He hadn’t denied it.He hadn’t explained.He’d just...dismissed me.Put me back in my place with the efficiency of someone swatting a fly.
The phone slipped from my hand again.This time, I didn’t care where it landed.
The anger was gone.There was no fuel left to burn.In its place was a sadness so profound it was a physical ache.It sat heavy in my stomach, a cold stone of despair.I felt tears well up, hot and shameful, and I didn’t even have the energy to fight them back.They traced slow, miserable paths down my temples and into my hairline.
He’d gotten what he wanted.And I’d gotten a lesson in what happened when you forgot your place.
Practice that week was a special kind of hell.I moved through the drills like a ghost, my body going through the motions while my mind was a million miles away.My passes were soft.My shots were wide.I was slow, sluggish, a step behind every play.
“Holt!Skate!”Coach’s voice was a distant foghorn.
I tried to push harder, to use the physical exertion to burn away the numbness, but my limbs were filled with lead.All I could see was Henry’s text.Don’t be dramatic.
Shay skated up beside me during a water break, his usual grin absent.“Hey, man.You okay?You look like shit warmed over.”
“Fine,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes, pouring water over my face to hide the evidence of a sleepless night.“Just tired.”
“You sure?You’ve been quiet since the last meet up.Did something happen at dinner?With...you know.”He lowered his voice.“Emerson?”
The name was a knife twist.“No,” I lied, the word tasting like ash.“Nothing happened.It’s nothing.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he clapped me on the shoulder.“Alright.Well, if you need to talk...”
I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.I didn’t need to talk.I needed to forget.And that was clearly never going to happen.
The rest of the day was a blur.I went home.I ignored my phone.I stared at the TV without seeing it.I ordered food I didn’t eat.
The silence in my apartment was back, but it was different now.Before, it had been waiting.Now, it was final.The verdict had been delivered.It was a business meeting.Don't be dramatic.
I was alone with the knowledge that I had been a fool.That the most intense, electrifying connection I’d ever felt had been entirely one-sided.A game for him.A life-altering catastrophe for me.
As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, the sadness solidified into a cold, hard certainty.
It was over.Whatever it was, it was done.
Henry Emerson had made his choice.And he hadn’t chosen me.
