The cool concrete swallowsme whole.
Instantly, the noise dulls from deafening to distant.
I press myself against the wall painted with the green and gold Armadillo logo, forcing air into my lungs that refuse to cooperate.
You should have told him.
He trusted you.
You should have?—
I shove my hands over my face.
God.
He trusted me with everything.
His fears.
His failures.
The parts of himself he hid from everyone else.
And I loved him enough to take all of that from him—but not enough to trust him with the truth about me.
Because I was scared.
Still am.
The game passes in fragments after that.
The roar of the crowd after big plays.
The groan when passes are dropped by number eighty—Parker O’Ryan.
Every reaction slices through me because I know him well enough to understand what’s happening inside his head right now.
When Parker spirals mentally, football follows.
I hide in one of the meeting rooms at halftime, unable to stomach the thought of seeing him before the game ends. By the fourth quarter, I’ve destroyed my nails and chewed the inside of my cheek raw.
I tell myself to leave at least a dozen times.
Get in the car and go home.
Run before he comes looking for answers I don’t know how to give, but running is what created this mess in the first place.
So when the stadium finally begins to empty and the post-game noise fades into exhausted chatter, I force myself back into the tunnel.
My legs feel unsteady beneath me.
Like I already know what’s waiting.
Now that the game is over, I’m torn between disappearing before he sees me… or staying long enough to let him break my heart to my face.
I’ve torn off all my nails, biting them, picking at them. Then I start chewing on my lip.
It’s time for me to grow up and stop hiding so I wait. All the players pass by me. Matt sees me and shakes his head.
