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I don’t even realize my fingers are gripping my pen so hard it’s in danger of shattering until Derek reaches over and removes it from my grasp, laying it gently on the table. He sits back with a grin.
It’s entirely possible that it’s been too long since I’ve been touched by a man and that’s why my body is breaking out in a hot flush all of a sudden. It has nothing to do with Derek and everything to do with basic biology. Unfortunately, because of my body’s sabotage, Derek is winning whatever random competition we’ve started. Who can rile the other person the most? Who can show the most indifference? I don’t even know now. But judging by my painful heartbeat and the goosebumps lining my arms, I’m losing.
“Unnecessary!” I practically shout like I’m throwing down the gavel along with a guilty sentence in a court of law. I retrieve my pen once again. “Rule number six…no flirting.”
His eyes narrow slightly with wicked amusement, but he doesn’t smile. “Rule number seven, always wear pants in meetings.”
“Okay, buddy, now look! I’m obviously going to wear pants in meetings. What kind of a hooligan do you think I am?”
He shrugs, looking smug. “As my memory serves, you used to live pantsless as much as possible.”
“That’s when I was at home! I would never consider going to a meeting in my underwear. Comfy though it may be.” Apparently, Derek doesn’t just remember me, heremember-remembersme.
He shrugs like I’m a nudist who lives a reckless, pants-free life and he’s just at the mercy of my naked whims.
“Fine! I’ll write it down. But you better believe that rule number eight is going to beDerek must always wear a shirt.So, ha!”
“Just a shirt? Okay, I always thought the Winnie-the-Pooh wasn’t an attractive look but if you’re okay with it…”
“Rule number nine.” I state with magnificent authority. “Wear all clothing at all times in all places. No exposed skin.”
And on and on this list goes. We lob insults in the form of rules back and forth like a Wimbledon tennis match. I’m not sure exactly what the heck this list is supposed to be—all I know is what it winds up as: a cathartic breakup. When I ended it back then, I said what I needed to say, and Derek never fought me on it. If anything, his eyes only shuttered before he turned his back and walked away from us without a second thought. Even though I had no right to—Iexpected him to fight for me. To at least question me. He never did.
But today…today we went one by one through every perk our relationship ever had and ruthlessly slashed them all.No sleeping in the same bed. No watching TV together. No sharing the bill. No riding in the same car. No holding hands.
And by the time we finish the list on number twenty, our eyes are feral, our breathing heavy, and I know exactly where Derek stands.He hates me.It perplexes me, even as the feeling is quickly becoming mutual.
He pushes his chair back from the table and stands after finally (unhappily) signing the contract. “I think that covers it.”
I watch Derek snatch up his keys and throw his sunglasses on his face before walking with sure strides out of the coffee shop—not once looking back at me.
After all of this, my only question is: Will he let me do my job now that he got that out of his system?
And in tiny invisible ink subtext scribbled on the bottom corner of my heart: I miss my Derek.
I need a drink. But not the kind anyone would expect me to go for.
I toss my keys onto my kitchen counter and bypass the beer that’s been sitting in my fridge for months only to turn on my electric kettle instead. I started drinking a lot of chamomile tea after surgery to help me sleep, and somehow, I’ve become addicted. Throw some honey in that shit and feel the warmth as it heats you from the inside out. It’s good on a lonely night or when I feel the weight of the world pressing in on me.
After the water boils, I submerge the tea bag to let it steep, and while I wait, I look around my big empty house. It’s enormous. Somehow growing in vastness by the day. I bought it a few years ago so I could throw big parties and have more than enough room. And yeah, it was perfect for that. But when it’s empty, it’s really freaking empty. The thing is, I don’t miss the parties at all. This silence, however, is starting to wear on me.
Pulling out my phone, I dial my mom, which is how I know I’m really in a low spot.
“Derek! This is a pleasant surprise. Everything okay?” Her softvoice is colored with concern. In times like this, I have to block out memories of our loud fights in the kitchen when she would tell me how disappointed she was about my grades after looking at my report card.Why can’t you just apply yourself like Ginny?Where was this concern for me back then when I was telling her school wasn’t as easy for me as it was for my sister—and she’d roll her eyes. Maybe that’s why I haven’t told my parents yet about my recent diagnosis. There’s still a wound that hasn’t healed, and I’m not ready for my parents to comment on it in any way.
I hop up on the counter, take a drink of my tea, and lie to my mom. “Yeah. Everything’s good.”
On the way home, I turned on a sports talk radio show and wouldn’t you know it, those two shitheads Glenn and Brenn or Jim and Jam…I don’t care other than they were spouting off once again about how a guy my age might not be able to come back from the injury I sustained.Compound fracture to the ankle is a career death sentence.
It doesn’t help that our team’s medical personnel have been keeping the media informed of my recovery only in the most basic of regards: “We’re optimistic he will have a full recovery and be ready by the time the season starts. We’ll evaluate him further when he returns to the facilities.”
But they’re not exactly saying anything to help put these guys’ faith in me again. They predict I’ll play game one like a rusty old wheel.It’s sad to see greats like Pender fall, but in the end, it’s gotta happen to make room for the new generation like Abbot.I haven’t even had the chance to play yet and they’ve already got me with one foot out the damn door.Mydoor. The Sharks aremyteam full ofmybrothers and they are trying to hand my position over to Abbot on a silver platter.
It’s not Abbot’s fault, though. He’s a good guy and a great athlete.
The problem is, I used to let negative talk fuel my fire. Right out of surgery, I did everything I could to rehab correctly and efficiently. I thought my fans were on my side, and that helped. But over the months since then, I’ve seen how quickly an entire fan base can turn and grow hearts in their eyes for another player.
Abbot isn’t out to get me or anything, but he sure isn’t hiding away either. On his social media, the kid’s been posting daily workout videos showing how he’s staying in shape in the offseason and doing live sessions so his fans can train with him. Lots of other shit like that too.
