Losing to Win by Michele Grant

or with my friends, I needed to be on my own. When I said I needed to get back to the business of being Carissa Wayne, I also needed to find out who that was and what that meant. In a very short time, I applied to the graduate program at Tulane. I worked part time at a charter school in New Orleans while I got my master’s degree in secondary education and teaching. When I graduated, I was offered a position at Havenwood. I took the job, bought the house. Mac and I have been fixing it up ever since. And here we are.”
    I asked a question that had been dancing around in the corners of my mind. “So you and Mac?”
    â€œMe and Mac, what?” She arched a brow.
    â€œI always had a feeling he wanted to hook up with you.”
    Her head reared back as she crowed with laughter. “This is one of your problems, Mal. You see things that aren’t there. If anything, he’s half in love with Taylor and hasn’t realized it.”
    My eyes traced the line of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. Her shirt slid down her arm, revealing a bright pink bra strap. I was nostalgic for the days when I could just reach out and touch what intrigued me. A part of me would always look at her as mine. Slowly, I lifted my eyes back to her face. “Oh. Does that mean there’s no husband, fiancé, man?”
    â€œWhat’s it to you?” She glowered.
    â€œI’m just asking, Ris.”
    Her spine snapped straight and her voice was clipped when she answered. “The answer is no, not that it’s any of your damn business. Where’s the next future Mrs. Mal Knight?”
    â€œThere is no such woman.” I hadn’t dated seriously after Carissa bailed. I didn’t have any interest in starting anything serious, so my encounters were mostly causal and short, cards on the table up front, no strings and no drama.
    â€œMal Knight without a woman? That’s got to be a first.” Her voice was waspish.
    I sighed. “This isn’t going to work if you hate me, Ris.”
    â€œI don’t hate you, Mal,” she said tiredly.
    I asked the tough question. “What do you feel?”
    She waggled her shoulders up and down in a shrug. “Can’t say I like you very much, but other than that, I don’t have strong feelings one way or the other.”
    â€œYou used to love me,” I reminded her.
    â€œ You used to love me ,” she countered.
    â€œCan you tell me what you used to love about me?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” She looked confused.
    â€œWell, you were one of the few who loved me with or without a football in my hands. I just wondered why.”
    â€œIf you really want to know . . . I thought you were sweet.”
    â€œSweet?” I frowned.
    â€œYes, sweet.”
    â€œNot hot, sexy, manly?”
    She grinned. “You were that too, but underneath all the macho jock bullshit you were a nice Southern gentleman. You protected your own, you put others first, you cared about things. You loved your family, you were kind to children, you were good with your hands, and you accepted me as I was—no conditions. You were driven, but it was a healthy ambition and I admired that about you. You were there for me, you listened to me, you made me feel cherished and important. You were . . . everything.”
    Her tone clearly said I wasn’t any of those things anymore, in her opinion. “I was all of that, huh?”
    â€œYou were. Until you weren’t.” She crossed her arms and met my gaze directly.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œMal, for the last time, I did. Over and over again. You quit listening.”
    â€œYou should’ve made me listen.”
    â€œWhen was the last time anyone made Malachi Knight do anything?”
    She had a point. Not knowing what else to say, I sighed again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done a lot of things differently and I definitely should’ve come after you