“Shhh.” I waved him off, my eyes on the small television screen propped on the dresser at the foot of his bed. We were near the end of Silver Linings Playbook, and Bradley Cooper hugged Robert De Niro, heeding his advice about the girl who’d just left the room — the girl who loved him, the girl he loved in return.
Jennifer Lawrence.
“I’m sorry, but this is just crap,” Micah continued. “What? He’s just going to suddenly drop this obsession he’s had this whole time for his wife, or ex-wife, or whatever she is, and go for this other girl instead?”
“Shhh!” I said again, this time smacking his arm. “This is the best part. Shut up.”
Micah groaned, but I ignored him, watching as Bradley chased Jennifer through the streets. She screamed at him to leave her alone, and then one of my all-time favorite love professions took place, and I recited it with Bradley, word for word.
That earned me another hard eye roll from Micah.
When the words were out, Jennifer was back in Bradley’s arms, kissing him and sealing the truth in every word he’d just said. I let out a long sigh, chest aching, tears stinging the corners of my eyes, though I didn’t let them fall.
“You’re such a loser.”
I pegged Micah with a pillow. “What happened to being here for me with brotherly support?”
“I didn’t realize it would be such a chick fest.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, pausing the movie. “With all the emotion, the real shit in that movie, you think it’s all chick stuff? This is real. This is life. And whether you’re male or female, you should be able to appreciate this.”
Micah shrugged. “I mean, the football stuff was cool. I liked his family. But, come on,” he said, gesturing to the screen where I’d paused Bradley and Jennifer in a full-on spinning kiss scene. “She’s crazy. He’s absolutely insane. In what world does this ever work?”
“But that’s just it,” I said, thumping his chest. “They’re both a little crazy, both a little messed up. But they’re choosing to be messed up together.”
Micah blinked.
There was a chuckle from behind me, and Dad came in, sitting on the edge of the bed. He glanced at the screen before his eyes found mine. “I don’t think your brother is old enough to appreciate the sentiment in that yet, son.”
“Or, I have the wrong reproductive organ between my legs,” Micah volleyed.
Dad reached over and smacked his leg.
“There’s nothing wrong with being in touch with your feelings, Micah,” he said. “Your comment is sexist. Man or woman, you should know how to listen to your emotions and deal with them.”
Micah cowered, and I knew the shadow that passed over him. I’d had my ass handed to me by my father plenty of times. When you’re battling the rest of the world telling you how to be a man, and telling you that feeling is somehow woman-like, and that being woman-like is somehow inferior? Dad was probably the only one who could ever break through that noise — for both myself and for Micah.
And he always did.
“Most would shut down in a situation like this,” Dad continued. “They’d pretend they’re fine and keep moving. Your brother is taking the time to sort through some really difficult thoughts and feelings, and he’s going to be stronger on the other side of it.”
“Or dead,” I argued. “Jury’s still out.”
Dad’s eyes softened, and I smiled to ease his worry, trying my best to pretend I was joking. It’d been two weeks since Gemma and I ended things, and still, I was a complete wreck. My appetite was nonexistent, my sleep was the same, and work was about the only place where I felt even a little okay. Even there, I had the decision to make about the bar looming over me, and my time was running out.
Doc wanted to leave after the new year. And that meant I had to decide soon if he’d be selling the bar before he left, or transferring everything over to me.
It was hard to think about that — about anything — because Gemma took up every inch of space in my mind. She was the first thing I thought of when I opened my eyes, and she haunted me every second of the day until I finally faded off into a fitful sleep. And even then, she was there, in my dreams, waiting to fuck me up more.
I was a mess.
I couldn’t blame my brother for being sick and tired of trying to help me through it. My parents were a little more understanding, a little more patient, but I was annoying myself — I couldn’t imagine how my sixteen-year-old brother felt.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom said, propping her hip against the door frame. She smiled when she took in the sight of all three of us on the bed. “Aw, my boys. Reminds me of when you guys were younger.”
“You just miss my hair,” Dad said, running a hand over the spot where he was balding on top.
Mom smiled, crossing the room and bending to kiss that bare skin. “You’re even sexier without it, my love.”
“Ew,” Micah groaned, but I smiled.
I wanted that. I wanted it so bad. And I thought I could have had it.
With Gemma.
Maybe I read into it too much, maybe I had always been more invested than she was. I knew she wanted to take things slow, and we had, but she’d opened up to me, too. She’d let me in, wanted me around her every day, wanted to share her past with me and ask me to share mine with her.
Of course, she’d left out one of the most important parts of her past.
I couldn’t blame her for not trusting me — not trusting anyone — after what her ex-husband left her with. It was a kind of grief I could only imagine, one I could never fully understand.
But I wanted to.
I wanted to hold her hand and love her through it all. I wanted to be a part of her healing, let her know she didn’t have to go at it alone.
But, I couldn’t choose me for her.
I had to let her go.
I just didn’t know how to.
Dad clapped my knee. “Come on. Let’s eat, boys.” But before he could move up off the bed, the doorbell rang.
We all stared at each other. Doc had already told us he couldn’t make it tonight, he was meeting with a real estate agent to discuss his future plans in paradise. Who would be stopping by at dinner time?
