I keep watching. Marissa starts crying. Shit-head looks upset. Lyla is still expressionless. This goes on for an hour. Lyla’s expression is the only one that never wavers. Shit-head is the only one who gets a real meal and eats it all. Marissa eats a bagel. Lyla orders the same thing, which surprises me since she only eats the “everything” side of bagels and ignores the bottom portion. I watch her take a bite and set it down. She takes another and sets it down. That’s all she eats.
When they finish, Marissa hugs Lyla and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Whatever she says makes Lyla’s ghost of a smile appear. Marissa hugs Shit-head next and takes off in the opposite direction. Probably to her smoothie or flower business. Lyla and Shit-head start walking. She picks her hair up into a ponytail as he speaks. His eyes drop to her lips a little too often for my liking. He starts moving his hands like he’s trying to convince her of something. Probably not to leave with me. If he is, he’s wasting his breath. There’s no reality in which that happens. She’ll leave willingly or I’ll be forced to take extreme measures, and I’m trying to avoid that. Besides, I’m making her life better. When it’s all said and done, she’ll be a millionaire. Who wouldn’t want that?
We end up on one of the soccer fields behind Tackle. They disappear into the building and walk out with nets and cones that they set up promptly. Once that’s done, Shit-head walks back into the building and brings out a bucket full of soccer balls. He kicks one to Lyla, who stops it from rolling past her. I don’t even think she was looking; her reaction is pure instinct. She immediately starts doing tricks with it. It’s enthralling. I’ve never seen her play. Not in person, anyway. I’ve seen videos of some of her games, but I’ve never seen her do this in person. She’s fully focused on what she’s doing — serious, even though she’s goofing off.
Shit-head joins her on the field and tries to steal the ball. The ease with which they play one-on-one pisses me off. I don’t know shit about soccer, but it seems similar enough to hockey. I’d learn to maneuver the ball if it meant getting to play her one-on-one. She’d kick my ass, but I’d do it anyway. She fakes him out, her body moving one way as she holds the ball with her other foot, kicks it right under his legs, and runs after it. It happens fast; blink and you miss it, but the entire play is a thing of beauty, if you’re paying attention. That smile — my smile — spreads on her face, but her back is facing him so he doesn’t get it.
She’s running fast down the field as he tries to catch up. When he realizes he has no chance to take the ball away from her, he goes for a different tactic and wraps his arms around her to keep her from running. I push off the tree trunk I’m leaning against. I swear this guy has a death wish. Lyla squeals as he lifts her up, and I’m a millisecond from running over there and yanking her out of his grip when he sets her down. The moment her feet touch the ground, she pushes him hard and walks away to pick up the discarded ball. His expression falls. I smile, but now I’m left wondering what she’d do if I picked her up like that right now. Probably find something to stab me with.
People start arriving shortly after — parents with lawn chairs and coolers, and little kids wearing their uniforms to run onto the field. I’m done ordering food to be delivered when I see a group of moms walk up to Shit-head. Two of them start openly flirting with him. Instead of taking a clue and accepting an offer from one of them, he glances over at Lyla. If he was just her friend, I wouldn’t even care (as much), but he’s a friend who wants to fuck her, and that automatically puts him on my shit list. I don’t know how much more of him I can take.
At least, Lyla’s not paying attention. She’s crouched down, tying a little boy’s shoes, and has four more standing behind him, waiting for her to do the same for them. As soon as she finishes knotting the laces, each one of them leaps forward, giving her a tight hug. Her face breaks into a smile as she ruffles their hair. It’s not my smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless and all of hers are incredible, so they eat it up. Seeing the way she interacts with them makes my stomach feel hollow. A vision of her playing with our children crosses my mind. I push it down and bury it.
The little blonde girl I saw in the pictures runs over when the boys are done and throws herself at Lyla, knocking her on her ass. Lyla laughs. I’m standing far but I hear it, and fuck, I miss that laugh. She stands up with ease and helps the little girl up. A blond man, whom I assume is her father, walks over, shaking his head with a laugh. They talk until the little girl tugs Lyla’s shorts and forces her attention away from her dad. He smiles like he already knows what she’s going to say. I walk over. I need to hear what they’re saying and why she takes so many damn pictures with her. I know Lyla sees me. I’m hard to miss, but she pretends I don’t exist. As I eavesdrop, I keep my distance and look at my phone screen to check how far the driver bringing my food is.
“Another one for your collection,” Lyla says as she stands up, brushing her shorts.
“I don’t mind having you on my phone.” He winks. If she notices, it doesn’t show.
Who thefuckis this guy? When she turns around and leads his daughter to the field, he blatantly checks her out. I snap a picture of him and send it to Liam.
Me: who is this?
Liam: idk, who is it?
I know he’s doing it to annoy me. It works.
Me: i wouldnt ask if i knew
He doesn’t respond.
Me: FACIAL RECOGNITION
Liam: why? Did he rob a bank?
My brother, the fucking comedian.
Me: just do it
Liam: we can’t use facial recognition on every guy who talks to Lyla. fucking ask her who it is
Now I’m the one who doesn’t respond. Liam has been dealing with my bullshit since I got out of the hospital. I went into the hospital unconscious, but otherwise hopeful, and stepped out bitter and angry. I know my brother thought that finally seeing her again would snap me back to my old self. Thing is, I don’t even remember what I used to be like before she left. I’m not going to lie and say seeing her didn’t make a difference, because the moment her eyes met mine, I felt like I always used to — watching the hockey puck in suspense. I’m too angry to give in, though. Maybe if I’d found her moping in her baggy t-shirts and just scraping by, my anger would have vanished immediately. I’m a complete asshole for it. I know I am but what the fuck? I’ve been living day-to-day like a fucking zombie. Hockey practice, hockey game, home, rinse and repeat. Now I'm at Duke Tech, and it’s more of the same — boring and unfulfilling. So yeah, I would have liked to have seen her moping a little.
My brother doesn’t understand my resentment. Mom doesn’t either. They hung out with her for a couple of hours at a hockey game and fell in love with her instantly. Of course, they did. How could they not? Which is why when I told Liam I needed to find her so I could marry her, he readily agreed. My poor, kind-hearted brother thought I was going to show up here like Eros; he didn't realize I’m on my Anteros shit. I start walking back to the oak tree I’d been standing under.
Me: i need you to find out who he is and hack into his phone and delete his pictures
He calls me. I answer with a heavy exhale.
“I fucking know, okay?” I remove the baseball cap from my head and quickly rake my fingers through my hair before putting it back on.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he spits, overlapping my words.
I pause, midstep. “Is that a serious question?”
“Jesus, Lach,” he says, exasperated. “Did you tell her why you’re there?”
“Of course.”
