And then she's gone. I find a way to look away, kneeling to collect the balls and deposit them back in my bag, He has the last one, our fingers brushing painfully. My pulse is noisy as I shove the final ball in, zip the bag, and sling it on my shoulder, trying to collect myself. Then I turn in his direction, pretending to fool with my bag so I don't have to meet his eyes when. In a feeble attempt at casual, I say, "Hey. How's your week been?"
When I lift my gaze, I find him there, tall and strong, exhausted. Tortured.
"I've had better."
I swallow the stone in my throat. "Yeah. Same."
Tense silence hangs between us. I can't stand it. So I fill it.
"I…tried to keep busy though. The pipe under the sink was leaking again, but I fixed it like you showed me. Read a lot. I'm not used to being alone so much anymore, you know? It's weird."Reel it in."But! I've been making papier mache trees every night for the library until I drop. Sleeping like crap though." I laugh. The sound is empty.
He just watches me, saying nothing, the weight of his gaze unbearable.
I realize I've trailed off as another beat of silence passes, the truth bubbling up in me, the need to tell him everything overwhelming, overpowering my will.
"It's been awful, this week, everything, but I think tonight is the worst. I thought I knew how I felt, but now that I'm here, I just…I just miss--"
"Don't." Sharp. Then softer, almost pained, "Please don't finish that sentence. I can't…if you do…".
I blink. There is no air in the whole entire world.
"You said it was temporary," I say, the words shaky and soft. "You said we'd talk, but none of that is true, is it?"
He looks away, jaw tight, voice shredded. "It's better this way. You'll be fine. You were fine before me."
The words land like a punch.
But I push back, quiet, insistent. "What about you? Will you be fine?"
He doesn't answer, won't look at me. Silence stretches between us like a rubber band.
"You should go," he finally says.
Tears prick my eyes, my throat tight, voice unsteady. But I force a smile, bright and fake and awful. "Yeah. Yeah, I probably should. I…I'll see you, coach."
I turn, walk away carefully. If I don't, I'll run. Every step weighs a thousand pounds, every tear a sliver of glass. Somehow I hold it together all the way to my car, and I'm almost out of the parking lot before I break.
Small victories.
CHAPTER 30
HELLO, OLD FRIEND.
GREY
There's very little I hate more in this world than the burrito spinning around inside my microwave.
Arms folded, I glare through the window at it, willing it to explode. I should just throw it away. Get something else to eat. Pick something up. Anything. But I prepped it on Sunday, just like all the other unsalted ass burritos I've had for dinner every night this week. So I'll eat it. Call it my punishment. I really do deserve it.
Being miserable isn't enough.
I came home from her house after that game from hell, after the look on her face when I called it off, and spent the rest of the week drowning myself into everything I've been ignoring for the last month. The list was long and required a shitload of work. Meal prep. Piles of laundry. House cleaning. Lesson planning. I worked out. Mowed my yard. Weeded the flowerbeds and edged the grass. Worked on a few repairs around the exterior of the house, cut back some trees.
I finished Sunday afternoon. Then I ran three miles on the treadmill at a blistering pace, but it wasn't enough to distract me. Exhaust me? Sure. But I've been exhausted since the second I drove away from Molly's house. I've spent all week surviving under the assumption that as long as I didn't sit still, I couldn't think about how miserable I was. Am. Will be.
It'll get easier.
This, I've discovered, is a lie. I can say all day that it'll get easier. I can say I'll fly to the moon too. Can't will what I want into existence when it's impossible. I'm not going to get over it. Her. Maybe ever.