“It might be the neighbors,” Mom said, already heading to the door. “Might need someone to watch the kids for a bit.”
She disappeared, and Micah made another joke about the “stupid kiss” happening on the still-paused screen. I argued with him on the poignant undertones in the movie while Dad watched and smiled from the side.
All of us stopped talking when Mom came back in the room.
Because she wasn’t alone.
I thought the image of Gemma haunting my dreams for the past two weeks was bad, but seeing her in real life, standing in my little brother’s bedroom with my mother by her side? It was like I was a bird being struck down mid-flight, slamming to the cold, hard ground and losing my breath in the process.
She was beautiful.
Even with her eyes puffy and red, dark circles framing the bottom of them, and even with her little shoulders slumped, her hair in a messy bun on her head. She held something in her hand, and whatever it was, she gripped onto it like it was the only thing holding her in that room with me.
For what felt like an eternity, we just stared. I wished I could read her mind. I wished she could read mine.
I wished I knew what I felt in that moment.
I wanted to jump up, pull her into my arms, kiss her. But, I also wanted to tell her to get the hell out of my house. It was strange, the way those thoughts warred with each other, because I couldn’t figure out which one I leaned toward more.
Gemma finally cleared her throat, eyes bouncing around the room as she realized she had my entire family’s attention. “I’m so sorry to bother you during dinner time,” she said, her voice raspy and soft. “I just… I came here to give you something.”
I was still pinned under the covers — Micah on one side of me,
Dad on the other — and all I could do was sit and stare as Gemma cautiously crossed the room. She handed me the bent-up-piece of card stock in her hand, immediately stepping back once it was in mine, instead.
It was her other ticket to tomorrow’s game.
“I don’t really have all the words I need to say right now,” she said, eyes on where my hands held the ticket. “I know that I’ve hurt you… that I’ve hurt both of us. I know that there are things I said that I can’t take back, and possibly things you’ll never be able to forget.” Gemma caught my eyes then, brows bending. “And honestly, I’m not sure what I have to offer right now. I’m not sure where we would go from here. But… all I’m asking for right now is for you to take that seat next to me at tomorrow’s game.”
I watched her a moment longer, tearing my eyes from hers to look at the ticket again as my heart thundered in my chest.
“Please don’t say anything right now,” she continued. “Take your time, take the night to think about it. And if you don’t show tomorrow… I completely understand. I do.”
All words were stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. I couldn’t form a single one. I couldn’t thank her for coming by, or find it in me to jump up from the bed and pull her into me. I just stared at that ticket, processing what she’d said, wondering what the hell made her come.
“I’ll let you all get to your dinner,” she said quietly, backing up until she was by Mom again. “Pamela, I’m so sorry I came by without notice. Thank you for letting me in.”
“You’re always welcome, my dear,” she said, and I felt my mom’s eyes on me, though mine were still on the ticket. When I didn’t move, when no one else said a word, Mom spoke again. “I’ll walk you out.”
I wasn’t sure how long they were gone, how long I stared at the section 124 text on that ticket before I realized Gemma had left the room. My eyes shot open wider, and I looked at Micah, then at Dad, and then I scrambled out of the covers.
“She’s already gone, son,” Dad said, placing a firm hand on my arm before I could wrangle my way out of the bed. “She’s gone.”
My chest heaved, eyes wild as I searched the doorway and then looked back down at the ticket. I still couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything but stare, and blink, and stare some more.
Mom came back into the room a few moments later, leaning against the same spot in the doorway. Her sympathetic eyes found mine, and she tried a small smile, but it was weak.
“She brought a pie, too,” Mom said. “For dessert. I put it in the fridge.”
I nodded, but still didn’t say a word.
Everyone was silent for a while, and then Dad cleared his throat. “So… are you going to go?”
The ticket felt like an anvil in my hand, and I twisted it in my fingers, feeling the perforated edges. I stared at it so long that the words went fuzzy, the logo blurred, and finally, I dropped it on the plaid comforter of Micah’s bed.
“No,” I answered, shoving the ticket farther away as if to hammer it home.
“NO?!” Dad and Micah said in unison.
I shook my head, the word reverberating inside it. “What’s the point?” My heart cracked with that question, knowing I couldn’t just sweep in like Bradley Cooper, chase my Jennifer Lawrence and have faith in it all. “Two weeks ago, she told me she didn’t trust me. That didn’t change in the days we’ve been apart. So, if that’s missing, if she doesn’t trust me, what is there to build on? It’s all a game to her.”
Micah opened his mouth to speak, but Dad held up a hand, and he popped it closed again. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t — not yet. He just let me process.
“She’s been hurt,” I said, voice cracking. “And I understand, because I have, too. Not in the same way, but we’ve all been through things.” I kicked the covers the rest of the way off from where I’d started untangling myself before. “The difference between us, though, is that she doesn’t have it in her to open up again. And she’s right,” I admitted. “I can’t make any promises. Love is fucking scary. One day, I could wake up and we could be miserable together. She could wake up to the same conclusion, too.”
