32. Chapter 32
Ames
"Explain to me again why we're not at that stadium?" I ask.
We're at Evie and Logan's place. It's a nice house, airy and light. Everything is in shades of a very, very pale yellow and warm honey. It looks straight out of a fancy furniture store quarterly magazine, in a minimalist sort of way.
Technically, I know why we're watching the conference game here and we're not there huddled in a suite. My question is mostly a complaint. Evie knows this, but she still explains.
She brings me a new drink and sits next to me on the sofa. "Apparently the guys asked Coach Clark to change his mind but he didn't. He insisted he wanted no distractions. Logan was grumbling about it before they traveled."
An impressive cream sectional surrounds a large TV, and we gather close, right in front of the screen. Pen sits while doing and undoing a braid. Nat stares at the screen with a focused face. The Strike is currently winning, but there's a lot of time left.
"Grumbling because of the morale?" I sip from my drink .
Saint didn't grumble while saying goodbye, but he hugged me and spoke to my ear instead.
I wish you could be there.
That's what he said. While holding me close by his door, right before he went to the Thunderdome in time for curfew, and I attempted to work at what's left of my catering business for a few hours.
It was hard to concentrate. Competing feelings clashed and warred inside.
Warmth, because everything Saint and I have done in the past couple of weeks has settled in my heart with feelings of candles, blankets, and my favorite tea.
Anxiety, because I was meant to stop myself from feeling these things at all.
"They love it when we're there," Nat says, "but it's not always practical.
They can't really spend time with us after a game when they play away.
That's why we typically only go to local games.
No point in flying if they have to stay at the hotel and never see us, right?
The conference game is one of the exceptions, though. "
"If they win and we're not there for the party…" Evie sighs. "That is what's hurting morale."
"Bear said he plays better when I'm there," Pen mutters to herself. "I wish I was there."
Evie and I exchange a look. It's like Pen doesn't realize she's thinking out loud, and that half the time, her words verge on not-purely-friends territory.
Pen sighs and shakes her head. "Apparently Coach Clark promised a party if they win, but it will only be for the team and at the hotel afterwards.
They will celebrate on the field if they get the trophy, but the rest will be at the presidential suite.
The big game in two weeks will be different, of course. If they make it, we're all going."
There's a break between plays and other coverage fills the screen.
They show the Strike players arriving at the stadium.
The third to arrive is Saint, wearing another fashion-forward outfit.
Chocolate pants and a white shirt with block letters I can't read, plus a striking blazer.
It's covered in paint blobs that could have been born from Dalí's imagination .
I sigh. "It sucks I won't be there if they make it to the final game."
All three faces turn to stare at me in shock.
Guilt spikes inside. It pierces my heart.
I've been trying to tell myself it's better this way, that it will give me some sorely needed time and space. Distance might be what I need to unknot my heart. But the truth is, I don’t want separation from him.
I want to celebrate with him or to hug him close if they lose.
To come to bed with him in the middle of the night, still smiling from dancing together, ready to talk about the next day. And the next, and the next.
I squeeze my eyes closed. Ugh.
"It's because of the cooking show." My voice is apologetic. "We're filming the pilot. I’ll be in Los Angeles."
Fuck, I really, really need this TV show.
Scratch that. I want that TV show. It's the closest, realest way to get what I need— the exposure, the business, the cash to keep my personal business afloat.
Not to say anything about getting to enjoy the process of cooking again, like I did when Saint and I did the Christmas special.
But who knows. I need to say the right things at those meetings, excel at the pilot, and cross my fingers everyone likes the results.
"But you were planning to go with us?" Evie asks. "To support our guys? It's only…"
"Six hours away by car." Nat's face shows the disappointment I feel. "On a weekend where everything stops to a standstill. Including the roads."
I stare forward. The TV occupying half a wall is invisible to me.
Yeah. If I could, I would be at this game and the next. It may not be an easy time for me, watching him play and worrying about his success and the chance of injury, but I care about him. The team. I would want to be there for Saint and our friends.
I remain quiet, unsure what to say at first. "It's a moot point, isn't it? I can't be there."
Because I will be in LA, and because I am way past confused.
