“You answered,” he says, and that’s when I realize he’s slurring his words.

I lean my head back on my pillow, staring at the ceiling, looking for strength. If I hang up, it could result in more drinking, but I don’t think I can handle a drunk call.

“Are you there?”

“Yes,” I say, shutting my eyes, wishing I never answered the call.

“Baby . . . I miss you.” His voice thick, like it’s trying to wade through water.

“Maddox, what do you want?” I ask, pressing my hand to my forehead.

“You. I want you.” He sighs heavily. “No, I need you.”

“Maddox, I can’t do this.”

“Please don’t hang up,” he says quickly, breathlessly. “Please, Kinny . . . I just, fuck, I need to hear your voice. I’m so . . . I’m so goddamn lost without you.” His voice’s so sad that it sounds like he’s crying, which in return brings tears to my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

He’s slurring so badly, I almost don’t understand what he’s saying, and I’m worried he’s at his place by himself.

“Are you alone?” I ask.

“Are you asking if I’ve fucked anyone?”

“What? No,” I answer, offended.

“Because I haven’t. I haven’t fucked one person.”

“Congratulations,” I say, painfully. “Look, is Linc there?”

“Yeah, on the couch. But I can kick him out. Come back to me, babe . . . please.”

Linc is there, and hopefully took all the alcohol away for the night. “It’s late, Maddox. I need—”

“Don’t hang up. Listen . . .” He pauses, his breathing heavy. “I just . . . can you . . . fuck . . . come back to me, Kinny? Come . . . back.”

Tears are streaming and I choke back a sob. I can’t stay on this phone call any longer and listen to his sad voice. I can’t stand listening to his pleading or the desperation lacing every word.

“I’ve got to go,” I say quickly. “Good night.” And before I can stop myself, I hang up and turn off my phone only to roll over in bed, clutch my pillow, and cry myself back to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

MADDOX

One Week Later

The apartment is silent, the air still, and the only glint of light in my bedroom is from my phone, shining back at me, tempting me.

I lift the secret bottle of whiskey stored under my bed to my lips, welcoming the burning sensation down my throat. It feels good, almost as good as the bruise on my jaw from another fight I created.

Seventh inning, benches cleared again, Trevor Donald threw his bat at me, I hopped over it, and we tackled each other. He got a good shot on my jaw and I plowed him in the side. When I was ripped away from him, Jason shoved me into the dugout and back into the locker room. I could tell from the look in his eyes, he was done.

And since he’s not here tonight, during his “shift”, I know he is done.

Of course, I’m not alone though. Trusty Lincoln is out on the couch.

They should all do themselves a favor and leave me the fuck alone, because this incessant babysitting is doing nothing but pissing me off even more.

I tilt the bottle back, sucking down another swig and then rest it on my leg.

I miss her.

Fuck, I miss her so much.

And the worst part of all of this, I knew I was going to fuck it up. I knew deep in the pit of my stomach, that what I had with Kinsley was too good to be true, and I didn’t deserve it, that there was no way I would be able to keep her for myself.

I was right.

The first chance I got, I sabotaged the entire thing and now . . . fuck, now I’m so goddamn lost, I don’t know what to do.

I lean my head against the headboard of my bed and close my eyes. The room spins instantly so I open them and take shallow breaths, my emotions starting to build up again, like they do every night, but this time, they feel stronger.

Maybe it was because for the first time since I became a Rebel, I was called into my manager’s office. I was berated, yelled at, told to get my shit together, and when I came back here, I thought how I could possibly do that? My initial reaction was to call Kinsley to ask for help. To use her as a guiding light out of this tailspin that doesn’t seem to stop—only growing more daunting by the minute.

Because I’m a masochist, I go to the pictures app on my phone and open the folder that’s marked Kinsley. My guts twist the moment her beautiful face comes on screen.

I drag my hand down my face, pain building so much in my throat that it feels like I can’t breathe, as if there’s only a millimeter of space for air to pass through.

The misery of that night haunts me.

Taunts me.

Has buried itself so deep within my bones that every time I move, I feel the pain I put between us.

I can taste it.

I flip to the next picture. It’s of the both of us. I’m squeezing her tight, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she has the sweetest smile on my face. Joy. It’s the only way to describe the picture—unfiltered joy.

Fuck, how could I have been so stupid? So rash? So harsh to judge without listening?

I kicked her out of my life without an explanation, leaving nothing but raw sores on a broken heart.

I flip to the next picture.

Kinsley and Herman.

I lift the bottle, take a large gulp, as I stare down at the two things that became the most important things in my life. My girl . . . and my dog.

Are they even still here, in Chicago?

Did they move back to Woodland?

Did Kinsley have to give Herman up?

Did she have to quit her job?

Fucking . . . hell.

I exit out of the photos and go to my contacts, before I can stop myself, I press call.

Bringing the phone to my ear, I silently pray that she answers. I have no idea what time it is, and I know the last time I called her, I couldn’t recall a damn thing I said to her. I heard her voice, and that’s all I needed.

“Pick up,” I whisper, my leg bouncing on my mattress. “Please pick up.”

The phone rings one more time and I hold my breath just as I hear a soft, “Hello?”

Relief floods through me, easing the ball of tension that was churning at the base of my skull. “Kinny, baby,” I say softly.

“Maddox, it’s . . . it’s two in the morning.”

I wince and set my bottle on the nightstand. Tomorrow will be brutal, that’s for damn sure.

“I’m sorry. I just, hell, I miss you.”

She sighs, and I hear the shuffle of her sheets.

Before she can say something, I quickly add, “Are you still in Chicago?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and I check my phone to make sure she didn’t hang up on me. Thankfully she hasn’t, so I wait patiently.

“Yes,” she finally says and just the thought that she’s still here, in the same city, gives me relief.

“Where?”

“It doesn’t matter, Maddox. We shouldn’t even be talking right now.”

Feeling her pull away, I say, “You’re my best friend, Kinsley.”

“Then you should have never treated me the way you did,” she says, her voice sad. “Please stop calling, you’re making this harder than it already is.”

She’s going to hang up, so I say the first thing on my mind. “I’m lost.” I swallow hard. “Kinsley, I’m so fucking lost without you.”

“I’m sorry, Maddox, but that isn’t my problem anymore. You took away my chance to care for you when you told me to get out of your life. Good night.”

And then the phone goes dead.

I slouch down in my bed, my hand covering my eyes, as I feel the first bout of wetness cascade down my cheek.

Fuck.

One Week Later

“Give me your phone.”

“Fuck off,” I say, clutching it to my chest.

Lincoln stands over me, his hair rumpled and a mess, wearing only a pair of shorts and looking less than pleased.

“Maddox, I’m not kidding. Give it to me.”

“Come any closer and I will fight you.”

Lincoln pushes both hands through his hair, irritation running through his body. “When are you going to get over this? We need you, man. You’re not just hurting yourself, but you’re hurting the team. Coach is about ready to put you on suspension. We can’t afford another loss from you . . . or another fight.”

“The fans like it,” I say, rubbing my hand over my sore jaw.

“You’re facing multiple fines and suspensions. Maddox, everything you worked for is about to fall apart. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“It’s not yours to fix.” I reach for the bottle of whiskey under my bed, completely forgetting that Lincoln doesn’t know about it. When he spots it in my hand, he moves so quick, my drunk ass can’t counter the swipe of his hand. The bottle is snatched and then chucked across my room, hitting the wall and crashing down it.