At that, Dad laughed. “Well, yeah, that’s what love is all about. It’s fucking terrifying.”
I gaped at my father, who I was pretty sure hadn’t cursed in all the years I’d been alive.
“What?” He shrugged. “It’s a great word for emphasis, and that sentence needed it. Look, love is like… it’s like hanging off this cliff, right? This ledge. And the only thing preventing you from falling and painting the bottom of the canyon with your intestines is this other person holding your hand. And they can drop you,” he said, holding up his hand as if to demonstrate. “They always have that choice. But it’s you trusting them that they won’t. It’s them trusting the same in you. And maybe she doesn’t have all of that trust yet… but, she’s trying to. Her coming here was her way of saying that she wants to trust you.”
“I disagree.” Micah leaned forward until he could meet my eyes. “All jokes aside, bro… I think her coming here, putting her pride aside like that?” He shook his head. “I think that was her way of saying she does trust you — but maybe she was just scared to admit that. I mean, it’s like Dad said, she’s willing to hang off that cliff if you are.” He screwed up his face then. “Or wait, would she be holding you? Or vice versa?”
Dad chuckled. “It’s a metaphor, son.”
“I know, but I don’t understand which is which and who — oh, forget it. You know what I mean.” He thumped me on the chest.
I stared at the ticket, now half-covered by the comforter as my heart started to tick up a notch.
“Everything that feels as amazing as love does?” Dad said, shaking his head. “It comes with risk, Zach. So yeah, if you’re not willing to take some risks, to hang off the ledge with that girl, then don’t go. But if you are, and if she is — which, judging by her being brave enough to come here and ask you to join her at the game, she is — then, who knows.” He clapped my shoulder and squeezed it hard. “Just might be something amazing, something worth fighting for. But you won’t know if you don’t trust it. You won’t know if you don’t try.”
“Jesus,” Micah said, shaking his head as he picked up the ticket. “Now even I want to chase after the girl.”
Dad and I both chuckled at that, and Mom wiped away a tear that had fallen down her cheek, her eyes soft and sweet as she looked at my dad first and then me. My heart squeezed at the sight of her crying.
“Mom?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, wiping away more tears at my question. “I’m sorry. It’s just… she’s such an amazing woman, and you, my son, are the most incredible man. You deserve to be happy, and so does she.” She shrugged. “I want you to both find that happiness together. But, it’s not up to me. Or your dad, or your brother.”
She paused, taking a big breath as she stood straighter, her mascara stained on her cheeks now.
“The choice is yours,” she said, her eyes finding my dad again, although she spoke right to me. “Hold on, or let her fall.”
With that, Mom crossed the room and leaned over my father to kiss my forehead. She told Micah to go wash up for dinner, and he handed me the ticket before hopping out of the bed.
“Guess it’s your turn to be the crazy guy chasing the crazy girl,” he said.
Mom chuckled, and with my dad’s hand in hers, they left the room next.
Then, it was just me — me and the stupid ticket.
And a choice that I knew I’d already made.
Gemma
The stadium was packed.
It was our second-to-last home game before the regular season was over, and we were playing our biggest rivals — the Green Bay Packers. We’d beat them on their own turf earlier in the season — the same night I’d gone home with Andy thinking I was proving something to Zach.
It seemed a little ironic now, considering that we were playing the same
team on the day I’d asked Zach to give me another chance.
But today was a bigger deal. If we beat them today, we were guaranteed a playoff spot.
I bounced in my seat waiting for kickoff, trying my best to keep warm. It was absolutely bone-achingly cold, with the promise of snow being just about all the sports newscasters could talk about. I was bundled in a jacket twice my size, gloves, a snow cap that covered my ears, and a face guard with the Bears logo on it. My feet were bundled up in two pairs of thick socks and my best boots, and I wore long Johns under my jeans.
Still, I couldn’t stop trembling.
But maybe part of that was more fear-induced.
Belle had finally talked sense into me last week. She knew me better than I knew myself, it seemed, and once she’d opened my eyes to what I was walking away from, I’d wanted to smack myself for being so stupid.
It’d taken me a few days to get myself together, to figure out what I wanted to say and how. I debated calling him, texting him, but every thought in me kept coming back to how we met — to how it all started.
It was just supposed to be a game.
It was just supposed to be me, stepping out and “dating” a little, finding some human connection. It was just supposed to be him, helping me break into it all, serving as a “practice round.”
Now, it was hard to even remember what it was like, back when I saw Zach as a nuisance, as someone I needed to avoid, as my trial run. I was so scared of him… and part of me still was. But, the difference now was that I was ready to face that fear with him. I was ready to try, to risk everything — because even though I said I didn’t, I trusted him.
I just hoped he trusted me, too.
When I knocked on his door last night, I wasn’t sure he’d let me in. Thankfully, it was Pamela who got to decide if I could enter or not. It’d been all I could take, seeing him in that bed with his family, watching Silver Linings Playbook, his eyes underlined with the same dark circles as mine. He looked as miserable as I felt, and it took everything in me not to ask his family to leave, not to crawl into that bed with him and have him hold me as I cried and begged him to take me back.
The Wrong Game: A Sports Romance Page 29
