CHAPTER TWO
Adalyn
“The Green Warriors?”
I sighed, eyeing my phone on the dashboard of my rental.
“Are you sure that’s the name of the team?” Matthew’s voice came through the speaker again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.” A pause. “Hold on, is it the Charlotte Warriors?”
“I think I would know if I was being sent to an MLS team like the Charlotte Warriors.” My shoulders sank as I gripped the steering wheel, but I tried to keep my tone as cheery as possible, which right then amounted to drained. “It’s supposed to be a philanthropic project, so think smaller.”
“Smaller, okay,” he murmured, the keys of his laptop sounding in the background. “Isn’t it a little odd that you’re already heading for this place and you don’t even know what for? Shouldn’t you be briefed for something like this?”
“Odd situations call for odd solutions,” I countered. “But I was briefed. I was given a location, a contact, and the name of the team. The problem is that I didn’t have time to research.” Not when I was left with twenty-four hours to get Kelly up to speed before catching my flight. A wave of exhaustion hit me, making me suppress a yawn. “I barely had time to pack.” Or sleep. “Luckily, I know someone who’s good at research and works well on a time crunch because journalism is his job and passion.”
“Career perks,” my best friend muttered, his voice dripping with something I didn’t understand. I frowned, but he continued before I could ask. “And I’ll help you, if you let me tell you what I really think first.”
“I forgot about that career perk,” I deadpanned.
“What I think,” he announced, ignoring my comment, “is that banishing your own daughter over such an idiotic thing is overreacting.”
“Please,” I said with a breath. “Don’t mince your words.”
“I was mincing my words. What I actually believe is that your dad is being a little bitch.”
The tension pulling at my shoulders doubled.
Matthew had never liked my father, just like my father had never liked him. I didn’t blame either of them. They were as different as… chalk and cheese. Day and night. Water and oil. Just like Matthew and I were. The man was outspoken, rowdy, and charming, whereas I—and my father for that matter—was measured, critical, and way too pragmatic to go around life joking about everything like Matthew did. Laughs and giggles didn’t bring in results. Not in my world, at least.
It had always been a wonder how we were even friends. To me, at least. Not to my best friend. He’d been very clear about his intentions since we first crossed paths years ago in the line at Doña Clarita’s Sandwich Shop.
He’d tried to hit on me and I’d looked him up and down before genuinely asking him if he was high. His reaction was raucous laughter, then an I like you. You’ll keep me on my toes.
We somehow became inseparable after that day.
“My father has a point,” I told him. “There’s a mortifying video of me grunting and growling while I rip the head off the mascot of the team I work for.”
“It’s funny. And the world is vicious right now. People are seeing themselves in you. They’re relating to that show of female rage.” Not the female rage again. “If anything, it’s empowering. Definitely not embarrassing.”
Embarrassing.
You’re better than asking for special treatment after embarrassing me and the whole club.
I swallowed, ignoring the way my stomach dropped at the memory of my father’s words. “I think you know better than to try to sugarcoat this for me.”
“I’ve seen worse things online, Addy. So you had a brawl—”
“It wasn’t a brawl,” I interjected, eyeing the maps app on my phone with a frown. “And don’t call me Addy, Matty. You know nicknames make me feel like a child.” It didn’t matter if they came from my ex or my best friend. I simply hated being called anything but Adalyn.
“Fine,” he relented, ignoring my tone. “So it wasn’t a brawl. You had an altercation—”
“A scuffle at most.”
“So you had a scuffle—at most—with Sparkles, then some idiot posted the clip on some app and now Gen Z’s is all over it, so what? Everyone wants to be liked by zoomers. It’s where the money is. You’re probably their favorite millennial.”
“I’m technically on the boundary. So in any case, I’m a zillennial, not a millennial.” I checked my phone again, wondering why the road was meandering and the greenery thickening on both sides. I hadn’t expected to climb so high, either. “Regardless, the video had close to eight million views earlier today. And when I checked with my assistant, she told me that paps were at the Flames’ facilities today. Paps. Like I’m some… I don’t know, some celebrity whose sex tape leaked in the mid-2000s.”
“And look at how that turned out for Kim Kardashian. Now she has a fortune, a brand, a questionable trail of exes, and soon a law degree.”
“Matthew,” I warned with an exhale. “I’m not going to discuss why you think the Kardashians are the best thing to happen to the twenty-first century—again. Not only have I no interest in becoming one of them, but you only are obsessed because they have…” I trailed off. “You know, big booties.”
