Chapter 16 "What's that look about?" Renn asks me, laughing. I survey the scene around us and try to decide where to start. First, the air stinks like grass, mud, and water thanks to what can only be described as a deluge overnight. Puddles form on the edges of the pitch, and I'm certain the guys are intentionally getting as muddy as possible. Children. All of them. Then there are the things I heard shouted from player to player, things that I would take my earrings out to fight over if someone said them to me. Yet they all share a laugh and prepare to scrum again. I think. I can't quite tell if this is a free-for-all or if strategy is involved. "I'll never understand rugby," I say, furrowing a brow as another scrum begins. "It's like football, soccer, and cheerleading had a baby with big thighs." Renn's laughter grows louder at my analysis. "I don't know how the hell you got cheerleading in the mix." "What is happening right now?" I ask, watching them scurry around. "Right now, they're trying to work the ball to the back of the scrum to Ridge. Then-there. He has it now. See? Ridge is number eight." I nod. "Okay, Ridge will either pick up the ball and go, or Gray will take it. Like that," Renn narrates. "Gray can either snipe and run it himself if he sees a gap around the scrum or pass it to the fly-half or a forward." Gray picks up the ball, then turns and lunges as if he's going to run to the right. As soon as everyone shifts that direction, he makes a quick change to the left and explodes forward. He makes it a few yards before he's tackled and lands on his side. Renn smiles. "I take it that went well," I say. Renn's head subtly rocks back and forth as he turns to me. "He's the best in the game ... when he wants to be." The two of us stand on a balcony just outside a conference room on the executive level. It's Renn's personal observatory. He loves rugby too much not to want to be involved in every tier of the game. But he's told me more than once that if he gets involved with practices and games, it undermines the coaching staff and the ultimate goal of winning. As the guys prepare to scrum again, my mind flirts with what Renn just said. "Gray is the best in the game when he wants to be." I can't fathom why he wouldn't want to be the best. But something tells me that Renn knows the answer. "How has it been going with Gray?" Renn asks, watching the scrum unfold. I sigh. "I thought I was here to help you get Blakely's birthday party organized." "You are, and you did. I feel much better about the party after our chat today. But I also want to check in and see how things are working out between the two of you." I watch Gray move about like he has endless energy. He's one of the smaller guys out there, but he's by far the quickest. He seems to know where the ball is going before it gets there, and his teammates appear to follow his gestures and commands without a second thought. "They're going better," I say, my eyes glued to Gray and the way his body moves. There's mud all over him, and it's ... hot. "We met in person on Sunday and managed an entire hour face-to-face without drawing blood." Renn chuckles. "That's progress." "Can I ask you something?" "Sure." A whistle blows below, and the activity comes to a stop. They all gather in a circle before breaking. Gray turns toward us with a towel in his hand. He's talking to Jory when he looks up ... and his gaze crashes into mine. I want to look away, embarrassed at being caught watching him, but a blush settles over my cheeks as a grin splits his. His attention flicks to Renn, then back to me. I return his small smile before he looks away and follows Jory to the locker room. "You wanted to ask me something?" Renn motions for me to follow him inside the empty conference room. "Hang on just a second." He walks to the other end of the room and quietly takes a call. I slowly gather my things and the various samples and catalogs I brought with me and shove them in my bag. Renn was adorable as he picked out every detail for Blakely's birthday. He wanted a say in everything down to the napkins. By the time he gets off his call, I'm finished. "Sorry," Renn says. "Back to your question." "What made you want to take a risk on Gray?" "What do you mean?" "I mean that he's obviously a wild card. He's only the best when he wants to be. So what makes you think you can make him want to be great?" Renn plucks his blazer off the back of a chair and shrugs it over his wide shoulders. His brows pull together, and he slips his phone into his pocket. Finally, he turns to me. "Everyone deserves a second chance." I hoist my bag onto my shoulder and wait for the rest of the explanation, but it never comes. Instead, Renn leads me into the hallway toward the elevators. I follow him because it's all I can do. We step inside the