Chapter 29 Griffin
Griffin
“Coach asked how you’re feeling.”
Mack’s voice is soft and careful. It feels like he is trying to decide if it’s safe to be around me. Like I’m some kind of feral fucking animal.
I’ve been playing hooky, claiming some bullshit flu, and blowing off practices. And hell, I even missed a goddamn game which is seriously not like me.
I don’t bail. I don’t chicken out. I don’t hide behind lame excuses when the team needs me.
So sitting here, holed up like I’m contagious, is more than just unusual for me.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say, voice flat as ever.
Because I can’t tell him how I feel. Not accurately anyway. I don’t even get it.
One second I’m seriously considering leaning over on the couch, grabbing the back of Jacob’s shirt, and telling everyone within earshot that I actually have feelings for this guy…like deep, unexpectedly real feelings.
And the next I’m learning that he knew things.
Really big things. Things that he didn’t tell me.
And yeah, in the big picture, I’m pretty sure a million people would tell me it doesn’t matter who knew what about Sabrina cheating.
I don’t give a fuck what she did. We ended things, yeah, she cheated, and it hurts.
Not because I want her back, I definitely don’t, but because it makes me feel worthless the way betrayal often does.
I get how hypocritical that sounds because I definitely kissed Jacob while I was with her. But I owned up to it while she sat there and screamed at me because she was so fucking loyal.
What a crock of shit.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is that Hughie and Jacob knew.
They knew that my girlfriend was cheating on me with Connelly, of all people, and they never told me. The argument that they were protecting me feels really fucking paper thin. Protecting me would have been telling me that I was dating someone who had zero respect for me.
And all I can think is that I was vulnerable with someone I trusted.
I let myself explore a part of myself I didn’t even realize was there with someone I legitimately could see a future with.
Someone who wasn’t afraid of honest conversation, someone who made me feel grounded, and then it turns out he and Hughie were carrying around knowledge that, in hindsight, should have exploded into daylight.
Fuck Connelly. That slimebag should have an award for worst roommate, worst teammate, and worst human being.
You don’t fuck your teammate’s girlfriend. You especially don’t do it with the guy you live with. That’s not a lapse in judgment, that’s just opportunistic, irresponsible shit with no regard for consequences.
“Have you talked to Hughie?” Mack interjects my internal spiral and I roll my head to the side so I can look at him.
“Yeah,” I admit. “We talked.”
There’s this heavy pause. Mack doesn’t say anything for a second and when he finally speaks, it’s patient.
“You gonna be okay?”
And I don’t have a ready answer for that. Because I didn’t expect to feel this hollow or this tangled up in emotions I didn’t even know I had. I didn’t expect that vulnerability would feel like this, and that touching it once would be like pressing a match to kindling.
I take a long deep breath.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, which is probably the safest fucking answer I have.
“What about… Jacob?” Mack asks gently, like he’s already figured out part of the answer but wants to hear it come out of my mouth anyway.
I let out this long, heavy huff. I turn my head back up and stare at the ceiling so he can’t see the pain and humiliation brewing in my eyes.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I say.
Mack hums like he was expecting that answer. I’m sure it’s no secret that a majority of my anger and pain is directly related to the guy I was seeing.
“He looks like a mess, man,” he says, and I can hear the understanding in his voice, the way he’s trying to be a peacemaker without stepping on any of my pride.
I shrug in an attempt to pretend that I don’t give a fuck what he looks like. Because the truth is, I do care, even though I don’t want to, even though it makes me feel like a gigantic fucking idiot for caring.
“He lied to me,” I say, plain and blunt.
“Yeah,” Mack says, slow, trying to balance empathy with realism, “I get that… I mean, it was complicated though, right?”
I laugh and it’s humorless. I don’t particularly believe any of the shit that has been spewed about the situation.
I don’t believe Hugh when he says that he made Jacob keep the secret or that it was a hard decision to make.
I don’t believe Terry when he says that my anger shouldn’t be focused on someone who was placed in the middle of a shit situation. I don’t want to hear any of that.
“It became complicated,” I spit out, voice low, sarcasm edged with exhaustion. “He should have told me before I touched his dick though, huh?”
There’s a beat of stunned silence. Mack’s eyes go wide and he blinks at me like I’ve revealed some deeply buried emotional algorithm that no one was prepared to interpret.
“Yeah,” he says after a second, voice cautious, “I uh… guess so.”
I let out another sigh and close my eyes as if they are the gateway that no longer contains any answers.
