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I sigh. Kelsey isn’t the person who should be having an existential crisis. “It isn’t your fault. He was abundantly clear about his priorities. My eyes were open from the beginning.”
She props her chin in her hand. “I’m sorry he left.”
“He had to leave.” I defend him because while I do miss him, and I wish things were different, he’s doing what he needs to do. “He was honest with me. It isn’t his fault or your fault that I took things too far.” It’s mine.
“I should have known you’d fall in love with him.” She shakes her head. “I wish he could love you back.”
“Kels…”
She shrugs. “You know what I mean.”
“That I’m unlovable?”
She jumps up. “Of course not! If he let himself love anyone, it would be you.”
It’s a backhanded compliment but I don’t call her on it. “Well, we can agree on one thing. He doesn’t love me.”
“For what it’s worth, I think he does like you. You should have seen him the morning they published those pictures of him with Amber. He was terrified you’d think he hooked up with her.”
“I didn’t even know.”
We both fall silent, and it seems like Kelsey’s going to let it go when she snuggles up next to me and rests her head on my shoulder. “I always figured you’d fall head over heels with some lucky guy and he’d chase away the pain of our parents’ divorce.”
My voice is dry when I respond. “Those scars are permanent.”
She laughs lightly. “It’s unclear why you ended up so cynical and I didn’t.”
For whatever reason, she simply accepted that our parents weren’t in love anymore and moved on. “I’m just smart enough to know I’m never going to get swept off my feet.”
“I got swept off my feet.”
“I know,” I respond softly.
Kelsey believes in true love, and she didn’t hold back in her quest to find it. I struggle to even let myself search.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“Nothing. He’s in Sacramento until at least January. We still talk when he has time.” Which is every day.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
I knew where his heart belonged when I slept with him the first time. I haven’t forgotten. I might have feelings for him. But surely, with enough time and space, those feelings will fade.
The conversation with my sister forces me to acknowledge—at least to myself—how I feel about Slater. Even though I can no longer ignore my feelings, I don’t sink into a cloud of melancholy.
Melodrama is for angsty teenagers, not grown women. I do, however, follow him via every avenue available. I stalk him on social media. I watch sports talk shows at every opportunity. I read any article that even mentions his name. I stay up late so I can talk to him after his training. It’s the opposite of what I’d planned on doing and the opposite of what a sane human would do, but it makes me feel connected.
I can’t seem to get him off my mind. It’s like once I opened the floodgates, I couldn’t close them again.
When he calls me, he tells me about his workouts and his training. He talks about the coaches and the other players. I talk about my new job, and I tell him about how much my relationship with my mother is improving. I also tell him about my dad trying to make me a part of his family.
It’s comfortable and pleasant and not nearly enough, but I don’t ask for more and neither does he. For me, it’s deliberate, but for him, I’m pretty sure it’s just because he’s busy with football. He seems content to be just friends now, and it isn’t his fault that I wish we were more.
TWENTY-FIVE
SLATER
I don’t actively think about the future, but it’s always hanging over my head. What will happen when I step onto the field for the first game? The third? The fifth?