I should cling to whatever lines I can find, or I won't prevent devastation when Saint bakes me a pie. Even better, I should ask Saint again how to recognize the signs for when he’s ready to end things, so I'm emotionally prepared.
Keeping track of his cooking ingredients isn't cutting it.
Knowing it will likely happen within two or three weeks isn't cracking it.
"Does Saint know you won't be there?" Pen asks.
"He does." I frown. "He didn't seem happy, but my brother is going, so it should be okay, right? His family will be there, too. He won't be alone."
Nat and Pen gaze at each other, while Evie stares at me.
"I think he would rather you were there too, Ames," my friend says.
I bite my lip. The comfort I wanted to feel that he might not miss me is nowhere to be found. I want him to miss me, dammit. In a world where this thing between us didn't end, I would move mountains to be there with him.
"You've caught his eye." Pen cocks her head my way. "For a while now, he's only been to the club with you. He stopped dating."
"He went cold-turkey, from what we could see," Nat adds.
And even though they don't know it, we've been sleeping together. He's put his attention, his care on me. In return… I asked him to end it. And I said I would do everything differently this time, including anything that requires putting someone else first.
Besides, not even a chameleon like me has enough colors to mimic a thousand different women. I never want to be the kind that tries to shape herself to what their partner wants. Not anymore. Especially when I may never find a way to twist myself into the right shape for someone like Saint.
"I don't know how long that's going to last," I whisper.
I shake my head, unsure of where to go from here. What I want and what I should want don't align. I don't know how to make it all fit together.
The game starts again. My friends let me think as we watch the Strike go on offense.
The camera focuses on Logan at first, studying the quarterback's play.
He throws the ball and the feed switches to a large pan of the field.
Tension builds among us, watching with baited breath to discover where it lands .
Saint catches the ball mid air. He grabs it tight against his ribcage, turns and twists a few times, and manages to evade defensive players from the other team. Moving with the grace and speed of a superhero, he jumps into a sprint.
A gasp escapes me. Evie's hand squeezes my forearm. Saint leaves everyone behind.
It's been only a couple of seconds, but it feels like an eternity. My lungs refuse to work. Saint runs and runs, eating yards and sprinkling loose turf under his cleats. Only to slow down and stop three steps away from the goal line.
He knows he has the touchdown. Ever the showman, he turns toward the crowd and asks for applause. The crowd goes wild. Walking backwards, he crosses the line— dancing.
Nat and Pen laugh. Evie watches me. Saint throws the ball to the ground as his teammates reach him. He goes into an elaborate choreography with Dom.
I sigh. "Do you think he'll be the MVP?"
What I'm really asking is if he'll have to move to another city.
Of all the reasons I've been clutching to my chest not to let myself fall for Saint, I haven't thought about this one enough.
If I don't know what to make of all these feelings when we're sharing a bed, I don't know how I'll survive what we're doing together when distance is in the mix.
"His stats are good." Evie's voice is factual, but there's a hint of challenge in it. "He's broken a couple of records. He has a good chance at it."
I didn't know that. Another way in which I'm not showing up for him.
And I'm entertaining feelings he doesn't expect?
If I let myself imagine a romantic future with Saint, the least I could do is show him the kind of girlfriend I would be.
Wanting to act differently from old relationships shouldn't mean Saint gets nothing but company at night.
Except he's never welcomed feelings like this in the past, and showing up like a Good Girlfriend is what I did in every single relationship before. It was never enough on its own. It didn't work. I still don't know what to do differently. I promised to do differently. Shit .
I'm trying to be a lover, but I'm really just a fool.
I don't recognize myself. I'm setting myself up for the worst heartbreak of my life, and I have no idea how to stop it.
"You're going to figure it out," Evie says by my side. "I know you will."
I smile. "Thanks, Evie. You're the best."
"I'm here when you're ready to talk."
"I know."
They all are. Pen watches me with a small smile, while Nat nods. Their patience falls on my shoulders like a cloak. It's warmth all around, protection from the rain if the skies were to break.
"Thank you," I say.
"For now, let's watch them win." Evie grins. "What do you say?"
"Who's ready for another drink?" Pen asks. "We won't be at their party… but we'll make our own."