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I’m at the Hot Shots arena for my social media management class. For the past hour, I’ve been walking around like I’m navigating a minefield, worried that at any moment I’ll turn a corner and come face to face with Liam.
What just happened wasn’t quite that, but it was bad enough. I saw him for a moment walking down the far end of a long hallway.
Just letting my eyes rest on him in person for that brief period of time was enough to send me spiraling. It felt like a string of barbed wire wrapped itself around my heart. Tears flooded the corners of my eyes and my chest swelled with restrained sobs.
I rushed to the bathroom, where I’m currently hiding.
Looking at my red eyes in the mirror, I retreat into one of the stalls just in case someone else happens to walk into the ladies’ room. It would only take a glance at me for anyone to realize something’s wrong, and I’m really not in the mood to answer any questions.
When I woke up this morning, the pain wasn’t so bad. It was still there, but as a dull ache rather than a sharp agony.
I thought that maybe that meant I’d finally taken the first step on the road to getting over it. To getting over Liam.
I even let myself believe that maybe I’d be able to hold it together at the arena today. This is the first time I’ve been here since my dad stumbled upon Liam and me kissing. Luckily, up until now, I’ve been able to complete my tasks for the Hot Shots’ social media remotely.
I knew there was no way I’d be able to stay away for the rest of the semester, though. Today was the moment of reckoning.
For a little while, I actually thought I was going to make it. Despite the tension and anxiety that wracked me at every moment, at least I wasn’t a quivering, emotional mess.
All it took was one glance at Liam to change that.
At least he didn’t see me. If our eyes actually locked, if I actually had to feel his piercing, emerald green gaze tethered to mine again, I don’t think I’d be able to hold myself together even long enough to rush to the nearest bathroom.
I miss him so much. His touch, his smell, his voice, his laugh, his support.
A sense of bitter injustice rushes through me. Why does this stupid rule about players and staff, and the coincidence that my dad happens to be his coach, have to keep us apart?
But we already knew the facts coming into this. We always acknowledged them. We knew we were playing with fire. We just let ourselves get cocky enough to think that we wouldn’t get burned.
It takes me a while, but eventually I feel under control enough to venture out of the bathroom.
As I’m leaving the stall, I feel my phone vibrate with a text notification. It’s Megan.
Megan
Could you come back to my office for a minute?
Now my stomach rolls from a new source of anxiety. When Megan and I talked a little while ago, I thought I noticed something … different about her. A hesitancy to her that’s never there. It felt like she was on the verge of bringing something up but kept holding herself back.
Could it be that she found out Liam and me, too?
I knock on her open door to announce my arrival and step into her office hesitantly.
“You wanted to see me?”
She nods. When I step into her office, she tilts her head in the direction of the open door. I take the hint to close it, and then settle nervously in the chair across from her.
She looks at me with a gaze that’s both serious and hesitant. Hesitant has always been the last word I’d used to describe Megan Sheffield, who’s always carried herself with supreme confidence and decisiveness when it comes to her job.
“Is this something about the Instagram videos we talked about for tomorrow?” I venture, even though I strongly doubt it.
She shakes her head. “No. This is something personal.”
My lower lip curls inward, and I clench it between my teeth as I wait for her to elaborate.
Megan’s chest deflates as she lets out a silent sigh. “You’re aware your father and I are seeing each other?”
A measure of relief comes over me. Is that what this is about?