lift, and he presses the button to take us to the lobby. "You know what?" Renn says, watching the numbers lower as we descend. His eyes darken. "I take that back. Not everyone deserves a second chance." I know he's thinking about his father. The only time Renn looks like he could murder someone with his bare hands is when his dad is the topic of conversation. But it's justified. I'm nothing to Reid Brewer, and I want to kill the man myself for hurting his family the way that he did. The doors part, and Renn waits for me to exit first. "I'm meeting Tate down here in a few minutes." Renn smirks. "Want to hang around and wait with me?" "Ha!" I back away from him slowly. "Good luck. I'll email you tonight with an update on the party plans. Let me know if you think of anything else." "Thanks, Astrid." "You're very welcome." "I'll tell Tate that you said hi." I glare at him, making him chuckle, then I turn around. I pull my bag tighter to my side and make my way through the lobby. My brain is in overdrive, picking apart my conversation with Renn. The one thing that stands out to me is that he thinks Gray deserves a second chance. Why? It's not that Renn wants to give Gray another chance. It's why Gray needs it that bothers me. Because the way Renn said it didn't sound like Gray needed another chance at winning or competing. It was as if he needed another chance at ... something else. And I can't figure out what that something else is. I push open the doors and step outside, heading for the parking lot. "Okay, I need to get some of these things sourced for Blakely's surprise party," I say, voice messaging myself a note in my phone for later. "Send Renn an update on that. I need to confirm with Brewer Air that they'll have a jet for Renn to use for his trip to Vegas next week. And I⁠-" "Hey!" I glance over my shoulder and see Gray coming toward me from the player facilities. I slide my phone into my pocket and try not to stare. "Trying to get some cardio in today or what?" he says with a grin. A person could see those dimples from outer space. I stop and wait for him to catch up, and he breaks into a slow jog. His hair is damp, and it catches the sunlight, making him look like he has a halo. The closer he gets, the more I notice a slight purple tint to the area beneath his right eye. "What do you mean?" I ask as he joins me on the sidewalk, and we walk shoulder to shoulder toward our cars. "I got my cardio in before I left my house this morning." "You're practically running out of here." "Maybe I was trying to get away from you," I say, fighting the smile tugging at my lips. He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. What are you doing here today, anyway?" "Renn needed my help with a few things." My heart warms as I remember him obsessing over whether we should have light or dark pink balloons at Blakely's party, and how he wanted to touch the linen samples for the tablecloths before he made his decision. And now I'm lugging them back to the store. Oof. "What happened to your eye?" "An elbow. I think it was Breaker's, but I can't be sure." "You should've elbowed him back in the earhole just in case." He laughs. "Earhole?" "Isn't that what it's called?" I laugh, too. "I mean, it's a hole in your ear. Earhole." "We don't call your nostrils noseholes." "But we do call the hole in your bottom an asshole, so your point is not valid." He shakes his head. "You're such a weirdo." "Thank you," I say, lifting my chin in pride. My car is a row up from his behemoth and about five spots closer to the facility. I wanted to rev my engine as I passed his truck on my way in today, but I couldn't figure out how and didn't want to tear up my transmission. Again. I open the back door and set my bag on the seat. "If you get time today, can you check your email? A woman from Wayside will be sending you a document to sign electronically. They won't even talk to me about your endorsement without having your approval on file." "Yeah, I'll check it as soon as I get home." "Thanks." I reach for the door to close it when I hear my phone ringing in my bag. "Hang on a second." "Sure." I dig the device out from under the linen samples and answer the unknown number. "Hello?" "Hello, is this Ms. Lawsen?" a cheery female asks. "Yes." "Great. Hi, Ms. Lawsen. This is Wanda from Dixon Legal Group. How are you this afternoon?" I glance at Gray. He's leaning against the back of my car and messing with his phone. And hopefully not eavesdropping on me ... like I do him. "I'm great," I say, walking a few paces away from Gray. "How are you?" "Wonderful, thank you for asking. I'm calling because I need to reschedule your consultation with Mr. Dixon. An emergency has popped up, and he'll be unavailable until June first." My jaw hangs open. "June first? That's weeks from now." "I