I zipped up my VVU warm-up jacket to my chin and jealously watched my teammates suit up. Even though I wasn’t playing, I was still going to carry the flag out of the tunnel. I supposed I should be grateful that the team thought highly enough of me that they wanted me to, but instead I felt like a fraud. It wasn’t worth arguing about, though. So I would carry the damn flag, wave at the crowd, and play my fucking part. Apparently, I was a “fan favorite.” Fuck my life.
Beside me, Jake adjusted his pads. “You okay?”
“Sure.” I wasn’t, and we both knew it, but there was nothing to be done about it. Besides, Jake didn’t need to worry about me. In my rare moments of not feeling like a pitiful jackass, I realized that what he’d said was right—he did have a lot more riding on this season than I did. Jake was a phenomenal receiver, but the shitty hand he’d been dealt in life meant he hadn’t gotten to showcase that. I hoped he got an agent who could talk him into exploiting his situation as a human-interest story. ESPN and viewers would eat that shit up. I doubted Jake would go for it, though. It wasn’t his style. But in the cutthroat world of professional sports, my view was that he should take advantage of everything he could.
“I’m glad you’ll be out there,” he said. “I know it sucks, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Thanks.” I appreciated the sentiment, but he wouldn’t see me during the game. My plan was to stay out of the way unless the crowd needed pumping up. Then I supposed I would trot myself out like a damn show pony. Christ. I was seriously questioning my past antics.
Coach Coyle walked in and gave his pregame non-speech, and then it was time to go. For the first time ever, my heart didn’t pound and my chest didn’t swell with pride as I ran out of the tunnel while “Enter Sandman” played and the fans jumped up and down, vibrating the stands.
I felt nothing.
***
SOMETHING THAT SUCKED worse than being sidelined was coming home afterward to an empty house. I’d fucked up beyond belief. I never should have given in to my feelings for Becca because there was no going back, and now I hadn’t just lost a romantic relationship with her—I’d lost having her in my life at all. I hadn’t even begun to process losing Roman as well. Thinking about the gaping hole in my life that the Zizzos had once filled was too much because I couldn’t even think of Becca without a fierce ache overtaking my entire body.
It was my own damn fault. But she was better off without me. I’d underestimated her in my need to protect her, and if I was honest with myself, “protecting” her had been self-serving. I hadn’t wanted to see her with anyone else. Now, though, I realized that Becca was smart enough not to date a jackass, and if she was momentarily fooled, she would kick him to the curb soon enough… just like she’d done with me.
I’d pushed her to the breaking point because our history had blinded her to seeing the truth about me. The thing was that although she was better off without me, I was not better off without her. Nowhere close. But that was my problem.
My phone rang, and I reached for it, thinking it was Jake. He’d wanted me to come out to Bleakers, but I’d declined, which was a first for me. I wasn’t big on drinking alone, but I could not deal with Rachel’s well-meaning twenty questions or with seeing my friends happy with their girls while I was fucking miserable. Yeah, I’m a self-centered asshole.
For a fleeting second, I wondered if maybe it would be better to go out. I could easily find a girl to go home with to help me forget Becca. But the thought of being physical with another girl after being with Becca turned my stomach. With Becca, I’d experienced love. Everything else would be a cheap substitute.
I blinked in surprise at the caller ID on my phone. Why the hell is Chelsea calling?
“When were you going to tell us you got injured?” she barked at me as soon as I picked up.
Nice to talk to you, too, Chelsea. Sometimes my sister could be just like my mother.
“Eventually.” Truthfully, it hadn’t occurred to me to make a special call to my family. I figured I would tell them the next time I talked to them, whenever that was.
On the other end of the line, Chelsea sighed. “I wished you would have texted at least. It was crappy finding out you were injured by watching your game and seeing you on the sideline.”
Huh. I’d had no idea she watched the games. “Sorry.”
“And thanks for the engagement card, by the way.”
“What engagement card?”
“Exactly.”
What the hell was wrong with her tonight? “Uh, congratulations, I guess.” Then I thought about it for a second and got pissed at her hypocrisy. “It’s not like you called to let me know the happy news. I found out from Stacey. I didn’t even know you were dating the guy. What’s his name?”
“Don’t be petty.”
“I’m not. I seriously can’t remember his name.” Does that make me even more of a prick?
“John.”
That’s right. John Henneman III, heir to the Henneman political dynasty.
“Well, I hope you and John will be happy.”
She ignored my glib comment. “Just to give you a heads-up, once Mom finds out you’re not playing, she’s going to want you to come to the engagement party.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that she’s using you like that?” Maybe it was a callous question, but I wasn’t feeling up to putting the energy into being tactful.
“That’s not what’s it’s about.” She paused. “Well, not completely. She’s happy for me.”
I snorted. “Of course she is. It’s a foot in the door with the Hennemans.”
“I suppose that’s a side benefit.” At least she admitted it.
“Why are you marrying him?”
“What do you mean?” She sounded genuinely confused.
“I don’t know. It just seems… convenient.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m marrying John to help Mom’s career?”
I could tell by her tone that she was irritated, but she had to know that was what people might think. Or maybe I’m the only one who thinks that. “Not only hers. Maybe your own too.”
“That’s low, Carson.” She actually sounded hurt, and for a moment, I felt like an asshole, but I shook it off. My suspicions weren’t all that outrageous.
“Like I said, I didn’t even know you were dating the guy until Stacey told me you were engaged.”
“It was pretty quick,” she admitted. “But we’ve been friends since the first week of law school. Over the summer, things changed. When you know, you know. To answer your question, I’m marrying him because I love him. We’re a lot alike. We have similar goals and ambitions.” The warmth in her voice when she talked about him told me she wasn’t lying.
“Then I’m happy for you, Chelsea. Really.” I tried to sound sincere.
“Usually people sound a little more upbeat when they say things like that.”
I ran a hand over my face. “Sorry. Things are a bit fucked up for me right now with football and… everything.” No way in hell was I telling her about what had happened between Becca and me.