“I also value their entrepreneurial abilities,” he countered with a theatrical gasp. “And being an ass man is not a crime. Anyway, listen. The paps were probably just trying to catch Williams or Perez walking into practice. I’m pretty sure your assistant was blowing it out of proportion because David told her to. He’s been your father’s minion ever since he was hired for a job you’d be a million times better at. But that’s Andrew for you. A little b—”
“You’ve been in Chicago for too long,” I interjected. And ironically, it turned out David had never been my father’s minion. Instead—I stopped myself. “I can’t remember the last time a Flames player got that kind of attention.” I heard the squeak of leather and glanced down. My fingers were white, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. I released a breath. “My father is doing me a favor by giving me a chance to fix this. A way to redeem myself.”
We were in silence for a long moment, and when Matthew spoke, his voice was serious. Careful. I didn’t like it. “I know you have no problem standing your ground, but… this whole thing with Sparkles is not you.” My stomach dropped. “Did something happen? Something that pushed you to… this?”
This. That overwhelming pressure that had been on and off ever since those horrible moments before I launched myself at Sparkles returned to my chest. But once again, I didn’t feel ready to talk about what had preceded my outburst. All kinds of emotions clogged my vocal cords.
Seconds ticked by slowly until I cleared my throat. “If I had known you were going to start checking on my feelings, I would have dedicated this time to something else. Like a podcast. You know how much I love to drive to a deep voice recounting a complex and gruesome murder.”
“I’m being serious,” he said softly. Too softly. So much that it made that weight in my chest shift.
“Honestly, Matthew,” I told him, my tone coming out a little harsh out of pure survival. “I expected you to have shirts with #sparklesgate or #LadyBirdinator printed and in the mail by now. This touchy-feely display is disappointing.”
It wasn’t, but I couldn’t sift through everything currently rioting inside me.
The sound of him letting out a long and deep exhale came through the speaker. “Fuck, Addy.” He laughed, and this time I let that Addy slip. “Now, you’ve ruined my surprise.”
I felt myself relax. Only slightly.
Because just in time, I noticed the road ahead starting to twist, jutting in and out of a copse of trees. Where the heck was I?
“Can we get back to the reason why I called you?” I asked. “I should be close enough to my destination now, and I’d like to know what’s waiting for me when I get there.”
“All right,” he agreed, the sound of the keys on his laptop coming through the line again. “So we’re looking for the Green Warriors.”
“Correct. In North Carolina.”
A few seconds went by, then he said, “Nothing. Not a single thing. Are you sure that’s the right name?”
Old Adalyn would say that I was. But I wasn’t. The last twenty-four hours had been proof of how much I no longer was old Adalyn. “Try Green Oak. Try…” This was supposed to be a philanthropic venture, so perhaps I shouldn’t expect the team to be making headlines. “Try recreational.”
My last word seemed to hang in the reduced space inside the car, quiet except for the sound of the tires against the uneven pavement underneath.
When had I entered a dirt road? And why was Matthew not speaking? Was I out of reception?
I eyed the screen of my phone. The bars were there. “Matthew?”
A groan.
Oh no. “What did you find?”
“You’re not going to be happy about this.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Have you packed sensible footwear?”
“Sensible? You mean house slippers?” I frowned. “I will be here for weeks, so yes.”
“Not slippers. More like boots.”
“Boots?” I repeated.
“The outdoorsy kind. You know, comfortable and sturdy and not attached to a five-inch heel.”
“I know what boots are.” I rolled my eyes, even though I hadn’t been thinking of that kind. “I’m going to work, though. I’m not here for a day trip to…” I eyed the maps app again. “A very large ridge of mountains.” Where in the world was this town? God. I should have really done my research before jumping on that plane. “I plan to dedicate as much time to the Green Warriors as I did to my job for the Flames. Plus, on the off chance that I have some free time, which I won’t, you know that I don’t engage in activities that include the use of Gore-Tex and the risk of falling off a cliff.”
“Oh, but you will.”
I frowned, taking a right on yet another dirt road. “What does that mean?”
The click of keys. Another groan.
My ears popped. God, how high was I? “Matthew, I’m about three seconds away from hanging up on you.”
“All right. What do you want first? The bad news? Or the worse news?”
“There’s no good news?” I asked, squinting my eyes and spotting the intersection I was headed for. I took the turn, the road changing to a mountain trail of sorts. Pebbles started jumping under the tires, hitting the bottom of the rental. I held on to the steering wheel. Tight. This couldn’t be right. I was pretty sure I shouldn’t be driving on a road like this one. The whole car was shaking—vibrating—with the bumps on the road that wasn’t really a road. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Matthew said. And if I had really been listening, I would have heard the urgency in his voice. But I was too busy wondering why this wasn’t a town. I was entering a property tucked into the thick of the woods. The woods.
