Her head shakes back and forth as her tongue swipes between her lips, “You didn’t let them down. Stop telling yourself that. It’s okay if you don’t know what to say yet. They aren’t going to judge you for it, if that’s your worry.”
That’s exactly my worry, even though I know it shouldn’t be. I can’t help but sit here and think about how fucking weak I am for letting things get like this. Like a mind reader, Mia sees my thoughts written all over my face and reaches for my hand.
“I’ll talk to them,” she whispers as her dainty fingers squeeze mine.
“Hand me that blanket up there, please.” Mia is standing in my closet, gesturing to the extra comforter on top of my closet.
“No, you aren’t sleeping on the couch. Just sleep in my bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We can put a pillow barrier or whatever you need, but you aren’t sleeping on the couch. If you insist on staying here, you can sleep in here.” I point to my bed from where we’re standing as she gives me a conflicted look before nodding her head in agreement.
When she comes out of the bathroom, she’s wearing one of my shirts and an old pair of sweats that she has tied tightly against her skin. Mia wears my clothes all the time. Wears myname and my number on her back every Sunday, but somehow, the thought of her wearing my shirt right now and hopping into my bed next to me is stirring emotions I didn’t expect.
“You’re going to burn up in those sweatpants.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly think this through and I don’t have shorts and I can’t just get in bed with my best friend in my underwear.” I tilt my head at her with a contemplating stare and it makes us both laugh. She’s right. It’s a better idea if she wears sweatpants.
I watch as Mia lays herself on the bed and pulls the comforter up over her as she turns on her side to face me. My bedside light is still on, casting an ambiance lighting in the room, and I can see the freckles scattered across her nose and the warm chocolate tone of her eyes as she lays there next to me.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“No.” I sigh. “But I will be.”
The heat from Nate’s body is radiating off him as we lie here. His side of the comforter is resting at his waist and I can see the way his bare chest is moving up and down in rhythmic breaths as he sleeps. His square jaw is relaxed, not clenched, his eyebrows don’t show creasing, his ocean blue eyes are resting. He’s calm.
When I saw Nate standing on the field as if he was frozen in time, I knew in that split second that something was about to happen. Philly’s lineman just pummeled right into him, and usually you’d see some resistance, some fight, but there was nothing. Nate went down as if he was fast asleep, standing on that field and wasn’t expecting the hit. I guess all things considered now, he wasn’t. He was out of it the moment the ball was snapped, probably even before that.
I don’t know a whole lot about professional athletes and their mental health struggles, but having someone so close to meexperiencing it, all I want to do now is to learn more about it and figure out the best way that I can help him.
I sigh, looking at my phone to see it’s just past one in the morning. I’ve been lying here, chasing one train of thought after the other for almost three hours. I need to force myself to get some sleep, but part of me just wants to watch Nate all night, to make sure he’s okay. He moves a little as he shifts from his back to his side, and with the movement it brings him even closer to me. The pillow barrier was useless because with the way I sleep, I just end up using it as something to hold onto.
As I lie there a little while longer, Nate’s hand moves and when he touches the pillow, his pinky grazes mine. I haven’t shared a bed with someone in so long and even though we’re just friends, it still feels nice. The contact. The closeness. I finally close my eyes and keep my hand there, just barely touching his, but it’s enough to allow me to rest.
The hushed voice of Nate talking to Hendrix drifts through my ears as I’m waking up. The room is still dark, he didn’t open any of the curtains, allowing me to sleep which I appreciate, even though he should be the one getting extra rest.
“Hi,” I say softly, rubbing my eyes as I walk down the hall from the bedroom to the kitchen. Nate’s standing at the kitchen stove, spatula in one hand as he scatters shredded cheese into the pan.
“Smells good.” I smile, grabbing a coffee cup from the cabinet.
Nate looks over and smirks at me. His sleepy smile looks lighter today. Like maybe he needed yesterday. As awful as that sounds, maybe admitting that he needs the break and actually asking for it is the beginning of his healing.
“Figured the least I can do for you is make an omelet, considering you were stuck here all night.”
“Yes, held against my will and now being force fed an omelet. The horror.” I blow on the top of my coffee to cool it off a bit before taking a sip.
“What are you doing today?” I ask as I sit on the bar stool, bringing both of my feet up to sit criss-cross.
“I want to call my parents. I have missed texts from both of them since I’m sure they saw the game. I just don’t want them to keep worrying. I’m probably going to go for a run, too. I texted Coach to let him know I’ll be taking at least the next three weeks off. It’ll give me time to myself, time to get a break and hopefully figure out how to manage this going forward.”
“Yes, call your parents, please. I’m sure your coach is more than fine with that, Nate. I’ll go for a run with you, if I’m done with work in time.”
Nate places a giant omelet with cheese, tomatoes and spinach in front of me and I’m tempted to whip out my phone and snap a picture of this masterpiece. Because this looks so damn good and smells incredible. I drizzle a tiny bit of sriracha sauce on it before diving in.
“Is that all for today?” Rose, the front desk associate at the gym asks as I’m behind the counter loading up my gym bag.
“That’s all. I keep it light on Mondays,” I reply.
