The advisor is texting me everything she said in the phone call.
I read through it and toss my keys onto the counter. I pace the kitchen, running a hand through my hair. My chest feels tight, like there’s too much inside me and nowhere for it to go. I open my laptop, stare at an unfinished paper, and feel a familiar wave of panic roll over me.
This isn’t new. I’ve been through this bullshit before.
My high school hockey coach was disappointed in me for failing my classes, reminding me that college hockey is on the line if I don’t get my shit together. I was failing miserably because I had hockey and the girl. I forgot about maintenance,that the dream doesn’t just continue without hard work. I slacked off, turned in half-ass assignments, and hockey bled for that. I almost didn’t make it into college hockey.
My coach sat me down one day and told me that my distraction was very clear.Clear as day, he’d said. She was sitting in the hallway, waiting for me to finish my meeting with the coach. He warned me that energy flows where focus goes, and from that moment on, I committed to hockey. I committed to myself, my dreams, and my success.
I almost didn’t make the team.
I had to work my ass off to bring my grades up. I had to break up with my girlfriend. I committed to hockey.
I remember the feeling so clearly that it makes my jaw ache.
I exhale slowly and rub my hands over my face.
Cecily didn’t do anything wrong.
That’s the fucked-up part.
She didn’t ask me to fall behind. She didn’t ask me to want her all the time. She didn’t ask me to lie awake thinking about her smile or the way she fits against me like she belongs there.
But wanting her?
That’s the problem.
That’s why we’re only friends, nothing more. That’s why I kept her at arm’s distance. I knew that this could happen, and luckily, a tutor will fix it. I’m only a month behind.
I stare at my phone. Cecily’s name sits at the top of my messages. My thumb hovers over it.
I start typing.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that.
I delete it.
I type again.
I can’t think straight right now.
Delete.
I lock my phone and shove it face down on the table.
This is why I don’t do relationships.
The moment I care, everything else starts to crack. My focus. My grades. My future.
I can’t afford that.
Not again.
And then Dane’s face enters my mind. The way he was standing in her apartment. How she called me her friend.
I exhale, running a hand down my face. I don’t have the time to think about what she’s doing with him right now. I need to figure my shit out.
I open my laptop, pull up my coursework, and force myself to stare at the screen, even as my chest aches with everything I’m refusing to deal with.
