Page 104 of Beg Me

“You’re probably not going to believe this, and there’s not a damn thing that I can do about that,” he says. “But I’m calling to say I was out of line the last time we spoke.”

I flinch. My pace slows until I’m standing in the middle of the room with my brows pulled together. What’s happening here?

“I’m not going to make excuses,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I was an asshole on the phone—more than usual. And I’m not saying that I won’t be again because it’s probably a personality defect.”

My lips twitch.

“But I do apologize for that phone call. I took that too far,” he says, contrite.

“What’s happening here?” I ask, holding the side of my head. “Are you dying or something?”

“No. Not dying. I just had someone put me in my place and I haven’t been able to shake it. Turns out that I might have a soul after all.”

I hum. “Well, thanks for apologizing. I’ll believe it when you call without wanting something and learn how to say thank you.”

“That’s fair. I deserve that.”

I’m living in a twilight zone. It’s the only answer.

“The next time you talk to Jory, tell him something for me, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, deadpan.

“Tell him that he’s a better man than me.”

What?

“I’ll let you go. Thanks for answering, Markie.”

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

It must be the end of the world. Hell is clearly freezing over.

I glance at the time and wonder how far Jory and Gus have gotten. They should be halfway there by now. Has Gus fallen asleep? Has Jory given himself an ulcer from worrying about his son?

Has he thought about me?

I blow out a breath and collapse onto the couch. Suddenly, I don’t have the strength to stand anymore, and I don’t want to sit here alone with my thoughts. And I really don’t want to have to worry about telling my friends not to show up for me tomorrow.

Might as well get it over with. It’s not like I have anything better to do.

Me: I won’t be playing in the tournament this year. I know you were all going to come watch and cheer us on, but we won’t be there.

Before I have a chance to set my phone down, it dings. I blow out a breath, readying myself for the questions when notifications flow through in quick succession.

My stomach tightens as the messages keep coming.

Fuck. I don’t want to do this tonight.

Astrid: Why?

Gianna: What’s going on?

Nettie: Huh? What did I miss?

Gianna: You miss stuff when you’re in a hotel with two fighters for days.

Gianna: Ignore me. I’m just jealous.