Matthew continued talking, his words getting lost in my head as I rounded a cabin. A cabin. An honest-to-God cabin with wooden beams and windows looking out at the mass of trees I’d left behind.
This couldn’t be right.
For some unfathomable reason, on my way here, I’d built up this idea in my head. On the plane, I’d convinced myself that I was heading to a North Carolina city—maybe a suburb, which would explain why I hadn’t heard of it. This was an assignment, after all. A philanthropic venture led by an MLS team. It was a serious project in a real town. But I found that hard to believe now.
Whatever place this property was attached to couldn’t be a city. Or a suburb. It didn’t look like there was a large enough town anywhere close, either.
I was surrounded by… nature. Woodland. Slopes covered in emerald greens and coppery browns. I’d driven down dirt roads that had led me to the kind of property I saw advertised as a rustic alpine retreat. There were birds chirping. Leaves rustling. Wind gusting. Silence.
I hated it.
I’d been too careless. Too hasty. I should have checked the location Kelly had sent me before programming it into the maps app. I should have researched. I should have—
“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the female voice of my maps app chanted.
I ignored the clogging sensation at the bottom of my throat and rounded the cabin again, looking for a place to park. There had to be an explanation. A reason. Probably a major town I’d missed coming up a shortcut in the mountains. And, hey, at least the cabin was… tasteful. Most people would be glad to be given the opportunity to escape to such a peaceful place. Mountain-fresh air. Cozy sunsets under a blanket. A porch facing the greenery.
But I wasn’t most people.
I hated the cold. And I didn’t have that strange need to travel across the country in search of fresh air. I liked Miami’s air. The city. The coast. Even the overwhelming heat. My job with the Flames. My life.
My stomach twisted, a ball of nausea climbing up.
Images of Sparkles’s head dropping to the grass flashed behind my eyes.
Breach of contract.
Female rage.
Embarrassing.
You’re a distraction, so I want you to leave Miami.
My palms turned clammy again, the steering wheel feeling slippery. Was the car still moving or had I put it in park?
“Adalyn?” Matthew asked, reminding me he was still there. Had he been talking? “Talk to me.”
But I was too busy trying to focus on whatever was going on in my body. Was this exhaustion? Dehydration? When was the last time I’d had water? Was I PMS-ing? I shook my head. Oh God, was I losing it again? I—
Something hit the bumper with a thump.
I slammed on the brakes, the action so sudden, so rough, that my whole body shot forward.
My forehead bounced against the steering wheel.
“Ouch.” I heard myself groan through the ringing in my ears.
“ADALYN?” came from somewhere to my right. Matthew’s voice. It sounded muffled now. “Jesus Christ, what just happened?”
“I hit something,” I announced, a stinging sensation burning the right side of my forehead. With a ragged breath, I gave myself three seconds, letting my head rest on the leathery surface of the wheel, before I straightened up and turned my head, looking for my phone, which had fallen from the dashboard.
Matthew’s voice returned.
“Tell me you’re okay or I swear I’ll call your mother right fucking now—”
“No,” I croaked. “Please, don’t. Not Maricela. She can’t know.” I blinked, trying to clear the tiny spots popping around the edges of my field of vision. “I’m good,” I murmured, spotting something moving outside the car. Something… that was running. And… Clucking? “I think I just hit a chicken.”
Unintelligible swearing came from the speaker while I released the seatbelt and picked the phone up from the floor. I returned to the upright position and—
My head swirled. “That was a mistake,” I murmured.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Adalyn. The Green Warriors—”
“I feel like I need to throw up.”
“Get out of that car,” he said. “Now.”
With a nod Matthew couldn’t see, I put the car in reverse. “The car is in the middle of the driveway so I’m going to park and then—”
“No.”
“I can’t just leave the car here.” Pebbles jumped from under the tires as the vehicle started to move. “Maybe I should check on the chicken, too.” A thought formed in the haziness that was my head. “Oh God. What if I killed it?” My eyes drifted to the direction the chicken had run off. I couldn’t believe this. “Another stupid bird.”
My eyelids fluttered shut. Just for a moment. It couldn’t have been more than a nanosecond, a short-lived reprieve, but—
A thump jolted me.
A thump. I had hit something. Again. Something larger than a chicken. Something like a—God, don’t let it be a bear.
My eyes blinked open, panic surging.
In the same breath, a growl—a bear-like growl to my utter dismay—came from the rear of the car. My foot shot forward. But my head was fuzzy and my basic reflexes clearly amiss, because instead of the brakes, I must have hit the accelerator.
And hurled the rental against a tree.