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Even if Coach kept them another hour, he’d have had plenty of time to call me if he wanted to.
If the Stories are anything to go by, he went to the after practice Popeye’s team dinner and just forgot.
Irritation bites at my skin.
I also have friends and sometimes feel more like hanging out with them than talking to him, but I try to keep my time commitments to our relationship as much as possible.
At least, when we plan them in advance.
It’s hurtful to see he isn’t doing the same. Especially given that I’m the one living this great experience abroad and he should be asking me how I’m adjusting instead of me having to chase him.
Disappointment claws at my chest and I decide not to text him. I put my phone in my back pocket and pick at my greek salad.
“Are you okay?” Nera asks me, an understanding look drawn on her face.
We’re having lunch together in the cafeteria. Six and Bellamy are busy elsewhere so we’re using the time to catch up just the two of us.
Nera’s definitely the more secretive of my roommates. An almost pro fencer, she’s also potentially the only person more competitive than I am.
Actually her and Rhys are tied.
Even I can admit that, albeit grudgingly.
His determination is a force to be reckoned with. And physically, he’s an incredible mix of speed, strength, and power which makes him a dangerous weapon on the field and one that sends opposing teams cowering.
I’ve seen it first hand.
A few days ago I watched a game between RCA and a local private school, L’École Internationale d’Aubonne, and saw the entire offense curse when Rhys walked out.
He ran literal circles around the team, scoring two before eventually being subbed to rest him for tougher upcoming games.
He hadn’t even broken a sweat while a player on the opposing team tore a ligament in his ankle simply trying to defend him.
A part of me had fangirled hard as I’d watched him, knowing I was witnessing someone who’d likely sign with a Premier League team.
As much as I want to loathe him in every way, he’s undeniably a real talent.
I groan, shaking my head when I realize my thoughts have trailed to him again.
That’s been happening more and more often lately, the especially worrisome part being my ability to connect any thought, no matter how mundane and inane, back to him.
I focus back on Nera’s question.
“Yeah, we just haven’t talked on the phone in almost a week.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I tell her, honestly. “I think it’s more so the growing pains of adapting to a long distance relationship. Neither one of us has really done a great job of prioritizing communication.”
“Well,” She says, hesitating, “Do you miss him?”
“Yeah.”
And I do. As much as I love RCA, I do miss home and our life together there. I started dating Carter when I was sixteen so he’s been a large part of my life for a long time.
Every birthday, every milestone, every memory of the past two years has involved him in some way. Losing that every day comfort overnight has been hard to adapt to.
“I’m sure we’ll talk tonight.” I tell her with assumed confidence.
