“Who knows!”
“Yes, she knows, but she doesn’t like that my brother still doesn’t know, and if she finds out we told more people, she’s definitely gonna be extra mad at me, which is not an ideal environment to be stuck in for the holidays!”
“She ain’t the only one who doesn’t like that he doesn’t know, Gillian!”
Her eyes widen in what I imagine is shock at hearing her full name.
“And to completely clear the fuckin’ ice?” Displeasure gets pucks deep in my tone. “I’m tired of feelin’ like we’re stuck in some new age version of ‘Secret Lovers’! I’m tired of not bein’ able to bring you up in conversations with the boys ‘cause Coach or Ewers might fuckin’ hear! I’m tired of not even bein’ able to look at you too long in a crowded room ‘cause you’re afraid someone might be watchin’ and out us before you can!” Taking a breath is what I should do but don’t. “I’m tired of pretendin’ like you’re actually gonna magically find ‘Time’ – like you’re fuckin’ Pink Floyd – for us to get this done when we both know no matter what happens, it’s never gonna be ‘right’! And I’m tired of feelin’ likewe’renot right, all because you’re more worried about what mic drop your big brother might do rather than the beautiful tuneskieswe makewhen we’re together.”
Unmistakable tears begin to gather along the rims of her eyelids alongside a whimpered, “Jukes, I-”
“Should we move onto a new game?” Aly loudly questions upon entering the room. “Maybe one where lessmemoryis required?”
“Yes please!” agrees Alexis from the other area.
“You two good with that?” Aly inquires during her approach. “Good with giving other people a chance to win?”
The smile on my face appears smooth in spite of being forced. “I’mma team player, so whatever y’all wanna do, I promise to give it my best.”
“Ohhhh,” tipsily cooing precedes her lightly wagging her whiskey holding glass at me, “you really are sweeter than those slutty brownies.”
“Ya know what? I wouldn’t mind grabbin’ another one of those right now.” Dropping my attention back to my girlfriend who is doing her best to hold it together is followed by me politely stating, “Why don’t I pour you a glass, grab me a brownie, and meet you in our seats after you use the restroom, Gillian?” Her watery eyes offering me gratitude tightens the knots already lingering in my stomach. “Like I said. I’mma team player.” Retrieving an empty, nearby piece of drinkware aids in me focusing my gaze as well as my unwavering irritation elsewhere. “Always prepared to put others first.”
Chapter 19
Gillian
Sometimes I wish my life were like a spy drama.
I could really use a series break right now.
Mouthwashhavemercy, even acommercialbreak would be appreciated.
“Wait,” Octave Choquette, the young, French rugby player I get the feeling Hennington specifically sent to me for an ulterior new business motive, “you are saying I need to be wearing my,” his warm nude shaded finger crudely gestures at his wide-open mouth, “all the time while practicing?”
“Yes.”
“And playing?”
“Yes,” escapes in an exasperated sigh in spite of all my efforts to remain professional. “You need to have your gumshield or in –your case –smart shield on at all times you are on the field.” Pulling off my gloves is done in tandem with continuing. “Not only does it protect your teeth, your smart shield uses the sensors that are installed to alert your medical team of your potential head trauma inreal time.” The objects are discarded in the nearby trash along with my mask. “Thankfully, right now what we’re dealing with is subluxation rather than luxation, which typically involves a shorter heal time; however, if you choose tonotprotect your teethor faceduring the heal time, we will move from subluxation to luxation or worse.” Confusion crinkles his large forehead forcing another heavy breath out of me. “Youcurrentlyjust have a loose tooth instead of one that’s loose and out of place.”
“Oh,” he grunts in understanding.
“This likely occurred doing your last game-”
“J'ai été plaqué par Durand,” he exclaims at the same time he punches his fist into an open palm to aid in translating.
“Gonna guess that means…hit?” His nose scrunch leads me to amend. “Tackle? You were tackled?”
“Oui.” Octave quickly rolls his hand around in excitement. “Yes.Yes, I was…tackle.”
“Okay, well when that happened, your tooth was knocked loose; however, there is no need for a dental splint at this time. It should be able to heal on its own with you eating asoftdiet and keeping upgoodoral hygiene.”
Another twitch of disorientation is presented.
“Gentle brush,” I act out, “floss,” it’s mimed next, “rinse,” fake swishing and spitting is shown, “andwear.” My finger jabs itself at the teeth I am bearing.“Your.” A second is executed.“Mouth.” And a third. “Shield.” Irritation struggles to stay out of my tone as I rise to my feet. “Oui?”
He sheepishly nods. “Oui.”
