I hang up. He doesn’t call me back.
I can’t stay here, or the ire will push me to tear my place apart.
I call Roman and we meet at our regular sports pub. It belongs to a retired teammate. Matt Phillips is a local legend and played for the Sharks for a decade. Current players get a private section, separated from the front and prying eyes.
I arrive first and order a bottle of water. I sip from it as Roman takes the place next to me.
“This has never happened before,” he says in a cautious tone, testing the waters.
Yes, I’m in a bar in the middle of the day. I grunt, peeling the label.
“Do you want to talk or stare at that bottle as if it’s the opposition you’re ready to crush.”
My chest heaves with a ragged breath. “Levi left.”
He opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
“We’ll need something stronger than this,” Roman says, jerking his chin toward the hard liquor bottles behind the bar.
“It’s enough, I’ll catch heat from Coach tomorrow. No need for you to as well,” I mumble, waving off the bartender, knowing that not even if I drink the entire shelf could I drown my misery.
He slaps a hand on my back. “You’ll get that, regardless. He’s still looking at you like he wants to hug and punch you simultaneously.”
Leave it to Roman to pull a smile from me, even when I’m miserable.
“I don’t know what I would have done, but staying in the place where I can’t play any longer would just make it worse.”
Running a hand down my face, I sigh. “You don’t have to find excuses for him. I understand his reasoning, but I am pissed at how he acted on it.”
Tapping his finger on the smooth bar surface, he says, “He’s not thinking clearly, and neither are you. You’re best friends.”
I shrug, clenching my fingers around the bottle. “It might be your lucky day. I’m looking for a new one.”
“I always felt like a third wheel in your bromance. I’d bet you my monthly salary that you’re going to move past this.” He takes a long gulp, his foot bouncing up and down nervously. “Do you know why I have been so insistent on being your friend?”
That piques my interest. I cock my head at him, and a small smile stretches on his face. “I grew up poor. Like dirt poor next to the richest neighborhood in New York. Basically, everyone had more. I only had my talent. Football was my only chance to overcome my condition. People are drawn to the ones who feel similarly.” He shrugs. “I’ll always feel like everyone would rather give me up than choose me.”
“You have to get past her.”
I know it’s her because he got drunk one night and told me. She did a number on him. But rich girl, poor guy. It works only the other way around.
“There’s this feeling inside of me that I will never be good enough. And you must face yours, Ian. The fear of abandonment.”
I jerk my chin toward him. “You first.”
We fall silent, and over the next few hours, we hang out and talk. My phone keeps vibrating, and I read the texts from Lilly.
Where are you?
Why aren’t you texting back?
I’m worried.
Ian?
Each text only splits me more apart, wanting to make her mine, knowing I fucking can’t. My bad mood only worsens.