know, and I apologize. But unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about it. If two thirty still works, I can slot you in that day. Otherwise, I have a four o'clock that afternoon, and an eight fifteen that morning. We have a few slots the week after that, too." I rub my forehead as my head begins to pound. Fuck. "I, um, I guess two thirty will have to work. You're sure there's no availability before then? Because the letter said I have to respond within two weeks from the postmark or they'll just file against me in civil court." I think. Maybe it was in criminal court. Shit. Am I going to be a felon over this? "I'm sure. But I have you in for June first with Mr. Dixon at two thirty. You'll get an automated reminder via text the morning before your appointment. Can I do anything else for you?" Yeah, just have him look at the damn letter and tell me what to do. "No, that's it." "Great. We'll see you then. Have a great rest of your day." "You, too." I sigh, squeezing my temples with my free hand. Gray's eyes bore holes into the side of my face, but I don't acknowledge it. I know he overheard half of the conversation, but I don't know if I should explain what it was about. It's really none of his business, and maybe he won't bother to ask. It would be like him not to care. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye. "Are you all right over there?" he asks. "Yeah. I'm fine." He grins. "Just an everyday call about getting taken to court, right?" I sigh, dropping my hands to my sides in frustration. "Do you know what? I still hate you." He only laughs in response. I pace a small circle and try not to rip my hair out. I can't take this. I can't have this lording over my head like the ghost from hellationship's past. How hard is it to look at a letter and figure out how to legally shut it down? "Can I point something out to you?" he asks. "No." He chuckles again. "I forgot how feisty you can be." "That was your first mistake." "I'm going to point it out anyway," he says. "I told you that I have a therapist. That's very personal to me, but I told you." My feet stop moving and I look at him. He's right. He did tell me that. But I didn't ask him to, and I didn't expect him to. And I didn't ask him about the picture aside from where he wanted it placed. So no bones. "I didn't ask," I say. "No, you didn't, and I doubt that you would've." I cross my arms over my chest. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means that you ..." He shakes his head and shoves off my car. "You know what? Never mind." He adjusts his bag on his shoulder and starts to walk away, but the idea of leaving it like this between us again-irritated and awkward-only makes me feel worse. It's another problem that I'd almost resolved unwinding. "Wait," I say, glancing around to ensure no one is within earshot of us. "I'm sorry." He turns slowly. I don't have to see his smirk to know he's smirking. I can tell by the cockiness with which he moves. "It's only fair that I apologize." I throw my pride and cares to the wind. "You were the bigger man last time. I can suck it up this round." His eyes darken, and he stops himself from speaking by biting his bottom lip. I move right along. "I received a letter telling me that I'll be sued for twenty thousand dollars over rent and damage to an apartment that I haven't lived in for years. Why haven't I lived there, you ask? Because my boyfriend, whose name was on the lease, kicked me out so he could move another woman in." A quick breath fills my lungs. "Audrey knew an attorney who was going to give me a free consult, but he just canceled. So it looks like I'm selling feet pictures or a kidney because I'm not farting in jars." He chokes back a laugh. "I'm at my wits' end," I say, frazzled. Gray clears his throat and runs a hand across his mouth, dragging a finger along his bottom lip. "First of all, that doesn't make sense. How can you be on the hook?" "They say because I paid the landlord a couple of times and the trash service was in my name while I lived there. Apparently, that makes me somehow responsible for back rent and damages that Trace and his very young, very beautiful personal trainer girlfriend left when they moved out." Gray sets his bag on my trunk. I groan, pushing on my eyeballs to keep them from tearing up. The pressure of this scenario is hitting a boiling point, and I don't know how much more I can take. I can't think too much about it or I'll break down. I don't have the infrastructure for support like Gianna or Audrey have with their families. It's just me over here. At times like this, that reality hits me hard ... like an ice pick to the heart. "I apologize," I say, dropping my hands in frustration. "I shouldn't have dumped all that on your lap. Ignore me." He gives me a pointed look. "You need