“I’m fine, Mack,” I say, voice rough with understatement. “I’ll be fine.”
There are voices coming from near the front door as I hit the bottom step.
I freeze halfway down, tucked just out of sight, heart already pounding because I know that voice. I know it.
Jacob.
“Can you at least tell me if he’s feeling better?” he asks, voice tight and raw. Like he’s been trying not to cry and failing.
Mack sighs, heavy and tired. “Yeah. He is.”
There’s a beat of silence. It feels charged and awkward and for half a second I think about moving around the corner so I can see Jacobs face.
Then Mack again, quieter this time. “You can’t be here, Jake. He… he needs some space.”
Another beat. Then a sniffle.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Jacob says, barely above a whisper.
And it fucking cracks something in me.
“I know,” Mack says, soft but firm. “But… you should’ve told him. Not just when you were the trainer. When it turned into more…you should’ve come clean.”
“I know,” Jacob replies immediately, voice shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry. He won’t… he won’t talk to me.”
My throat tightens. I press my fingers into the railing like it might hold me up. My chest’s doing that hollow thing again, the one where it feels like I’m full of nothing but hurt.
“I can’t make him talk to you, buddy,” Mack says gently.
Silence again. Then Jacob clears his throat. “I brought him some soup… and crackers. I just… Can you give it to him? You don’t have to say it’s from me. Or you can. Whatever.”
There’s a pause, then Mack’s voice, soft as hell, “Yeah. Of course I will.”
The door closes with a soft snick.
I step forward, socked feet quiet against the stairs as I move into the hallway.
Mack’s standing there alone now, shoulders slumped and head bowed. There’s a paper bag hanging from one hand, and he’s staring at the floor like it might give him the answers neither of us have.
He looks up when he hears me. He doesn’t speak as he holds the bag up with a faint shrug. His eyes are full of pity or sadness or something I can’t name. Maybe I just don’t want to focus on someone else’s fucking emotions right now.
I don’t take the bag. I’m not sure if I’m ready to touch anything Jacob touched.
Mack finally looks up at me, eyes searching mine.
“You heard all of that?”
I don’t flinch as I respond in the most monotone emotionless voice I can muster. “Yep.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just holds the bag out a little further. I take it without a word and turn on my heel, heading into the kitchen. I clutch the bag in my fist and open the trash can. But instead of tossing the soup into it my hand just fucking hovers there over it.
The paper crinkles beneath my fingers, and for one long second, I actually imagine the dull thud of it hitting the bottom of the bin.
But I can’t do it.
I just… can’t.
I drop the lid with a heavy clunk and set the bag on the counter instead. I brace myself against the counter and let out a long frustrated sigh.
Behind me, Mack steps into the doorway.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
I laugh. Loud, bitter, and ugly.
“Yeah,” I say, turning toward the fridge just to have something to do with my hands. “I’m fucking fine.”
My voice cracks on the last word, just a little.
“You should talk to him,” Mack says, like he’s been chewing the words over for a while.
I don’t answer. I don’t fucking blink. I can rationally say that the way I’m acting doesn’t make sense. That I’m taking this entire thing out on Jacob when really I could fix it by just speaking to him. Even if we ended whatever we were doing, it would be closure.
But also, I feel like punishing someone. I feel like making someone else feel as shitty as I do and….well, that someone is Jacob.
“End it. Or forgive him. But dragging this shit out?” he keeps going, not even looking at me now. “That’s fucked, man. It’s not fair to either of you.”
That hits me sideways. My teeth clench.
“Thanks for the moral clarity, Mack,” I mutter, sharp. “Didn’t realize you were applying to be my conscience.”
He sighs, and it sounds tired, like he’s already been through this argument in his head a dozen times. “I’m not trying to be anything, Griff. I am your friend.”
“Really?” I snap, voice rising. “’Cause right now you sound like his. Not mine.”
He finally looks at me then with an expression full of so much fucking resentment that I almost flinch.
“I am your friend, asshole. That’s why I’m saying this.
Because I’ve watched you tear yourself the fuck up for days, and I’m sick of pretending it’s all Jacob’s fault when he’s not the one who cheated. ”
That hits like a sucker punch. I laugh, sharp and humorless. “No. He’s just a fucking liar.”
Mack doesn’t flinch or argue. He just shakes his head and frowns at me. The disappointment is so fucking clear and I can’t make myself give a single shit.
I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I shove off the wall and storm past him, up the stairs two at a time.
“Don’t wait up,” I throw over my shoulder, not caring how much of a cliché it sounds like.