Inside, I fought against every instinct to bolt. With trembling fingers, I paced my bedroom, phone pressed to my ear, and ran my fingers through my hair waiting for the other line to answer. It went straight to voicemail, and, like no one else I knew under 50, I left one.
I sat, staring at the phone willing it to ring. All my mom’s words screamed through my head, ripping through my skull.
Instead of a return call, a text came through.
LJ: Not a great time. I’ll be back in town tomorrow. We can talk then.
That was it.
With one text, he’d wrecked all the things I’d given him. My friendship. My trust. My love.
I dropped to my bed, fingers curled around my phone and trying to catch my breath.
My vision blurred, adrenaline screamed through my veins, and my sob was locked in my throat.
This was the moment. The moment he left.
Even if he came back on Friday, something had changed, and I should’ve been preparing instead of pretending.
26
LJ
Checking my messages after I left the field had been a mistake. There was one from Marisa and another from my mom. The test results would be back in a few days.
Sitting in a hotel room in Chicago, I was ready to rip the paintings off the walls. He had to be okay. I’d pushed myself harder than I’d thought possible on the field today. My dad’s life might hang in the balance of however many zeroes were on the end of my contract.
I wanted—no, needed to take away all the financial worries that might hit them. I needed to take care of Quinn and make sure Marisa still got her European tour. I needed to take care of them and this was the only way I could do it.
Talking to anyone would only make it worse. Talking to Marisa would make me want to be there right now. It would make me want to max out a credit card to get on a plane tonight, not tomorrow morning at seven am with the rest of the guys and her dad.
He stood right on the sidelines beside the interviewer with the rest of the guys ready to go out onto the field.
I’d gritted my teeth not to let a word slip out about Marisa.
He’d won his championship and taken away Marisa’s chance of a lifetime. She’d been right. He didn’t deserve a second chance. He didn’t deserve a second of her care or attention.
I’d wanted to believe she was wrong, but she wasn’t. Fuck him.
She’d called when I was in the locker room, but I’d been expecting a call from my mom, and her dad had been there with us, going over all the final numbers for the day.
Stewing, I struggled to settle down back in the dry, heated air of the hotel room. At least I hadn’t had to share one. But there would be a worn path in the floor by tomorrow morning.
A pound at the door dragged me from the bench-clearing flood overwhelming my head.
I jerked it open. Keyton stood in the hallway.
“We’re going to get something to eat. Let’s go.”
“I’m not really—”
“It wasn’t a request. Get your shoes and wallet and let’s go. Berk will meet us down there. He’s talking to Jules.”
A silent elevator ride down to the hotel restaurant later, Keyton sat cross from me in a chair while he’d made me take the booth like they were afraid I’d take off and go right back to my room. It wasn’t the stupidest conclusion. I’d thought of trying it the whole time he’d been going over his menus.
The sports bar restaurant had jerseys framed and hung on the walls. Smells of fried food and beer on tap flooded the whole place. TVs on the walls replayed the Sports Center combine results from today.
I sunk down deeper into my chair.
Keyton set down his menu. “Do I need to call Marisa?”
“This has nothing to do with Marisa.”
“You’re only ever a pain in the ass like this when there’s something up with Marisa.” He averted his gaze. We’d kept all talk of me and Marisa and how he’d caught us to a minimum. There were a few times our loud-as-hell beds had probably given us away, but other than that, we’d kept a low profile. Too low.
“It has nothing to do with Marisa.”
Other than me wanting her here. I wanted her with me to tell me everything would be okay and to not freak out until all the tests came back. It was so much worse when I couldn’t see her or touch her.
“Are you worried about how today went?”
Another row clicked into place on the Rubik’s cube of looming catastrophe. Not only was I dealing with fear of my dad being sick again, but now I could add in a dash of my numbers not adding up to the pro scouts. My stomach, which had been not interested before, now outright rejected the idea of putting anything in my mouth.
“You’ve got it handled. We all saw how you did out there.”
“Who? LJ?” Berk slid into the seat beside Keyton. “You’re a lock, man. First or second round. No nefarious past. No performance issues. It’s not like you showed up late and missed the first half of one of the biggest games of the season or anything.” He shook his head and laughed, gulping down the water in front of him.
At least I wasn’t the only one who’d had a fucked up season. Berk had almost been kicked off the team for fighting an opposing player during the season, but it had all faded away like a mirage, and he’d kept tight lipped about it.
“What’s your assessment of me?” Keyton turned in his chair.
“It’s harder with a tight end.” Berk waited, but neither of us took the ‘that’s what she said’ bait. Read the room, Berk.
“You’re probably looking at second or third.”
Keyton’s shoulders dipped a little. Not with sadness, but relief. “I’d be happy with fourth. I don’t even care. I just want to play.”
Berk spun the laminated half page menu on the table, flicking it with his finger. “Not go on tour with your secret rock band?”
“What?”
“The guitar. It’s not an easy instrument to sneak in and out of the house.”
“I don’t play.”
“What’s the story then?”
The server came over and took our orders. I went with a burger and fries, but there was no way I was going to be able to choke down more than a few bites.
Berk drank some of his soda. “We’re not dropping this, Keyton. Graduation is a little over two months away and you still haven’t spilled the beans. We don’t hear you playing late at night. Is it electric? Or do you only play when no one’s home?”
Keyton’s gaze flicked to mine. “I don’t play. I’m holding onto it for someone.”
“You’re schlepping a guitar around in college for someone.”
“Yeah. No story there.”
Berk leaned across the table. “I highly doubt that.”
But he let it drop. I wasn’t much company for the annoying needling game.
Food arrived and I pushed it around my plate.
“If you’re not going to eat it. I will. All the snacks Jules made for me are gone.” Berk slid my plate toward him without waiting for a reply.
Keyton let out a low, rumbling laugh. “You mean the two gallon-sized Ziploc bags of cookies are gone?”
He shrugged. “I was stress eating.”