an attorney. That's what you're saying?" I shrug helplessly. I don't want to talk to him about this, but it's kind of too late now. "I think so," I say. "At the least, I need someone to tell me what my options are. I obviously don't have twenty thousand dollars." I groan, the sound of that number making my stomach threaten to reject my lunch all over the asphalt. "And a part of me is petty, too, because why should I have to bail him out of his problems when he caused me so many problems? You know?" Gray pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps around on the screen, then he brings the device to his ear. His jaw flexes as he waits for someone to answer. I don't know whether to get in the car, to shrivel in embarrassment, or wait for him to finish before exiting stage right from this overly dramatic and humbling scene. "Hey, Joe. It's Gray." He nods, listening. "Yeah. I had it transferred to you around lunchtime. Did you get it?" He paces a crack in the concrete. "Let me know if not because I received confirmation. We should be good." I open my driver's side door and toss my phone into the passenger's seat. I try to remember where I put the list of attorneys that I didn't call last week. There were three or four left. Maybe I can get an appointment with one of them. I could put it all on a credit card or try to make payments. The thought makes me want to weep. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, and I refuse to blink so they don't spill down my cheeks. "One more thing. You don't happen to have any consulting slots open in the next few days, do you?" Gray asks. What? I twirl around, seeing him through my unshed tears. "What are you doing?" The words are thick through the emotion lodged in my throat. "It's for a friend of mine," he says, winking at me. "She's getting fucked by an ex and needs legal advice so she doesn't get extorted." I stand frozen in place, unable to believe what I'm hearing. "Friday at three?" Gray asks, looking at me with lifted brows. "Hang on, Joe." He drops the phone to his side. His features are sober. "Listen, I've known Joe for my whole life. He can look at your papers on Friday at three, if that works for you. He won't charge you, either. No pressure either way." "Gray, you didn't have to do this." He grins. "The correct response is thank you." My cheeks heat as I remember saying those words to him. "Thank you. Three o'clock on Friday is wonderful." I stand, stupefied, as he winds up his call. I'm not sure what to say or what to think about it. I can only hope he's not joking around about this because I might break down if so. After I get Gianna's taser. He puts his phone away. "You got yourself an appointment." "I don't know what to say." I laugh in shock. "Where is Joe? How do I get to his office?" "Joe is in Sugar Creek." "Your hometown?" "Yeah." Gray clears his throat. "I was going back there to visit my brother this weekend, anyway. So if you want to hitch a ride, that'd be fine with me. We can make a pact not to talk, or you can wear earbuds, if you want." No words appear on my tongue. It's like my brain stopped working, and I can't comprehend basic English. Because there is no way Gray just offered me help like this. It's not possible. "I mean, you can drive yourself, too⁠-" "You just blindsided me. I'm sorry. Just give me a second." I take a long, deep breath and exhale slowly. "You didn't have to do this, Gray." "You've already said that." He smirks. "And as far as you riding with me, I'm going anyway. It's not like I'm making a special trip for you. Don't think you're special or anything." "Well, when you put it like that, fine," I say, struggling not to smile at him. "Great." "Great." He tosses his bag over his shoulder and walks toward his truck. "I'd say I'll text you with details, but God knows you'll be texting me orders every day until then. I'll just hit reply." I watch him until he reaches his truck. How is this possible? My mind can barely break down what just happened as I climb into my car. I close the door and then rest my head against the seat, closing my eyes. And breathe. Gray's truck starts up in the distance, loud and obnoxious as always. This makes no sense. Does Gray pity me? Is he thankful for my help? Are we going to arrive in Sugar Creek and find out that Joe is a drunkard with a magic eight ball? The thought makes me laugh, and my stress eases. Finally. I start the car and buckle up, then I reach for the gear shifter. But I make a last-minute change of plans and grab my phone instead. Gray's name is at the top of my text chain with a cowboy by his name. Me: I hate you a smidgen less. Gray: Don't. You're buying my lunch while we're there, and I eat. A lot. Me: Never mind. I hate you the same. Gray: Thank God. "Asshole," I say, grinning as I leave the facility.