Abby
Jack is quiet when wepull out of the bar, his head leaning against the passenger window of his car as he watches the lights pass by outside. I’m trying to rationalize why I would offer him an out to leave the bar, but I can’t seem to come back with anything other than I didn’t like the look on his face when Ian and Lila were questioning him. There was defeat in his eyes, and all I could think about was how he looked when he told me how much this sport means to him, what it would mean for him if he were to lose it.
Has he told any of that to his sister? To Ian?
Or is it just me?
“Thank you,” he says after a little while. “For getting me out of there.”
“Who says I wasn’t just really ready to go home?”
“My mistake,” he says, a small smile on his lips.
“Do you want to talk about the game?”
He shrugs. “You saw it. We almost lost.”
“But you didn’t,” I point out.
“No thanks to me.”
“You’ve really got this whole martyr thing down, you know that?”
He whips his head over to look at me. “What?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I get where you’re coming from, but you’re still getting toplay. Your coach could have just benched you for the rest of the season. Forced you to go ahead with the corrective surgery. But he didn’t.”
“You think I’m being a baby about this,” he says, only slightly accusatory.
I glance over at him, frowning. “I think you’re getting in your own way about this.”
“Huh.” He’s looking down at his lap now, his brow furrowed and a frown on his face. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”
“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be bummed by all that’s happening. I’m sure anyone in your situation would be. But you have got to stop blaming yourself for every little thing that happens. It doesn’t seem like anyone else on your team is doing that, so why are you?”
“You really know how to grab a guy by the balls, you know that?”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
“Maybe. You know I—”
My phone starts to chirp between us on the middle console, the screen lighting up the small space as it shrieks incessantly. My eyes flick down to the screen, and upon seeing who it is, I immediately reach between us and silence it.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Jack perks up. “Was that your dad?”
“What?” My knuckles tighten against the steering wheel. “How did you know?”
“I saw the caller ID.” He cocks his head. “Why is he calling you?”
I consider brushing it off, making him think it’s nothing, but that doesn’t seem fair after everything he’s shared with me. Plus, it might be nice to vent to someone who won’t baby the shit out of me after.
“He calls me almost every day,” I tell Jack. “Texts me a lot too.”
Even from the corner of my eye, I don’t miss the way Jack tenses. “Why?”
“Why else?” I shrug as I press on the brake to stop at the red light. “He blames me for everything. Thinks I should do something about changing the public perception of him.”
