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Harrison’s love for me wasn’t enough to overcome his desire for retribution.
It hurt like fuck. Still does some nights, when I’m lying awake and close my eyes and reach across the sheets as if I’ll feel his body next to me.
Since then, Ash and I have talked a few times. Texted once a month or so. Now, as the door attendant reviews Ash’s credentials and lets us inside, I silently curse Harrison for not keeping tabs on his brother.
Evidently Harrison’s too busy for me and for Ash.
In a beautiful, wide hallway, round chandeliers dot the cavernous ceiling. My heels slip into the plush red carpet.
Ash told me in the car that it’s a club event in recognition of the staff and players.
With the cocktail reception before dinner, we grab drinks and he introduces me around. But when another player from his club approaches, arm in arm with his stunning girlfriend, Ash tenses next to me.
“Gavin,” the man introduces himself to me with an easy smile, but when he claps Ash on the back, the hand lingers.
“Another drink,” Ash mutters once they leave.
“You haven’t finished that one.”
He tosses it back in a single gulp.
I drag Ash into a corner. “Who is he?”
My date shrugs, smirking. “Defender. Not the best one either.”
“Strange. You’re the one playing defense.”
His smile fades.
“Was he giving you shit for a bad season?” I ask.
“On the contrary. He was the only one who didn’t.” Those blue eyes, so much like Harrison’s, streak with self-disgust, and his meaning sinks in.
“Oh. Ohhh.” That was why I never saw Ash with a woman last summer. And explains why despite his cheeky charisma, he’s private about his personal life. “You were together.”
“Shut up, Raegan,” he breathes. “Not here.”
“Did you break up?” Presumably, given the other guy has a girlfriend and Ash invited me.
“We couldn’t break up because, according to him, we never dated. We never did anything.”
The words are low and bitter, and I connect the dots. “He’s not out.” I cock my head. “Are you?”
“Not publicly,” Ash concedes. “But that man’s so deep in the closet it’s a fucking wonder he hasn’t emerged in Narnia.”
Ash shoots me a wry look before grabbing another drink off a passing tray. A warning goes off in my gut as he drains his champagne, then exchanges it for another.
I grab the full flute from his hand. “Think you’re good for now.” I square to face him. “Though I don’t think it was alcohol that had you sweating when I arrived.”
His face falls. “Our season ended, and it was my fault. A play I’ve made a thousand times before. One I should’ve made again. I knew it, and they did too. I needed something to numb out.”
“So you turned to drugs.”
“They turned to me.” He grimaces.
“How many times?”
“A couple.”
