“We're still cool, I promise. His agent's just old school and wants to avoid the drama, especially with the All Star Game right around the corner.”
“Hmm.” Matty seems unconvinced, but picks his controller back up. Sutter's forehead is still wrinkled in thought, and I worry he won't let it drop. Instead, he heaves a sigh and unpauses the game.
For the first time in a long time, I'm glad to be leaving the team behind for a few days.
I had gone backand forth about whether to spend extra money on my flight home or not. After all, I've had a shitty two weeks of play and the specter of Des Moines is rearing its head once again. Still, my conversation with Ethan comes back to me, wondering about what I want to invest in. Right now? I decided to invest in my comfort, booking the business class seat on a direct flight, in spite of the extra cost.
As I board the flight, I shoot texts to my mom and Avery, letting them know that I'm still on time. I consider pulling out a book, but I can't say the thought of reading romance is particularly appealing right now. Instead, I lean against the window of the plane, snuggling deep into the hood of my sweatshirt.
I don't really expect to sleep, but the fact is I've been running on empty without Ethan. My bed has felt empty, and the long hours on planes just close enough to see him have me spending my nights in hotels wondering how we can fix this. There, in business class with cold air blowing on my face, I finally fall deep asleep.
I awaken hours later, as the lights turn on and the captain announces we are beginning our final descent. I rub at my eyes,somehow still struggling to stay open even after sleeping for several hours. As the plane touches down, I take my phone off of airplane mode and see a few messages.
The first few are from the team group chat, with guys checking in as they arrive in their various destinations for the week, everywhere from Stockholm to Cabo.
Mom and Avery have each texted, too. Mom is confirming that she'll be at the airport when I arrive. Avery and I, on the other hand, have been bouncing texts back and forth for two weeks, trying to figure out a time to meet up while I'm in town. We haven't talked since January, mostly because I don't know what to say.
I'm sure he will be thrilled to hear I'm not with Ethan anymore – well, not Ethan, but the closeted half-Ethan I've sketched out for him in our conversations this fall. Honestly, that's a good thing – I need to hear that I'm doing the right thing, that this was never going to work out and it's time to end it for good.
But even thethoughtof hearing that fucking hurts.
Just as I'm about to tuck my phone back into my jacket pocket, a voicemail notification comes through. In and of itself, that's odd – like any early twentysomething, I hardly ever use the actualphonefunction of my phone. When I see who the message is from, I nearly drop the phone.
Ethan.
He's been so good these past two weeks with respecting the boundaries I had established, letting me focus on the game.
It's been hell. I kept hoping I'd hear a knock on my door one night, or a shout of my name in the player parking lot. Instead, it's been silence.
I know I need to delete it, to leave these words of Ethan's here on this plane.
Instead, I press play.
At first, there's a silence so long I think it must be a butt dial. But when I pull the phone away from my ear, I hear his voice begin, and Irush to press the phone back to my ear, not wanting to miss a single word.
“Hey, Jamie. It's, uh, Ethan. I think you're on your plane already. I'm, uh, packing up the last of my stuff now.”
I can picture him in his bedroom, putting clothes into a duffel, tossing in his usual toiletry kit. I wonder if he'll be bringing any of his new clothes or if he'll stick with his old standards of track pants, quick dry shirts, and a team hoodie.
“I'm, uh, sorry for calling, I guess. I know you wanted space. But I didn't get to say goodbye and I just...I wanted you to know that I've missed you.”
That hits straight at my heart. One of my biggest fears this week, the one I haven't even spoken to myself, is that it's been easy for him. Easy to back away, easy to erase me out of his life.
His voice starts again, thick in a way that catches in my throat.
“I know...I know I haven't always made the best choices. And I know those choices have hurt you. And I just...I need you to know I understand that.”
He takes a deep breath and tears burn in my eyes. People are starting to deplane, the line in the aisle moving incrementally forward, but all I can do is sit here, eyes closed, and listen.
“I wish you were going instead of me. I wish we were goingtogether.”
His voice cracks, and it helps to know I'm not the only one feeling these things.
“I think you're going to break up with me at the end of this week. And I get it, I do.”
The certainty in his voice hurts most of all, the belief that hedeservesthis.
“But I just wanted you to know that it was worth it, for me. That I'm glad we've had this, even if you think it needs to stop.”
