CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MATT
Aside from theendless plane rides and inconvenient travel hours, I used to love away games. There’s something about playing without home ice advantage that puts me on edge in the best way. They expect you to play worse without your familiar arena and screaming fans and I love that unspoken challenge.
But as we sit in the guest locker room in D.C., debriefing on our close-call win, I’m hit with a new feeling—I want to go home. And it’s not because I want to sleep in my custom bed or wake up to the view of the lake. Not because I miss my favorite regular food joints or because I want to grab a beer with Nate and watch tonight’s soccer match. And although Idowant all of those things, they’ve never been the reason for me to want to go home prematurely. And they aren’t factors now.
I’ve been texting Ellie on and off since we left yesterday morning, but it’s Saturday now and her texts abruptly stopped a couple hours before the game started. I know she isn’t working, so a little part of me wonders why—especially because we were mid-conversation. She normally texts back pretty quickly and hasn’t ever left a conversation unfinished. I’m trying not to overthink it or worry too much and come across clingyby checking in. The fact that I’m even referring to myself as potentiallyclingyis really something.
But being justfuck buddiesis reallyfuckingwith my head.Shit. Confidential ones at that.
Despite the sting of the situation, I catch myself smiling at her silly term for us. I quickly work to wipe the expression off my face in case it makes it obvious I’m not listening to Coach. I try to tune in to his postgame speech for the third time…
“…which is fine, but I need you guys to keep the momentum going in New Jersey Monday night. We know what their game is, and if we play like we did tonight, we’ll give them a run for their money. I’m proud of how you guys played, so keep it up. All right, Alex, you’re up,” Coach Dan finishes, handing an old, worn helmet to Alex for our player of the night ritual.
Alex scored two goals at our previous game, which earned him our silly trophy. It’ll now be his job to decide who earned it tonight.
It’s always fun watching the rookies’ excitement over one of our casual locker room traditions that has long since lost some of its luster for us vets. Sometimes the little things can make a big difference in team camaraderie though, so we make sure we do this after every win.
“Hey, guys, awesome job tonight. I think there are a few people that could wear this, but I’m gonna give it to Mikey. You killed it, man,” Alex says as he hands the helmet to our goalie tonight and gives him a quick slap on the back.
We all give a quick applause with some shouts mixed in as Mikey puts the helmet loosely on his head.
“Great win, boys. Let’s get another Monday,” he says simply, whoops and hollers from the team drowning out his last words.
I smile at the infectious atmosphere and finish packing up my things, putting my baseball cap on and grabbing my phone. I know there’s probably nothing new, but I check it just to be sure.
“Everything good?” Niko’s elbow catches me in the side as he looks from my face to my phone.
I pocket the offensively quiet device and try to put it out of my mind. She’s probably just busy on her day off, I reassure myself. Could she be busy with someone else?
We haven’t talked about beingexclusivefuck buddies, and that sudden realization hits me like a ton of bricks.Fuck.Things seem to be going well, but so far I’ve initiated every date-slash-hookup. And she was the one reluctant to be with me to begin with…so it’s hard to know where she’s at with everything.
This feeling of being sounsureis foreign to me and I’m not sure how to handle it. I almost wish I could talk to Niko about it. But one, that wouldn’t be veryconfidentialof me. And two, he’d probably call me a pussy or something else rude for being so uncharacteristically antsy about all of this. Best to keep things to myself for now.
“Yeah, all good. Save me a seat near the front?”
For whatever reason, Niko is always one of the first on the plane. Maybe a superstition he’s not willing to admit to. Maybe he just likes to be close to the bathroom. Whatever it is, it means I usually get a good seat too, so I can’t complain. “You got it, man.”
As he turns to leave, I take out my phone one more time. I just can’t quite curb the reflex to keep checking.
Ironically, I used to let my phone die all the time. My friends and family would beg me to be better about it so they could reach me. Now here I am, staring at zero notifications, knowing without a doubt I’m keeping it charged twenty-four seven so there’s no chance I miss a text from Ellie.
Is there a term for this feeling? My mood being so tied up in even the most trivial communication—or lack thereof? It’s both exciting and scary, feelings I haven’t really experienced with dating in a long time. Maybe ever, if I’m being honest.
I think back to Ellie’s proclamation that I’d be safe with her. She was making a joke, but I believed the sentiment then and I want to believe it now. Remembering that early conversation seems to calm some of the anxious energy I have.
I reach down for my bag on the floor and shoulder it before heading out the door. I’m feeling eager to get on the plane and get one step closer to home.
One step closer to Ellie.
To callor not to call.
Not quite a Shakespearean sentiment, but with the way this is weighing on me, you’d think as much was at stake.
There are a few possibilities I’ve come up with for why I haven’t heard back from Ellie, and in most of them she’s obviously totally fine. But my keyed-up post-win brain can’t totally count out the idea that she’s not. I’m not sure when I got so attached to this pretty girl from Boston, but I’m so desperate to know that she’s at least safe, I think I’m willing to look a little needy.
Sitting on the bed in my hotel room, I swipe to her contact and hover over the call button, giving myself one last chance to back out. I’m committed to hitting the button when the screen changes to show an incoming call.
