Page 59 of Last Slice of Pie

“Why didn’t she come?” I ask. Camille always comes to the games, rain or shine, and her missing this one is almost alarming. My stomach growls at the recognition of what it’s about to eat. Reid’s granola bars are the best.

“She’s sick and was worried about me or someone on the team catching it,” he answers while chewing the next third.

“That sucks. Flu?” My mouth waters as I take my first bite and internally groan in satisfaction.

“Yeah, it does, and no, I think it’s just a cold, but she spiked a fever, which meant au revoir playoff game. Sucks about your girl’s house, too. Camille feels really bad for her.”

Lexi’s house?

What?

“What do you mean?” I turn to face him, suddenly losing interest in the snack.

“You know, with all the repairs over the last couple of months. Camille’s house in Savannah is old too, so we deal with it a little bit, but not like this, not like Lexi has had to. I can’t even imagine how much cash she’s had to fork over.”

He finishes off the bar as I think back through the conversations Lexi and I have had recently, and I don’t know what he’s talking about. She hasn’t mentioned anything else, and I’m pretty sure I would remember if she did. Maybe Camille heard her wrong.

“Yeah, the fireplace was unfortunate,” I tell him. “You should have seen the smoke pouring out of the house when I got there. I thought it was on fire.” Visions of Lexi coughing and waving her arms through the air as she busted through the front door flash behind my eyes. I remember thinking she had grown up to be an incredible woman, and also thinking that I would die if something happened to her.

“Well, I think I’d take smoke any day over all the water. Water is such a fucking disaster all on its own, and it’s seriously my biggest fear when it comes to being a homeowner. I can’t even imagine how she’s dealt with it all, from the termites to the AC unit last summer, the roof, the leaks, the inside damage, the well pump cracking, and that eighty-gallon hot water heater flooding her floors just two weekends ago.” He shakes his head. “Camille said she was surprised Lexi even made it to the game.”

I repeat to myself what he’s just said. Termites. The AC unit. The roof. The leaks. The well pump. The hot water heater. Last weekend. Other than the roofer I saw that very first day, it never occurred to me what the inside damage would have looked like, and a passing comment about the well pump was the only thing she chose to say to me about the issues. Maybe I only knew about the fireplace because I saw it firsthand. I’ve never given much thought to what she might be going through outside of me.

“Yeah, she’s always been amazing like that. It meant a lot to me that she made it,” I mumble, because it seems like the right thing to say. The truth is, I took for granted that she’s the most selfless, caring person there is, and then I went out of my way to vocalize how simple her chosen life was compared to mine. My chest aches at the guilt I feel about the things I said when now I can’t help but wonder if I know much about her life at all.

He closes his eyes, and a small smile tilts his lips. “Just a few more hours now, and we’ll both be home and with the girls of our dreams. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

Home.

Only for me, that’s not what I’m going home to. Mine will be empty, just like it’s always been. It’s funny how quickly home felt less like a place and more like it belonged to her. I didn’t care where we were, as long as she was there. That was when I felt the best, like I was right where I should be.

Except, she must not have felt the same. Why wouldn’t she have shared with me all the problems she’s been having? Yeah, I’ve been busy with the team, but she’s had so many opportunities to tell me. All those nights we talked on the phone, during the holidays, and over dinners we’ve shared . . . it just doesn’t make sense.

I know we aren’t in a good place at the moment, but I thought we were before. Weren’t we?

How could she not tell me? How could I not see it if she was struggling? Oh, wait, I know—because I’ve made the last few months all about me.

I scrub my hand over my face and shake my head.

Finishing the season, squeezing in time when I was available, trying to stay in the right mindset as we entered the playoffs, I forced us to ignore outside influences when they were saying she was the reason I wasn’t on top of my game. The truth is, she isn’t the reason; I am. Things that happen on the field have nothing to do with her. All she ever wanted to do was make my life happier, easier, but what was I doing for her life?

Did she think I had one foot out the door the entire time? Did I have one foot out the door? I don’t think I did, but my attention was divided in two, between her and the game. I tried overlapping them, I really did, but as she well knows—hell, as the world knows—I didn’t do a very good job of it. And look at us now.

I again chose the sport and didn’t choose her.

Who chooses her? No one. That’s why she chooses herself, why she holds her cards close. I’ve always admired how strong and independent she is, but she hasn’t really been given any other choice, and I suddenly feel so much worse.

Maybe she knew this was going to be our fate. After all, history repeats itself, right?

And who can blame her for keeping things from me? She’s always known I was in it to win it, just not with her. She’s always taken the scraps I’ve tossed her way, even when we were kids, and she’s never asked for anything in return.

But . . . I tried.

I did try.

Didn’t I?

I guess like everything in my life, if I’m ever given the opportunity again, I’m just going to have to try harder.