Tears chase each other as the seconds stretch into minutes. The negative thoughts in my head are louder than any scoreboard. Louder than any compliment I’ve ever gotten. Louder than the part of me that knows I’m more than this surface level hate.
A knock sounds from the hall—voices getting closer. I wipe my eyes fast, but the redness stays.
“Blair? You ready?” Zack asks.
Turning from the mirror, trying to leave the loathing behind, I grab my bags and do my best to compose myself. When he sees me, the bright demeanor he wears like a proud badge drops and his brows press together.
“It was one kick. Please don’t beat yourself up like this.” His arm wraps around my shoulder, pulling me into him. The softness of his voice. The concern on his face.
It’s all I need to push myself off the edge I’ve been teetering on and completely fall apart.
Fifteen
Tyson
Ourteamdinnerisat the hotel restaurant and the vibes are nowhere to be found. Today ended with a notch in the win column but it doesn’t necessarily feel like it. There were some things that went our way but I wouldn’t say we were the better team or we outplayed them.
My eyes keep watching the door, scanning the corners, looking for Blair. Maybe she’s back at the room? Pulling my phone out of my pocket, my stomach drops when I see no messages.
Fuck. We’re in the same hotel—we would’ve killed for this—but it’s all messy. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s my best friend but there’s this crater between the two of us—it’s like both of us are afraid to cross.
I’m walking toward the elevator when I see someone pacing out of the corner of my eye. Blair. She’s on the phone and is walking the short distance, back and forth, between hallway walls. From here, I can see her shoulders shake as she turns away from me. She’s crying.
And something pulls me towards the hallway. I have to stop myself from jogging over to her, wrapping her up in my arms, and let her feel whatever she’s feeling, but not feel it alone. The pull is jarring, like something deep in my bones, and the only thing I can do is keep my feet firmly planted on the too-shiny hotel tile.
She puts a hand through her hair, pulling it at the end, like her fingers need something to do. Blair shows her face, just for a second, and I can seeher cheeks are crimson—the way they turn when she’s either really pissed off or has been crying.
Before I can make a decision, she pulls the phone from her face and looks up. Finding me.You idiot,my brain teases,now what the fuck do I do? Do I go to her? Turn and walk back to the restaurant? Wave?I hear people getting off the elevator and that’s what I decide. Moving to the elevator, I feel Blair behind me. Hitting the button, the doors open and I step in. Fixating on the floor, tan tiles with gold speckles, I hold my breath when she steps in.
Blair wipes her face with the backs of her hands as she leans her back on the opposite corner of mine. She sniffles in a way that she’s trying to not make a sound and it hurts me… her trying to make herself small even when it’s just the two of us.
Fuck. I don’t want that.
The elevator slowly climbs the floors and I break the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Blair sniffles, “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m in the best mood,” she tries to joke, and keeps looking forward.
“Blair.” Her name comes off my lips like I’m pleading with her to let me in.
Her lips are pressed together in the thinnest line, and she looks up at the ceiling, like she’s bargaining with the tears.
“I can’t. Really. I can’t.” Her voice gets quieter with each word.
She bites her lip, looking at me, saying nothing else. I nod, not wanting to push her.
“I really am fine. Just need to get some sleep,” Blair repeats like she’s trying to reassure herself.
I know this version of her. The one who would rather suffer and do anything besides ask for help, lean on someone else. She doesn’t like seeming soft, or maybe she views it as weak, even though there’s no way anyone could ever call her that. Typically, the way I’ve gotten her out of this is adistraction. A random fact. A weird ‘would you rather.’ Challenge her to compete against me doing something menial and ridiculous—like who can eat a bowl of marshmallows the fastest, or who could chug a drink first, or who could hold a plank the longest.
I can’t think of anything besides the one thing I’ve been dying to do. Ever since I’ve met her. Ever since I’ve learned what kind of person she is—brave, bright, with a competitive streak that’s tough to beat. The elevator continues to rise toward the top floors, where the team is staying, and it’s only the two of us.
The elevator makes no stops and I’m running out of time.
“Hey,” I say, stepping closer to her, grabbing her arm to turn her towards me.
She looks up at me and I can’t stop staring at her lips, the mouth that I know has a sharp retort waiting for me. And before that retort can hit me, or the doors open, I pull her close to me.
We’re a breath apart when her coffee colored eyes, framed by her thick lashes, look to my lips. Before anything can ruin this, I lean in.
