and I lived for it.
“Miller.” Coach’s voice stopped Wendy’s torture.
She nodded at him and left the training room.
“We need to talk.” His face was pale.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“I fought it.” He slammed his hands down on the table near my legs. “Just know I fought it, but Smith needs to find money, and after last year’s loss in the playoffs . . .”
My eyes narrowed. “Smith needs to find money?”
“You’re the best tight end in the league.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You’re expensive as hell to keep.”
My head snapped in his direction. “Say what?”
“The Bellevue Bucks can afford you. We’re trading across, three players for one.” He balled both of his hands into fists and let out a violent curse. “You leave tomorrow.”
“Coach!” I jumped off the table. “You can’t do that!”
“I didn’t do it!” He yelled right back at me. “You know we’re still building this team. We just . . . we don’t have the money. It’s the only way to shape up our defense. Contracts have been negotiated. You’ll get the rest of your eighteen million for the next three years and get to keep your signing bonus, but they’ll take on the rest of your contract starting this season.” His look was as sad as it was helpless, and after a few more pats on my back he was gone.
Silence descended as a hollow feeling spread across my chest.
He didn’t understand.
Nobody did.
There was a reason I’d stayed on the East Coast.
A very damn good reason, and when the Bucks had tried to draft me out of college, I’d said, Hell no, and turned down their offer for twice as much money.
There was a freaking reason!
I kicked the massage table, knocking it onto its side, and threw a chair against the wall.
Chest heaving, I fell to the ground and let memories of her take over. The girl I loved.
The girl who destroyed me.
My best friend.
My enemy.
Because when I needed her the most . . . she’d abandoned me.
When I had nobody . . . she’d walked away.
Hate.
Didn’t even begin to describe how I felt about her.
I loathed her.
Even though my body still responded to the memory of her, my mind knew she was trouble. My father had been right.
Which was worse than her abandonment.
I could still see his smug face once I told him that we weren’t talking anymore.
“Yo.” Devon rapped the door with his knuckles. “Just heard the news. Is Coach for real? Are you leaving?”
“Like I have a choice,” I said from my spot on the floor.
“I’m going with you.”
I burst out laughing. “They have a quarterback.”
“Then I’ll play for Seattle, at least we’ll be close. Besides, what’s Wilson got on me?”
“Oh, I don’t know, two championship rings? A yacht? Pop star wife? Want me to keep going? No?”
“Well, at least you aren’t crying like some chick.”
“I don’t cry—” I bit down on my lip. Not since her. What use was it? It didn’t bring my mom back, and it didn’t bring my best friend back. “Ever.”
“Not even last season when Jones snapped his leg in half? Because, no lie, that was some scary shit.”
“Watt needs to rein it in,” I grumbled. “He’s gonna kill someone someday.”
“I think he wants to.” Devon smirked. “Swear, that man wakes up with a smug-as-hell smile on his face and googles ways to kill men on the field.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Try not to get a bigger head in Bellevue. You’ll always be a Pilot.”
“Bleed black and yellow.” I took his hand and stood. “Damn Bucks. At least send me somewhere I actually like.”
He frowned. “You used to live in Bellevue, right?”
I tensed and locked down the memories.
“Something like that,” I finally uttered. “Let’s go get drunk.”
“You don’t drink unless there’s a good reason.”
“I just got traded to the Bucks, reason enough.”
Devon crossed his arms across his bulky chest. “This ’bout getting traded?”
Hell no. This was about going back to the only place I’d ever called home.
“Yeah, it pisses me off.” That was at least true.
“Yeah, okay.” Devon slapped me on the back. “I could go for some drinks. Besides, you look like shit. Oh, and you’re buying.”
My smile was forced.
And as luck would have it, when we finally made it outside to the parking lot, a few of the Pilot cheerleaders sashayed past us.
One had blonde hair.
I did a double take.
And then mentally punched myself in the nuts.
She didn’t exist.
Not anymore.
Maybe she never did.